Episode 27: The Black Bomber

Quint was doing well at the headquarters for Citadel Research and Innovative Technologies in Los Angeles. Every day was fascinating to him. He now had his own private laboratory where he could conduct his top-secret research and experiments. During work hours, Quint dressed as a human and went by Dr. Nicolaus C. Quintin (a moniker he had picked out himself). Only the senior scientists knew that he was formally Brain Bot. The rest thought he was another human, which Quint liked—it kept them all on equal footing.

Though Quint was quite happy, after months of hard work, he was also starting to feel tired, and (due to the secretiveness of his work) a bit isolated. Some of the scientists commented that he was beginning to look as overworked as Dr. Cossack himself (the head of Citadel who they rarely ever saw anymore) but Quint was flattered to be compared to his co-creator and carried on determinedly with his research. Besides…he just knew he was getting close to a breakthrough, and ignored any creeping feelings of fatigue and loneliness.

It was the Monday of the last week in November of 1996. As usual, Quint worked alone in his private laboratory (busy analyzing samples Dr. Goss and Dr. Stinson had forwarded from the Citadel Discovery Lab) when the phone mounted on the wall unexpectedly began to ring.

"Dr. Quintin? Dr. Cossack is here to see you," came the receptionist's voice.

Quint was a bit surprised to hear her speak with an edge. He gave a small confused laugh while hastily scanning his laboratory, making sure it looked neat. "Dr. Cossack doesn't need to announce himself, please let him in, Carolyn."

"Uh, yeah, about that," the receptionist continued with a long sigh, "…It's Dr. Cossack the younger."

Quint stopped inspecting his laboratory for loose printouts and gave a small jump. "…Oh, uh, I better come meet her myself."

Locking up his computer and powering down his lab equipment, Quint hurried toward the elevator and hammered the call button. What on earth did Kalinka Cossack want? As America's most popular teenage socialite, she rarely visited Citadel, and then only if she was looking for her father. It was incredibly puzzling.

Within a minute, Quint was on the open first floor of Citadel, nervously straightening his tie as a petite teenager marched imperiously toward him, blonde curls bouncing underneath her trademark black daisy hat.

Even if Quint hadn't known her by sight, Kalinka was impossible to miss. Citadel was furnished primarily in state-of-the-art white-cased lab equipment, white office furniture, and scientists dressed in white lab coats (like Quint himself). Kalinka, meanwhile, wore a chunky pink cowlneck tucked into a flowing black miniskirt that likely came off of a runway. Beat, her spring blue robo-bird companion, fluttered at her side. Her sparkling heels and swinging spaghetti strap purse were out of place in the sea of scientists who preferred comfortable loafers and stretchy slacks. Already a few were grumbling that her perfume (which smelled of cinnamon and sugared plums) had invaded their workspace, and cast both Quint and Kalinka extremely disagreeable looks.

Quint gulped as Dr. Cossack's daughter stopped sharply before him. Dr. Cossack's only human child.

—Of course, Dr. Cossack didn't have a favorite child…

…But if he did…

"Oh, uh, hi Kalinka, hi Beat," Quint greeted somewhat timidly.

"Hi Quint," said Beat enthusiastically as he settled down on Kalinka's shoulder. Quint liked robo-pets, and felt marginally cheered by Beat's presence.

Kalinka did not return his greeting. She was busy was scanning the main floor of Citadel, a closed-off expression in her face. "Can we, like, talk in private?" she asked curtly, finally looking over at him.

"Um…" Quint was nonplussed. He did not like the idea of going anywhere alone with Kalinka. Though Quint had stood up to intimidation tactics from both Dr. Wily and Syndicate mobster robots, Quint was, admittedly, a bit scared of her. They had never met, but she was on television and in gossip tabloids often, and from them seemed extremely spoiled and attention-seeking. More worrisome yet, she was also rumored to be just as smart as her father with twice the temper, though she presently cast him a rather delicate smile.

"Like, secret private," Kalinka prompted sharply. "Where no one can hear us speaking." She stuck her nose up in the air and waved her hand as though commanding a servant. "Go on, take me there."

Quint had a bad feeling about this. He looked over at Beat. The corner of Beat's bill had turned up into a sheepish, guilty smile. Quint's bad feeling increased, but he too felt powerless to stand up to Kalinka's bulldozer-like demeanor, and lead her to one of the private conference rooms normally reserved for discussing classified research with Dr. Cossack. It was a plain room with white walls, a clean oval table, and a few expensive swivel chairs.

Kalinka wrinkled her nose at the austere, modern aesthetic that was common in all of Dr. Cossack's buildings. "So," she said, turning to him after the door closed behind them, her brows raised smugly. "I've seen you in your green suit."

"P-pardon?"

Kalinka dug through her small purse (Beat had to raise his wings to balance himself), then threw a hand full of photos on the oval table. "I know this is you."

Quint looked down and started. Each photo contained a blurry yet recognizable image of himself in his green bomber suit sneaking around the city. Panicking, he quickly scooped up the photos and stuffed them into the pocket of his lab coat with a mental note to destroy them as soon as possible. "Where did you get these?"

"It was on the news! Also, Beat figured it out," Kalinka responded proudly.

Beat shot Quint a guilty look. "Sorry Quint," he murmured.

"It's nothing," Quint stammered hurriedly. "Just a protective suit. And I-I wasn't doing anything bad—"

"Relax! Don't have a cow," Kalinka interrupted, smiling. "I'm not a dummy. You work at Citadel by day, but by night, you're out helping protect L.A. from bad guys and disasters."

Quint raked his hands through his hair. He felt cornered. Like many things, the fact that he had modified himself into a bomber robot like Mega Man was supposed to be a secret. "Does everyone know about this?"

"Not really. I'm the only one who cared enough to look into it," responded Kalinka lightly. She smiled keenly at him, as though he were the scoop of a story she was very much interested in. "So…what do you go as? You know, your hero name."

