MegaMan NT Warrior (Rockman) Fan Fiction ❯ Shooting Stars and Reploid Arms ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Well... My editor is currently out of the country, so she hasn't had a chance to edit this, yet. I have re-read it, though, but then again I'm not perfect, so there could be some problems.

 

So, please, Please! Review!!

 

 

Shooting Stars and Reploid Arms

 

Turning Insanity to Sanity

 

 

“This,” a manila folder held together by four of five different sized rubber bands hit the desk in emphasis, “is Colonel Jack O'Neill's medical record. I suggest you skim the highlights.”

 

Honorary Dr. Rock Xavier Light, or more commonly known as X, cocked a brown eyebrow at the packet. He looked up at his new boss, one Dr. Janet Fraiser, and smiled warmly at the worn woman.

 

“I see why you're in desperate need of help, Dr. Fraiser.” X gently stood up from the desk, taking with him the manila packet.

 

Janet cocked her own eyebrow in his direction, “You believe the fact that's all Jack's?”

 

“Yes, ma'am,” X smiled. “You see, given the extreme nature of Zero's ...eh... extracurricular activities back during high school... Well, to be blunt... I've got an idea of how, exactly, someone might get a folder this size over the coarse of a few months.”

 

Janet held her jaw in. She hadn't told him that was his monthly folder. All she had said was, “This is it” and he'd taken it as if it were nothing.

 

“Well... I see...” she fought back her fourth yawn this hour. X pushed her out of the ward.

 

“Go to bed, doctor.” Janet was about to protest when X laid a finger over her lips. “I'll be fine. Trust me.”

 

“Famous last words, X.”

 

“They're only the last words if you're saying them, Zero. Now, if you'll excuse me,” X took a seat in the spare ME's chair, carefully trying not to break the frail rubber bands of the manila folder. “I have a lot of Unit Zero Type reading to get through.”

 

Both Zero and X could feel Axl trying to stop from laughing out loud.

 

*

 

Oh, how Jack did not want to be Janet right now. He'd gotten shot by a staff blast in the back. Again. At least this time, none of SG-3 had been jumped by little snaky hitchhikers, and the blond in SG-6 had actually held his own.

 

His folder fell with a hard slam down against the table next to him. He turned, finding the new medic glaring at him with brilliant green eyes covered in hidden frost.

 

“Given your record, Colonel, I think you'd have a better chance dodging Jaffa staff blasts if you painted a neon red bull's eye in the middle of your back and hung a sign around your neck saying “Free Target Practice Here”.”

 

First word out of Jack's mouth was priceless. “Wha...?”

 

“You heard me.” The new medic made a mark on Jack's chart. “No visitors until you're discharged from my service, unless it's the General who comes knocking. And only the General. The rest of your team is being stripped of visiting privileges. Even the resident Jaffa,”

 

“What?!”

 

“You heard me, Colonel O'Neill.”

 

“Where's Janet? I want a second opinion!”

 

“Then you're going to have to wait another,” he looked down at his watch, “five hours.”

 

“Five hours!” O'Neill looked about ready to jump out of bed and pummel the newbie, and he would have to, had it not been for the IV currently lacerating his arm.

 

“Yes sir. By then, she'll have had a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. But, don't worry. I'll be sure to have someone deliver a full report on exactly how this...little mishap occurred.”

 

He wanted to kill him. He really, really wanted to kill him. And had it not been for the fact his instincts were screaming if he dared to even try and go against him he'd be worse off than being in the hands of a System Lord, he would have already been planning the newbie's death.

 

Although... just because he couldn't plan his death didn't mean he couldn't plan some revenge.

 

*

 

Zackary “Zero” Omega Wily sat with his feet propped up on the meeting room table, leaning as far back in the chair as he could. Somehow, through some little trick of the trade he was never going to reveal to anyone save his two cohorts, he had managed to get the military inspectors to okay his long hair while in uniform. Rumor was he used his status as a civilian working in the military as a trump card in the negotiations.

 

“Zero.” A single board baby blue eye opened, looking in the general direction of his superior officer. “Get your red-tinted combat boots off the bloody damn table. Now.”

 

That was something Zero liked about his commander. The man was an old combat vet, recently returned from minor border skirmish action in Korea who, technically, should have been retired a long, long time ago. When everything was set and done, it meant that you listened to the grey haired beady sand color eyed elder. Or else.

 

Two red-tinted combat boots fell to the floor, consequentially dragging their owner to his full and upright position. Two of the younger airmen, one with blond hair died raven black, the other with dark brown hair, fought down snickers. Zero sent a glare in their direction, only gaining more snickers of laughter.

 

“Attention!”

 

The three Air Force members stood straight up at attention in a heart beat. Zero, on the other hand, stood up slowly, like a snake reluctantly uncurling from his sun-warmed stone. A young man walked in next, wearing a Lt. Commander's insignia on his shoulder.

 

“At ease,” Zero literally fell back down into his chair, relaxing in an instant, while it took the others a few more minutes to work themselves back into their chairs. The debriefing officer sent him a sidelong glance, which he dutifully ignored.

 

“Alright, let's hear it.”

 

“Sir,” Zero's commander stood, file folder in hand, “the mission was ambushed, sir.”

 

“So I've been told by both SG-3 and SG-1. I want to hear your take on the situation.”

 

“It's in the briefing, sir.”

 

“Yes, but I want to hear it in words.”

 

“We took a left instead of a right and ran straight into a group of training Jaffa. All three teams screwed up. Happy now?” Zero growled out. A glare from two different sources met his statement.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't believe I was talking to you, civilian.” There was absolutely no physical reaction from the red-tinted combat boot wearing warrior in response to the acid tone thrown his way.