"Uh…still just Quint," Quint replied tentatively, uncertain what he was getting himself into. "Though some call me the 'Green Bomber'. But I'm technically not a hero. I mostly work in the lab. It's just for emergencies." He sank into one of the swivel chairs. A sudden, horrible image of Kalinka exposing the Green Bomber to a gossip magazine sprang into his mind. "Please, you cannot tell anyone about this."

"No doi!" Kalinka responded, sitting down next to him on the edge of the oval table. "I completely understand why you gotta keep this a secret. In fact, it's the reason why I came. I want to ask you a favor."

Quint blinked at her. "A favor?" he repeated, then said, "You're Dr. Cossack's heir, world famous, and run the world's most profitable cosmetics company. …Don't you have everything you want?"

Kalinka frowned and looked over at Beat, whose large eyes stared back sadly. "It's true, I do have everything I want," she sighed. "And yet…"

Clearing her throat, she continued in a blazing fury, "I'm sick of the paparazzi and my socialite status, and I'm sick of the press twisting everything I say and making me look like a monster. All I did was sneak into a few clubs…but doesn't everybody when they're sixteen?" She paused, considering. "Well, it did help my brand. And breaking the rules was pretty fun," she admitted with a sly, reminiscent smile, then shrugged. "But anyway, I'm so over that. Most of my friends are going off to college, and I got my Engineering doctorate when I was fourteen. Feels pointless to do it all over again. Besides, I'm not a kid anymore. I'm eighteen! Soon no one will take me seriously as a teen idol!" She scooped Beat off her shoulder and hugged him close, touching his forehead to hers, and said in almost a whisper, "I feel so old."

Quint said nothing. Eighteen years did seem unfathomably ancient to a robot (he himself was only eight months old)—yet he did not think it was so old for a human.

Kalinka sighed forlornly again, releasing Beat to flutter back to her shoulder and looking over at a whiteboard with the same dramatic intensity as if it were an open window. "What I'd really like to do is something more fulfilling with my life."

Quint couldn't help but be captivated by this performance, and despite his prior reservations, was sitting at the edge of his seat. "…Like what?"

Kalinka tossed her head back to smile at him, her olive-green eyes sparkling dreamily. "I wanna be a hero like you—with my own super suit and everything!"

Again, Quint said nothing. Truthfully, he was stunned into silence as he mentally grappled with the impossibility of Kalinka's request. Perhaps in his exhaustion he had accidentally fallen asleep at his desk, and this was all just a bizarre dream. He looked over at Beat, Kalinka's guardian, but it was common knowledge that Beat had little control over her antics. "…Only robots have suits," he said finally with cool logic.

"A human could have a suit. Super heroes have them all the time," Kalinka countered dismissively. "Everyone knows that!"

"…'Super heroes'?"

"Yeah. Super heroes wear super suits to protect themselves and their secret identities. I like the ones that have cool visors that mask their face, kinda like yours."

"Wait…you want me to build you a 'super suit', so you can be a 'super hero'?" Quint was hoping that his constant repetition would help drum in how nonsensical this conversation was. Kalinka Cossack, a super hero?

"Oh I can design the suit myself," Kalinka answered, gazing smugly at her manicure. "But I'm going to need help with my cover. I can be like that bat guy from the comics: fashionista billionaire heiress by day, pretty defender of justice by night!" Her eyes suddenly flashed warningly. "Oh, and don't tell Dad. He'd just worry. And you know how bad that could be for him! You wouldn't want him to freak out; at his age, he might have a heart attack."

"Dr. Cossack is thirty-seven, one of the youngest in his field," Quint countered, then hesitated. "…He does have a lot on his plate…"

Kalinka nodded. "We can't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret. So what do you say?"

"I…"

Quint was nervous. Kalinka was known for her fanciful stunts, which typically ended in disaster, and felt it unwise to become tangled in one himself. He also didn't like the idea of keeping secrets from Dr. Cossack, especially ones about Kalinka.

"….I don't want to get in trouble."

Kalinka's eyes met his, and she said very seriously, "Quint, I'm your big sister. I wouldn't do anything to get you in trouble."

Quint stared back. He felt he should deny the sibling connection as he did with Mega Man and Roll (Dr. Light was Quint's other co-creator), yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but smile. "I thought you hated robots."

"It's part of my brand! Robots are nerdy, they represent authority, yech!" Kalinka responded, sticking her tongue out and making a face. She quickly remembered herself and became somber again, and added sweetly, "But if my dad—I mean, our dad—though he was my dad first—is going to insist on building robots then I guess I can learn to tolerate them."

Quint looked at her coldly. "…The public might have a more positive perception of so-called 'nerds' if you helped promote one."

"He has a point, Kali," Beat piped in.

Kalinka flushed a little. "I just hated being called 'four eyes' and 'brainiac'—but that's beside the point. So Quint, what do you say?" She smiled winningly at him.

Smiling back helplessly, Quint answered, "I'd like to help you out, Kalinka, but I'm too tied up here with my research. I just don't have time. I'm sorry."

Kalinka dropped the smile and leaned forward curiously. "What research?" she asked, giving him a piercing look not unlike the ones Dr. Cossack was capable of giving. Quint had a funny feeling she was reading just how tired he was.

"Only Citadel scientists can know anything about it."

"It's alright, you can tell me."

"But Dr. Cossack said—"

"Oh, Daddy doesn't mind," Kalinka responded airily.

…Quint was beginning to understand why Dr. Cossack had trouble saying 'no' to Kalinka. At the same time, he sensed something sincere and genuine behind her supposed 'spoiled brat' image. He had liked how she had called herself his older sister…and weren't you supposed to be able to go to an older sister with your problems?

He stood up and beckoned toward her. "Okay, I'll tell you about it if you want—but what I'm going to show you is top secret."

"Oh, please," Kalinka smirked as she slid off the table, "—I'm a Cossack, 'secret' is, like, my middle name."


Quint led Kalinka through five separate security gates, to the elevator, and back to his laboratory. Kalinka looked around the large chamber, her expression unreadable. From her shoulder, Beat's head pivoted from side to side in awe. The laboratory was full of large equipment Quint had invented himself—all experimental prototypes unlike anything on Earth, yet none of them functional.

"Do you always work alone in this darkness? Yeesh, you're just like Dad!" Kalinka exclaimed finally in exasperation, her voice and clicking heels echoing slightly.

Quint didn't mind the barb. He felt excited to show off his laboratory and led her over to a holographic projector connected to his supercomputer. "You may know that, in addition to being the leading company in pioneering technology and metallic alloys, Citadel Research and Innovative Technologies has a Discovery branch for analyzing mysterious natural phenomena," he began solemnly. "That is the division I was built to work for, specifically to study specimens of extraterrestrial origins—alien energy."

At this point, Quint looked inquiringly at Kalinka, wondering if the revelation that aliens existed would shock her, or how much she already knew. But Kalinka just stared back at him with a cool, poker-faced indifference. She really did look a bit like a modern princess (and had the haughty grace of one), yet Quint felt encouraged that he had made the right decision in trusting her as a confidant.

"Alien energy is useful yet dangerous," Quint continued. "A robot powered by alien energy becomes much faster, stronger, even impervious to non-alien energy-based attacks—however, very few robots are advanced enough to handle such powerful energy without becoming overloaded or destroyed." He began typing on his computer, pulling up a simulation on his holographic projector. "There are three types of alien energy."

A flickering ball of purple flame appeared in the center of the projector.

"The first is purple in hue, and by far the most paranormal," Quint began. "It can rewrite reality like properties in a computer program, primarily along two axises: displacement (such as through space, time, dimensions) and distortion (such as thoughts, matter, physics, existence). Because of this, it is infinitely dangerous," he added as the image of a skull flickered briefly in the flame, "—And in its purest form is sometimes called 'evil energy.'"

Quint typed another command into his computer. The purple flames disappeared, and a glowing ball of cyan energy took its place.

"The blue alien energy (sometimes called 'justice energy') acts as a direct counter to the purple—neutralizing its effects and reverting manipulated properties to their default state, though it consumes a lot of energy. It is the rarest of all alien energy, possibly going extinct, and almost as dangerous to handle."

The cyan flame disappeared, and a twisting green flame grew in its place.

"The last is the green alien energy, recently discovered in the meteorite that crash-landed at Red Gulch. It Is by far the safest to use, for it has none of the paranormal traits found in the purple or blue energies—" Quint powered off the projector, and hologram winking out. "Unfortunately, no known remnants of the meteorite or its energy remain."

Quint paused in his lecture and adjusted his oversized glasses. "Of course, there could be some discrepancies in my data, but these are my hypothesis so far." Peering curiously over at Kalinka, who had been quiet, he couldn't help but ask, "Doesn't…doesn't any of this surprise you?"

"Well, I knew the basics," she admitted with a small shrug. "At least about the purple and blue stuff."

"You did?"

"Yeah. When I was little, Dad couldn't afford child care, so he always took me to work with him. I learned just about everything he did about robots, that's how I was able to get so far ahead in school."

"Oh. …How come you're into fashion and not science?"

"Because only dweebs do the same things their parents do, duh! …No offense!"

Quint smiled ruefully, not offended at all. Now that he was used to her, he was actually beginning to like Kalinka, and continued. "Because blue and green alien energy are so scarce, Citadel has only managed to collect samples of purple alien energy by-products for my studies." He laid a hand on his chest. "I myself am powered by Quintessence, an energy derived from purple alien energy that has been stripped of all its chaotic properties, making it rather like green alien energy and safe to use as my power source. I have further hypothesis that selective properties from purple alien energy may be put to safe practical application, however experimentation is quite, uh, hazardous."

Kalinka frowned, and Quint gave a small cough, feeling that Kalinka perhaps was finding his research thus far a bit dry, though she said, "It is necessary? Wouldn't it be better just to leave alien energy alone and study anything else?"

Quint smiled sympathetically. "If only it were that simple, but recent events have made it impossible to ignore alien energy. The Red Gulch meteorite made headlines not too long ago, but there was also Dr. Wily's shrink ray, and Lotos," he added with a tremor of fear.

"Gee, I've never heard about any of that."

"They've been on the news. You know, because of Wily." When Kalinka continued to stare blankly at him, he added somewhat sardonically, "…You found out I'm the Green Bomber, yet you've never heard of any of these events? Not even about Wily?"

"Is that that weird old guy Daddy hates? That's his business, not mine," Kalinka yawned. "So what's the big deal about what happened?"

If Kalinka was truly unaware, Quint decided he better show her Lotos's attack on New York City. He brought up new footage onto his holographic projector, in which the physics had been warped in impossible ways as Lotos pretended to grant the wishes of his unsuspecting victims. Humans were trapped in buildings that waved like giant rubber blocks, and ordinary objects like cars, phone booths, and park benches had become alive and were attacking anyone who came too close. Nothing, not even the robo-officers, could counter the turmoil. Purple lightning forked through a green sky above.

"Ew, it's so weird, like something out of a cartoon!" Kalinka murmured. Beat looked frightened.

"Yes," Quint agreed. "This is the true devastation that purple alien energy can wreak when controlled by an alien super-being with sinister intent." He shut off the holographic projector again. "It is therefore vital we understand as much as possible about alien energy and its uses. We have no choice, it is the future—'fight fire with fire' as humans say, otherwise we may all be at the mercy of something we cannot hope to fight."

These words were met with an impressive silence not helped by the dim lighting of Quint's laboratory.