 

“Ah, so you're going to pull the old “We can work with civilians fine. Not.” Bull crap, hum?” Zero reached up, grabbing a hold of one of the few loose strands of hair falling over his eyes. He played with it slightly, running it between his fingers like a board cat with a feather toy.

 

The interrogator fumed slightly, “Fine then, Mr. Wily. What was your opinion of today's near disaster?”

 

“Hum...” there was an almost steely tone in Zero's voice now, “Puddle jumping is an interesting experience.” Zero stood up, silencing the interrogator before he could interrupt.

 

“I mean, you go through something which looks exactly like an inverted puddle of water, only to have your molecules separated into tiny little bits and pieces, and for the split seconds it takes you to get there you feel like you're on top of the world. Then, you have dirt under your feet - or in the case of a couple of rookies, dirt in your mouth - and you start wondering. Is this really off-world? Or is this just some kind of elaborate hoax meant to spend taxpayer money on developing different weapons of mass destruction. And don't you even think of telling me the things R&D cooks up aren't capable of leveling at least one major city.

 

“Then you turn the corner, expecting more of this sunlit paradise, only to see a streak of gold flash past you, and a crimson jet of fluid as the person you just met, who just went though the same experience as you, who is just as shocked about little grey men as you are. As the man you call your comrade falls to his knees, his leg blown straight out from under him. Not a sound dares to echo for a moment. Just a single, solitary moment.... Then all hell breaks lose and the only things you can think of are KBK. Or, simply put, Kill or Be Killed. And you start praying your training was good enough and that you can avoid a case of Friendly Fire the first day you're on the job.”

 

By the time Zero had ended, he had casually walked around the large briefing room table. The interrogator of the hour swallowed dryly, unable to break eye contact with the blond haired cobra slinking his way. He notably flinched when Zero collapsed back down into his seat, looking as casual as ever.

 

“But, then again, that's only the opinion of a civilian. A civilian whose commanding officer was, about five minutes ago, being badgered by someone who thinks they can just walk in and try to pin the blame on the newbie unit because they're new.”

 

“At least we've got better luck than SG-1.” the raven-haired private muttered under his breath.

 

“Damn straight!” Zero laughed, leaning back slightly.

 

“V-Very well...” the interrogator gathered up the papers before him. “That is all... Dismissed!”

 

There were a few moments of uninterrupted silence in which the interrogator ran as fast as he could without looking like he was trying to run from the room. Those few moments broke when the old Korean Vet released a tense breath out into the world.

 

“Zero, I don't know weather to thank you or kill you.”

 

“You could try both?” the brown haired soldier suggested with a shrug.

 

“Indeed I could.” he snickered slightly. “Well then... let's go see how McCormet's men are doing, shall we?”

 

“Yes sir,”

 

*

 

“I should have known this was gonna happen...”

 

“Axl, you're a limited psychic, not a fortune teller.” Zero's sarcastic snort shocked him back into a semi-clear form of reality. “You really need to stop zoning so bad.”

 

A feeling mixed between worry and relief fluttered towards him from X's corner of his mind. “I have good news and bad news.”

 

Axl looked up slightly from his prone position near the entrance of the medical ward. X was standing there, Commander McCormet standing off to one side, looking for all the world as if he just wanted to bash his head into the nearest door frame. He most likely would have, too, had it not been for the fact he was more or less in public.

 

“The good news is Trenton Dallas will make a near full recover without having to lose his leg. The bad news is Commander McCormet thinks the whole situation is his fault.”

 

“Er.... Colonel O'Neill was in charge of the mission... wasn't he?”

 

“Yes, he was. He is currently confined to his bed for the duration of his own recovery. Visitor privileges have been stripped, also.”

 

“Come off it, X. All he did was get shot in the back. Again.”

 

“Zero.”

 

“Yeah X?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Zero walked in the waiting room then. His hands were stuffed deep down within the bowls of his pockets, his hair streaming loose, signaling the fact he was off duty. Or at least, in his mind he was off duty. Three other men were behind him, two of which were still just barely old enough to be called boys. The red-tinted combat boot wearing warrior nodded his head ever so slightly towards X and Axl. He managed to catch McCormet's half broken blue eyed smile, giving him his own half smirk of understanding. McCormet's response was to start banging his head against the nearby wall.

 

“David! Honestly, boy!” Zero's commanding officer huffed loudly.

 

“I should have...”

 

“I should ah this, I should ah that.” The Korean Vet huffed slightly in a semi annoying laugh. “Boy, this is as much my fault and Colonel O'Neill's fault as it is your fault. As commanding officers, we're supposed to make sure injuries on the field never happen. Injuries do happen, though, no matter how much we wish they wouldn't. Life sucks, boy. Get used to it.”

 

“Amen to that,”

 

“Commander Lorance?” X could hardly keep the smirk off his lips, “Private Dallas is free for visitors now, if you would like to see him?”

 

“Indeed,” Lorance patted McCormet on the shoulder one final time, before despairing behind the blue medical guardian. X smiled slightly at the still shaky McCormet.

 

“For what it's worth, sir,” McCormet looked over slightly at Axl, “I think you did a damn good job keeping everyone in line. If it weren't for you taking point when Dallas got hit, I honestly think he'd be dead.”

 

“I was only doing my job, Wallace.”

 

Alex “Axl” Wallace flinched slightly. “Please, sir, just call me Axl.”

 

McCormet snickered slightly. “Alright then, Axl. Let's say you and me go check on the rest of the boys.”

 

“So long as there's a bed with my name on it at the end of the tour, sure, I'm in.”

 

McCormet slung his arm around Axl's shoulder, walking off down the hall with a laugh echoing in his wake.