"Well, gee…" Kalinka said finally. Her olive eyes looked back at him. "…Don't you have help?"

"Yes, all of Citadel. But…I don't think they understand the danger. Not yet. But as you saw, Earth is eminently unprepared for an alien invasion."

Kalinka's brain seemed to be working furiously, a small crease appearing in her brow as she bit her lip. She cast one hesitant look at Beat, then finally said in a small voice, "I can help you out," she mumbled, then more confidently, "I'll be your lab partner!"

Quint blinked at her. "Really? A-are you sure?"

"Of course!" She did a perfect pirouette, then flashed him a dazzling, cover girl smile with her arms outstretched. "And you can help me be a super hero!"

…Quint had been afraid she'd circle back to that. It appeared there would be no way out of it.

"Oh, alright," Quint relented with an exasperated smile, and they shook hands. Though he felt thoroughly manipulated, he wasn't too upset. On the contrary, he had secretly wanted a lab partner, someone trustworthy and equally as clever as himself—and, as surprising as he would have thought mere hours ago, he may have found that equal in Kalinka.


Later that day, Quint felt light. They had agreed to begin meeting several times a week—he would help Kalinka with her unusual plan to become a super hero, and in return she would help Quint with his alien energy research.

For the first time in months, he took the evening off, and went for a walk by the ocean. He enjoyed hearing the waves crash against the shore, the cold salty air blowing through his hair, and the gentle crunch of wet sand under his shoes.

Above him, the full moon shone unusually clear.


Mega Man tossed and turned in his bed. He wasn't sure what woke him up, other than vague dreams and an ominous feeling something bad was going to happen.

….Well, with Dr. Wily attacking every month or so for the past two years of his existence, something bad usually did happen on a regular occurrence, he was even too used to it to be anxious about it. Still, Mega Man could not go back to sleep, feeling unusually prickly and on edge. He rubbed his temples and rolled out of bed.

It was one o'clock in the morning, and Dr. Light's laboratory was dark. Careful not to wake anyone, Mega Man crept down the stairs and into the atrium. He had been contemplating grabbing one of the thick Chemistry textbooks from the tall shelves to help relax his mind, but instead settled into a sofa in front of a wide window overlooking the sloping back lawn and surrounding countryside. Hugging his knees to his chest, Mega Man gazed out at the still, clear night, frost gleaming brightly in the moonlight, while the moon peered in at him from its position on the horizon just above the tops of distant skeletal trees.

"You're still up too?"

Mega Man jumped at the voice.

Standing in the doorway behind him was Roll. She was still fully dressed, a paisley bandana tied around her head. She had evidently been working late in her workshop and wore a work smock smudged with oil stains. Her eyes swept over his flannel pajamas, apparently noting that he had been sitting alone in the dark, and she sat down next to him with a frown.

"Were you thinking about Proto?"

Mega Man shrugged. "Do you ever think about him?"

Roll shrugged back. "After his stunt at the election, the sleaze ball isn't really worth thinking about." She sighed. "But how can I not? Especially not with the way Dad has been acting."

It had been three weeks since the election. As governor-elect, Deacon was busy prepping to make good on campaign promises to bolster New York's public school systems and monorail infrastructure. Proto Man's betrayal as his head of security (and the subsequent fallout) had not impacted his popularity severely. In fact, the public was sympathetic to Proto Man's 'plight'. They had liked the image of 'the Red Bomber' helping out Mega Man after the bizarre affair with the Lion Men, and were upset Dr. Wily had 'recaptured and reprogrammed' him (at least, this explanation for Proto Man's deception was what was widely believed and accepted, as very few people knew the truth that Proto Man was an advanced-android with free will).

Proto Man's room at the end of the hallway was still set up for him. Both Mega Man and Roll had caught Dr. Light peering wistfully in whenever he walked by. Mega Man had told Dr. Light and Roll all about his final encounter with Proto Man in the Robot Tool and Assembly Plant. It was obvious that Dr. Light was holding out hope that Proto Man would turn up. Neither Mega Man nor Roll were nearly as optimistic, but neither said anything to Dr. Light, even as the days went past.

"What do you think Proto's up to?" Mega Man asked presently.

"On a night like this? Full moon?" She rolled her eyes. "Being a stubborn jackass, getting into trouble, not caring about anything."

"He cares, but he doesn't want things to change," answered Mega Man fairly.

"You're alright though, after everything?" Roll asked softly.

Mega Man shrugged. "I think so," he answered honestly. Though it had been a dirty trick to pretend to die in Proto Man's arms, and though Proto Man was still presumably working with Dr. Wily, he felt he had achieved a significant victory that night.

They stared out at the moon a little longer.

"So I was thinking, there's a bunch of great metal concerts coming up," Roll broke in finally in a fast, excited whisper. "Nightmare Fuel, Gigavolt, and lot of other bands are touring through New York. We should go—"

"Uh, no thank you," Mega Man interrupted quickly.

"Pleeaase?" Roll begged. "You know I don't have anyone to go with!"

Despite Roll's best efforts to indoctrinate him into metal culture through exposure, Mega Man had yet to find enjoyment in loud concerts packed with headbanging humans dressed in skulls and leather while being trapped in something Roll had called a 'mosh pit'. Selfishly, Mega Man sometimes wished Roll had a friend who shared her interests (thereby letting himself off the hook). Perhaps Proto would have gone with her, if he had really defected from Dr. Wily…

Narrowing her eyes, Roll peered at Mega Man's face. "…Are you sure you're alright? You seem…agitated."

"Trouble sleeping," Mega Man admitted, yawning and scratching his head, "—though talking to you is making me feel better."

"Hey, I got an idea. Let's play Super Ultimate Mutant Fighter III for a while," Roll suggested, eyes sparkling. "I'm not that tired either. Bet I can beat you!"

"It's a Monday night," Mega Man laughed. "I have a full workday ahead of me. We can play tomorrow after I've finished helping Dr. Light in the laboratory."

Roll shook her head ruefully. "Ya know, Mega Man, sometimes I wish you weren't so good," she replied affectionately as they rose to their feet. "Just try not to think about Proto too much, alright?"

"I won't," Mega Man promised, smiling back. "Which shouldn't be too hard. It's been quiet lately…I'm pretty sure after everything that happened, he's avoiding us for a change."

Roll snorted at that, and they went upstairs together, past Proto Man's empty room, bidding good night to each other as Mega Man entered the middle room while Roll went to hers at the other end of the hall.

Yet, as Mega Man crawled back beneath his soft cotton sheets, he still found sleep difficult. Unable to pinpoint what was bothering him, he pulled his covers over his head as he continued to stir restlessly.


It was eleven o'clock in Los Angeles. Kalinka's room was in the penthouse suite of a skyscraper. Two of its walls were ceiling to floor windows that overlooked the city, the roof a large skylight. The lights were off, and Beat had powered down on his perch next to her canopy bed with a contented sigh. Kalinka had changed into a pair of pink pajamas with red piping and stood next to the window, looking outside while brushing her hair absentmindedly.

The bright full moon sailed serenely above a rolling celestial landscape of blue clouds and twinkling stars, giving the smog hanging over Los Angles a dreamy glow. The buildings and streets dazzled as though they too were made of stars. Truly nothing could be more romantic than moonlight, Kalinka reflected.

Excitement for the future filled every part of her, and she smiled to herself. Though every word Kalinka had told Quint was true, Kalinka had another secret motive for wanting to become a super hero. She was thinking of the one who had inspired this new passion for heroics—her masked hero.

His super suit had been red and gray, and he looked like a red flash as he moved as lightly and cleverly as a fox. A black visor obscured his face, and a bright yellow scarf draped carelessly off his shoulder. They had met only twice—first when he had rescued her from some gangsters trying to blackmail her father (the California State Police would surely have trashed them as they always did, but her hero had gotten there first!) then again when he had returned her mother's keychain from a remote-controlled toy that had stolen it. She had a crush on him ever since, and thought of him often.

Kalinka put down the brush on her vanity and picked up the sun-shaped enamel keychain thoughtfully (she always kept her mother's keychain close by). Becoming a hero herself would surely impress her masked hero. What if they met again, and he revealed he felt the same way about her? She daydreamed about talking with him under the moonlight, and wondered what he looked like behind his mask.

…He was probably good-looking. As a rule, mysterious masked heroes were always good-looking. Perhaps he had soft brown hair, with bright green eyes like spring leaves.

…Or romantic black hair with intense blue eyes that changed like light on the ocean.

…Or maybe shining golden hair with enigmatic gray eyes like the surface of the moon…

Clasping her mother's keychain to her heart, Kalinka wished on the moon that, by chance, they would meet again. Then she smiled as she climbed into bed and snuggled into her pillow, closing her eyes.


Proto Man ignored the full moon shining above him. He stared blankly ahead, oblivious to his surroundings, until a red hand waved at an inch's distance in front of his visor.

"Proto Man? Proto Man?"

Proto Man snapped out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

"Don't do that…" Elec Man hissed, sinking back in his seat.

They were surrounded by thin, puffy clouds as they hovered above the Great Basin desert, seated in the cockpit of one of the prototype fighter jets they had collaborated on. Proto Man piloted while Elec Man monitored the jet's systems with his handheld computer. For the past few minutes, Elec Man had occupied himself by looking over the jets gracefully tapered wings at the mesmerizing expanse of sand dunes rising and falling like folds of deep purple silk until finally becoming unnerved by Proto Man's silence.

"Sorry, guess I got distracted. What were we doing again?"

"Speed and maneuverability tests."

"Right."

Proto Man began flipping switches on the control board. Outside, the roar of the jet ceased as the engines cut off. The jet began to fall, the desert ground speeding toward them. Proto Man re-engaged its jet thruster a microsecond before they crashed. The jet shot forward like an arrow, delicately threading between a narrow canyon and several natural archways before climbing like a rocket back into the sky.

Proto Man smiled and looked over at Elec Man. "Well, what do you think?"

Elec Man shrugged. Despite the danger of the free fall, he had not even flinched. It was always difficult to impress him, even with dramatic aerobatic stunts (Proto Man found this lack of reaction to his daredevil piloting ways both amusing yet offensive). Instead, Elec Man's mind was laser-focused in the technical aspects of the jet's construction, constantly hunting for speed optimizations. "It's an improvement over the last model," he said, his eyes glued impassively to his screen. "The modifications you made to the horizontal stabilizer have drastically reduced wind drag, though I've made a few notes for increasing the turbines' power."

Proto Man nodded in satisfaction. "Still, better than anything out there. Kinda makes raiding airbases for jets pointless, huh?"

As though reading his mind, Elec Man remarked curtly, "You haven't raided airbases since before the New York gubernatorial election, not even for fun. You don't want to risk running into Mega Man or Roll."

The smile vanished from Proto Man's face. "I'm just taking a break from all that," he responded stiffly, then quickly changed the subject. "If we really want to push the limits of jet design, we ought to introduce spaceflight capability."

"Space? Why space?"

"The view is spectacular, and you're so far away from everything you just feel so…free."

"Seems like it's just a big boring black void."

"Guess some things have to be seen for yourself." Proto Man paused, getting an idea. "Say…aside from that time Wily was hijacking ships, you've never been out of the country, right?"

"No," Elec Man answered slowly, fidgeting slightly as he glanced up from his handheld computer. "No Syndicate Robot Master has ever left the United States. It would risk exposing the Syndicate's presence to the Robot International Police."

"Ever wanted to?" Proto Man prompted quickly, for he had noticed a subdued note of regret in Elec Man's voice. When Elec Man remained silent in cautious consideration, he continued, "Let's do some real speed tests. I can fly to the best sights. R.I.P. will never be the wiser. No one can catch me, especially not in this jet. I can stay clear of the ocean too if you want."

"The ocean doesn't bother me as much as it used to," Elec Man admitted hesitantly. Proto Man could tell he was struggling with mingled guilt over his past obligations to the Syndicate and burning curiosity, and the curiosity was winning.

Proto Man grinned. "Alright, if you trust me, let's see how fast this jet can lap Earth."

They zipped westward, the sun and moon playfully trading places in the sky in a reverse sunset, wooly clouds swirling over the jet, islands in the Pacific ocean flashing below them. As promised, Proto Man slowed and dropped altitude at some of the best sights. He had an endless list—from sharp snowy mountain peaks to volcanos with flowing rivers of lava, glaciers, tall feathery waterfalls, crumbling ruins and old castles, grassy plains filled with animals, colorful cities with breathtaking architecture—and was constantly discovering more. Despite his usual aloof, haughty pretenses, Elec Man's interest was captivated as he looked out the window, gazing upon views that he had never seen outside of pictures or on television.

It had only been an hour since they had left America. They had been touring Asia (flying over sheer cliffs that cut channels through a blanket of mist, their rocky tops stippled in pine trees with flat brush-like boughs) when Proto Man's communicator began flashing.

"Proto, where are you?" demanded Dr. Wily when Proto Man answered. "I've noticed you've been absent from my side these past few weeks."

"You were shut up in your lab, just wanted to keep out of the way," Proto Man responded airily. "I've just been building jets with Elec Man."

"Building jets? What for?"

"Prepping for the future. You know, just in case that—after you've become the evil emperor of the world—a rebel alliance steals the plans to your galactic doomsday weapon and I (as your evil second-in-command) gotta take out the rebel pilot before they blow it up."

"Whatever!" Dr. Wily snapped impatiently, but he continued on in a cordial and excited tone. "Return to Skull Fortress immediately. I am ready to begin the next steps for world domination, the most perfect plan of my career is about to unfold!"

"Uh…can you start that without me?" Proto Man asked, too used to Dr. Wily's dramatic way of slathering mystery and suspense to his schemes ideas to be genuinely intrigued. "I'll catch up later."

Out of the corner of his eye, Proto Man noticed Elec Man was watching him and smirking, as though reading his mind again. He turned his back on Elec Man, trying to ignore that he was listening in.

Dr. Wily sounded a bit thrown off by his answer. "No, you must be here! It is important, and I have something to show you…" Dr. Wily gave a low, wicked laugh, "…I'm ready to unleash my secret project."

Proto Man resisted sighing, still acutely aware of Elec Man's eyes on him. "Alright, alright, I'll be there." Proto Man switched off the communicator, then turned the jet around in a smooth arc, setting its course back toward the United States. "Sorry, we'll finish testing later," he said to Elec Man while shaking his head, "—Wily's been working on that secret project ever since his plans failed at Red Gulch…I should probably check it out."

"You probably should as his second-in-command, Light," Elec Man responded, smiling.

"Oh shut up," Proto Man grumbled.


After parking the jet in the western hanger, Proto Man headed over to the laboratory alone.

Dr. Wily eagerly awaited him. An alarming smile was fixed to his face as he rubbed his hands together gleefully, his eyes shining as though visualizing the suffering of his enemies.

Proto Man smiled back in mild amusement, then let his gaze slip over to Dr. Wily's secret project, which lay on one of the lab tables, completely hidden under a white tarp. "So this is it, huh? You're finally ready to show me what you've been working on?"

"Yes, the time has come for you to be brought in on the secret. Behold!" Dr. Wily tossed the white tarp away with the same dramatic flourish of a magician revealing his star act.

Proto Man looked down at the robot, then took an involuntary step backward.

Laying on the lab table was an android in night black armor trimmed with gold. His gloves and the feet of his boots were white, and a blue triangular gemstone adorning the front of his chest plate twinkled in the flickering fluorescent light like stars. Easily the boldest part of his armor were twin pieces of contoured metal, golden on the inside and black on the outside, that flared outward from a blue four-point star on the forehead of his helmet all the way around to the back of his head. Proto Man wasn't sure what Dr. Wily was going for with this helmet design—fish fins, bat wings, a cobra hood, an avant-garde version of Dr. Wily's own hair—yet one thing remained for sure—

—Dr. Wily's secret project was unmistakably a bomber robot.

Proto Man rounded slowly on Dr. Wily. "I thought you were rebuilding—doesn't matter. Who the hell is this?"

"This is Bass," proclaimed Dr. Wily, completely oblivious to Proto Man's tone. "—And this is his support unit, Treble," he added, casting aside a second tarp Proto Man hadn't noticed earlier.

A large robo-wolf lay powered down on the floor. He was not at all like the monstrous werewolf robots Dr. Wily had once created, but (admittedly) beautifully crafted like real wolves in the wild (and looked equally as dangerous). Treble had twilight purple armor trimmed with gold that complemented Bass's armor, white synthetic fur, lethal-looking claws, and was easily twice the size of Rush.

Proto Man shook his head in disbelief. "Bass and Treble, huh? Musical names, just like Rock and Roll. Real cute, Doc."

"Yes," Dr. Wily agreed, looking upon Bass with something like paternal pride. "I have been studying that blue menace, hoping to create a similar robot—"

"You have not!" Proto Man burst out angrily. "You just copied me!"

Red splotches appeared on Dr. Wily's boney cheekbones. "Well, you and Mega Man are built from the same plans," he retorted tersely, shooting Proto Man an annoyed look.

Proto Man stalked closer to Dr. Wily, his clenched fists shaking. "You're replacing me? After everything we've been through?"

He couldn't believe this! Sure, Proto Man has been blowing off all his duties as second-in-command for the past two months (only hearing how the rest of Robot Masters were doing from Top Man, who often visited the western hanger) and not really paying attention to what Dr. Wily was up to at all, but this was completely uncalled for! If Dr. Wily thought he could just drop this news casually, he had another thing coming, for Proto Man was fully prepared to ruthlessly defend his position out of sheer indignation and principle…

Dr. Wily looked genuinely taken aback by Proto Man's behavior. "What? I'm not replacing you!" His face widened into a grin. "Don't you see, Proto? Two bomber robots are better than one! Bass can look up to you for mentorship, and you will finally have the little brother you've always wanted."

Proto Man stopped short. "No, that's worse."

"Yeeess," Dr. Wily countered soothingly. "I know how hurt you were when Mega Man rejected you once again. Don't pretend as though you haven't been sulking! 'Building jets,' pah! Well you can forget Mega Man, Bass will be your replacement brother, for he too is built from the same plans as Mega M—"

"That's not how robot siblings work," Proto Man interrupted. "We weren't built by the same person. You're not my father."

Though Proto Man had painstakingly kept his voice level, his words were met with a bit of silence.

"We're kinda like evil roommates, and that's how I like things—" Proto Man added in a gentler tone, relaxing his fists as his anger reluctantly abated.

"Fine, whatever! I always thought calling Mega Man your 'brother' was a silly sentiment anyway," Dr. Wily snapped. His cheekbones had turned to an unflattering shade of radish, but he seemed determined to carry on with the dignity and prestige he felt the moment deserved, as though to spite Proto Man. "Well, now that that's settled, it is time for us all to meet."

"Wait, don't—" Proto Man protested, for he had wanted to persuade Dr. Wily to dismantle Bass and Treble immediately and never speak of them again.

Too late. Dr. Wily had drawn a pocket-sized remote from his pocket, and with a click of a button, both Bass's and Treble's systems began to boot up with a soft hum of servos.

Bass did not activate like a normal android. It was as if he were coming out of a dream, his face tightening and his eyes moving rapidly beneath his lids. When he finally opened his eyes with an effort, he winced at the bright bay light Dr. Wily had positioned directly over him like a searchlight, the pupils in his bright red irises contracting. It reminded Proto Man of a captured wild animal rousing from sedation in a new and strange environment and was about to become very, very angry. Bass, however, remained calm. He blinked and began scrutinizing Proto Man and Dr. Wily in disgruntled puzzlement. From the floor, Treble rose to his feet, shook himself off briefly, and was regarding them with equal silent intensity, as though at a word of command he would pounce on either of them and tear them to shreds, allies or not.

But Dr. Wily once again seemed stubbornly oblivious to the atmosphere of hostility as he cackled triumphantly. "Arise, Bass, the Black Bomber—ultimate warrior of darkness, foe to all that is good, the world shall tremble in the wake of your destruction! Arise Treble, fearsome minion of Bass! With you at my side—and Proto at my other side—humanity shall finally bow down to me!"

Bass wasn't listening. He had sat up and was twisting around to look around the dark dingy laboratory, scowling at the sinister machinery whose indicator lights blinked from the shadows and the thick cables climbing up the walls. Then he grimaced, a hand touching his temple, and glared up at Dr. Wily.

"Why are my memory chips blank? What have you done to me?"

…Bizarre first words. Proto Man's mouth parted slightly as he looked from Bass to Dr. Wily.

"Now, now, don't fret," Dr. Wily cooed as though talking to a small child, stepping towards Bass. "Everything is as it should be…you are just feeling disoriented because your systems haven't fully powered on, but they shall soon, and you will feel much better, my powerful robotic champion of evil!"

Bass recoiled away from Dr. Wily, his face twisting in disgust. "I don't want to be your 'champion'. I don't even know who you are."

Now Proto Man and Dr. Wily were staring at Bass, confused. "Bass, I am your creator," Dr. Wily told him, raising his bushy brows.

Bass's eyes were narrowed. "No you aren't."

"How can you say such a thing?" Dr. Wily hovered anxiously over Bass. "Perhaps your perception circuits haven't fully calibrated yet."

"How could a pathetic loser like you create a robot as powerful as me?" Bass continued in a cold, even voice.

Dr. Wily's nostrils flared, his face turning white with fury. It was one of the rare times he had been rendered speechless.

Bass turned his attention to Proto Man. "Who are you?"

"Proto Man, second-in-command," Proto Man answered with a casual shrug. He did not feel like extending a hand to Bass, nor of giving him any sort of welcome at all.

Bass scoffed. Whatever first impression he might have had of Proto Man seemed likewise to have fallen. "Second-in-command? To him? Why?"

"Bass," Dr. Wily interrupted, his beady blue eyes flashing dangerously as a vein began to pulse on his forehead. "You are my robot, and your purpose is to destroy the one thing between me and world conquest, the titanium menace, Mega Man."

Another scoff. "Who?"

Despite himself, Proto Man could have laughed at the sheer audacity of Bass's disrespect…if he wasn't still a bit suspicious and annoyed with Bass's very existence. He also did not like the still way Treble watched them.

"Mega Man is the worst robot in the world, the Blue Bomber—a nosey do-gooder and busybody," explained Dr. Wily through gnashed teeth. "He has been a thorn in my side ever since the beginning. Every scheme, my beautiful, brilliant work, all thwarted by him!"

"How is any of that my problem?" demanded Bass. "I don't care about any 'Blue Bomber.' I don't even know him."

Dr. Wily's eyes popped at this, and a second vein began pulsing in his forehead. "Of course you must care about Mega Man! You two are to be arch rivals! You must hate him! As my Black Bomber, you are built both as his equal and as his superior, while he is the troublesome creation of my oldest enemy, the cursed Dr. Light!"

"Dr. Light?" repeated Bass sharply. "Is that the scientist you stole me from?"

For someone who had only been activated for only a few minutes, Bass had figured out how to push Dr. Wily's buttons with a sledgehammer.

"I DID NOT STEAL YOU," Dr. Wily shrieked, now nearly stomping with hysterics that would have sent Cut Man and Guts Man cowering under the lab table. "You are my prized creation! It was I who built you, no one else!"

"'Prized creation'?" Bass snorted. "You only wish that were true. I can see from here all you build is junk."

Proto Man was starting to calm down. Though he didn't like the idea of Dr. Wily building his own bomber robot as a new archival for Mega Man (that was still his job), he was enjoying watching Dr. Wily's personal little abomination completely backfire in his face. Still, he felt he better intervene before Dr. Wily's head exploded. "Alright, take it down a notch, kid," he said, stepping smugly forward.

Bass eyes snapped toward Proto Man. "Don't call me kid."

"I've been here long before he started working on you. Trust me, you weren't stolen, I'd have noticed. …Probably." Proto Man stifled a laugh, but couldn't keep derision out of his voice as he looked at Bass's helmet. "Besides…who else but Wily would build something like you?"

Bass stared at Proto Man with the utmost fury and contempt. "He's hiding something from me. It's all wrong. I—I can sense it."

"Pshh, you're crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"I'm telling ya, you were built by Wily. Now act like it and show some respect before I blast you into titanium dust."

"Go to hell," Bass hissed.

Proto Man looked lazily over at Dr. Wily. "Look, Doc, it's clear he won't take orders. He's acting irrational, might even have a problem with his guidance system. I better take him out for ya—just to be on the safe side."

Dr. Wily grew stubborn, his face pinched tight. "He does not have a problem with his computer guidance system!"

Bass leaped from off lab table with a surprising agility that even seemed to take himself off guard, and he landed with an unsure steadiness like a newborn colt taking its first steps. Then his left hand sank into his arm as he formed a blaster. Proto Man watched him carefully. If Bass was a true bomber robot, then he was also an advanced android with free will and could copy weapons, both of which could make him a formidable opponent…

Eyes locked on Bass's plasma cannon, Dr. Wily hastily scrambled backward. "Bass! What is the meaning of this?!"

"There's something in my head…never mind. I don't have time for either of you. I don't belong here. I'm going to go find my creator—"

"It was definitely Wily," interjected Proto Man pleasantly.

"—And my true purpose."

From Bass's side, Treble was still quiet as a shadow, but, responding to the rising tension, his lips had curled back from his fangs, and his hackles had risen behind his conical-shaped helmet. Still smirking at Bass, Proto Man calmly drew his own blaster, his old thrill for fighting rising.

Dr. Wily's whipped back and forth between them, aghast. "Bass—Proto—stop! STOP!"

Bass sprang forward. Proto Man fired, but Bass did a sort of double jump midair (an ability Proto Man had never seen before), and the electric blue plasma bolt streaked past and hit a computer terminal instead. Bass had also fired, and Proto Man moved instantly in front of Dr. Wily.

…If Bass had aimed at Dr. Wily as Proto Man had expected, Proto Man would have parried the shot then made good on his promise to blast Bass into 'titanium dust,' but Bass had aimed above everyone's heads. A phosphorescent viridian plasma bolt hit the ceiling, and huge chunks of metal began crashing down. Proto Man grabbed Dr. Wily by the collar of his lab coat quickly yanked him to safety. On the other side of the laboratory, he just caught sight of Bass slipping through the open laboratory door before a wall of rubble cut off his view and blocked them in.

"…Can I kill him now?" Proto Man asked as Dr. Wily coughed, a cloud of dust filling the air.


Bass ran through the dark twisting halls of this strange fortress, an impending sense of time ticking above his head.

His mind was in a whirl, and he kept scanning his memory chips. Of course, they were still blank save for the data of the past fifteen minutes. Like Treble, he was brand new, everything about him was brand new…yet, he felt he could still sense something was supposed to be there, like a faint imprint of a past life that was gradually slipping away from him like a whirlpool rushing down a drain. There was something important he couldn't forget. Something at the end…

He paused in the middle of one of the long dark corridors, furiously thinking about what he should do next, then caught sight of his reflection in a dark window.

Is this really me? he wondered as he studied himself for a moment. He took off his helmet. Black hair, soft to the touch, swept wildly back from his face. "I look…human," he muttered aloud, grimacing.

Completely baffled, he stared at his reflection a moment longer, then punched the window with his blaster arm. As broken shards flew to the ground, he looked at his fist, uncurling the fingers. It was a mirror of his other hand. A sense of foreignness crept over him, and remembered how unexpectedly light, fast, and powerful his body felt.

Why do I feel so strange…?

He thought back to the faint impressions in the back of his mind, and closed his eyes to better visualize their meaning. Something warm grew in his chest, but no answers came to him. He opened his eyes again, feeling frustrated and lost. Yet when Bass looked down, he noticed Treble had followed him here and was sitting at his side watching him, a patient expression in his ruby-red eyes.

Bass's mood lifted. "You don't take orders from those idiots either, do you? Glad I'm not the only sane one around here," he told Treble, smiling. "Stick close. Something weird's going on. I don't trust either of them. We were definitely stolen…those assholes."

Then Bass looked out the broken window. A warm breeze of dry desert air played over his face, ruffling his hair. Bass's lips parting as he gazed at the full moon and starry sky above the shadowy badlands, an indescribable feeling washing over him as he beheld the outside world. He almost forgot about Dr. Wily, Proto Man, and the gloomy laboratory.

But the fading memories still itched at the back of his mind, and urgency soon returned to him. Beckoning to Treble, he replaced his helmet, stepped through the broken window, and began running across the sandy plains to get as far away as possible from Skull Fortress.

To be continued…