Disclaimer: All characters belong to Capcom. Blind, Dr. Asuhara, Aesculapius, and other random people thrown in, unfortunately, belong to me. Blind only belongs to me until the very end, where his 'secret identity' is revealed and I must return him to his proper owners. Damn him.

Inanimate-character death.

Chapter 3

In the dead of storming quiet, there was nothing to do but endure the wails of one's inner workings. Silence captured the loudest thoughts, suspending them just out of reach in self-torture, and loving every second of it. It bore all secrets, memories, and achievements, all good and bad, to the light in attempt to drown the silence out. And most importantly, in the experienced eye of precognition, the future was there to see, as plain as any tangible object.

In due time, the nightmare will crest its climax, and at that pinnacle, the sleeper will awaken...to find it wasn't a dream at all, but a set path that will branch into two: one of retribution and another of salvation.

Soon. So soon, it be over. No longer the prophet, the soothsayer, the magic oracle. Just...normal. Ordinary. Plain.

Or dead, hissed a tiny, cynical voice. Dead would be nice. Death means not living through the agony of continuous life. Death means justice.

"But then, I-- /we/ would have done this...for nothing. Led to their own demise...because of something I could not control."

my own abduction

In the past...

"Tea time!" cried out the blonde joyfully as she burst through the door, carrying a tray of fine china cups and teapot. It never failed to make Dr. Light jump out of his skin in fright.

"Roll, please," he said, frantically dabbing a handkerchief at his brow. "You should really stop being so boisterous. I'll have a heart attack one of these days."

"Then you should really be careful to not get so wrapped up in your tinkerings," she countered with a wink. "All I'm doing is unsubtly reminding you that even robotic geniuses need breaks, just like the rest of the human population. Besides, your blood pressure and cholesterol are fine, so you shouldn't be dying of any cardio problems in this lifetime."

Light sighed and Roll placed the tray on a nearby table, pouring the tea into a cup and handing it to him, which he thanked her kindly for. Roll took a cup for herself, smiling. "So what's new on the production line?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said, dropping himself into a chair. "Just an electro-pattern hologram generator that produces a living replicant of a human's mind. Small things."

Roll blinked, tipping her head to the side in curiosity. "That...doesn't sound very small, Doctor. And I though you gave up stuff like that."

Light smiled weakly around the rim of his cup. "I....I did. But something inspired me to try this one."

Roll gave a low whistle. "Well, if this thing does what I think it does, that's..." she chuckled nervously, "pretty high on the scale of machines humans /shouldn't/ invent."

"No, it shouldn't be. But it's not as if I'm going public with it. The farthest this information will reach is Russia, but only for Serges' opinion and that's it."

"But Doctor, this hologram...thing," for lack of better words, "sounds potentially dangerous. How are going to test that it works?"

A humored twinkle sparked in the doctor's eye; Roll drank the tea in her cup in gulps, trying in vain to drown away the realization. "Dr. Light! No, you can't. What if something goes wrong??"

"Roll, dear," he said, taking her hand. "That's not for a long, long time off. I don't plan on taking that plunge any time soon."

She breathed. "Good. ...Good." And she poured herself another cup.

In the present...

Every country had their Mavericks hounding down their backs. Commanders, sub-commanders, minions, pawns, knights, whatever you could name, at least one of them existed in the lower ranks of the Maverick terrorism. They were either loyal to Sigma with the promise of vengeance or bloodshed on their hands, infected with his viral data, twisting and contorting their programs until they were nothing more than soulless drones, or temporarily tricked into his service before extermination.

Every country had a army of men and reploids at their fingertips. The matter itself was a delicate one, as every reploid had to be carefully monitored for any signs of betrayal or contamination, both having happened in the past decades.

They all had their champions per side; France cracked around the explosive force between the Hunter Gaeton and Maverick rebel Shirmadon. Amazonian goddess Hypolita with her 'tribe' guarded South America from the wildcat-armored Maverick, Lynx Chang. And Japan had the ones recognized by the rest of the world: Megaman X and Zero.

But Japan was the country everyone knew was stressed with responsibility, as Sigma made no secret to what area of the world he remained stationed. The trouble was pinpointing him exactly, and that had yet to be accomplished.

Sigma was powerful, yes, but sometimes..sometimes it seemed...that there were others pulling the strings. That all were puppets on a stage for the amusement of someone else.

In time, however, the strings would be cut for good and the puppeteer left to reveal his deception.

"Be alert. You have ten minutes to get the designation points before they fall to Earth."

"Yes sir," said Aster, his fingers flying swiftly over the console before him. "Vlade will recover subject 2 for you, while Dynamo observes subject 4, and I will recover Dynamo, as well as subject 3 for interrogation and an update, and make sure the pieces fall together correctly, when and where they should." He paused, and let his professionalism briefly fall away. "Just pray your machine works the way you say it should; I've believed in redemption for too long to have it crumble before my eyes."

A bitter smile. "The cycle hasn't ended yet, Asterlite," Aster frowned in disapproval at the nickname, "and I'll be damned that I'm the one that breaks it. You're losing precious time, gentlemen."

The screen clicked off and Aster swerved his chair around, only to face those he had to address. "You heard him. We go now," he said, standing up, "or we ruin all the blood, sweat, tears, and years we've woven to get this far."

Dynamo made an unamused sound, turning on his heels to head for the door, and making elaborate hand gestures. "That's the way it goes. Me an' Vlade just get back with news of what the hell is up with our two warring love birds, and we're immediately swept out the door again. How ungrateful." He hmphed, turning his nose up in disdain.

Vlade snickered and fell along side Aster, tailing Dynamo out of the room. "That's how life goes, especially when your playing the game 'Save Your Future'."

Dynamo scoffed loudly and Aster gave the red reploid a light, nearly empty smile. "Some future, huh?"

"Mmm. ...Forty years of war, all about to end. Seems almost too good to be true, even if we lose."

"Which is why," Aster said, "we need to live. To enjoy it."

"A long time ago, a story was written into the fabric of the universe, a mere stitch in a woven tapestry. It spoke of a man who would save humanity on a tiny mudball of a planet. But then tragedy fell upon him, as he was stripped of his beloved." ...Cackle. "Ooooo, you have no idea how much I am getting off on this."

Zero's eye ticked out of irritation and he turned his head to glare threateningly at the fox-eyed medic officer; Aesclad ignored it.

X shook his head at the idiocy of it all. They had been shuffled into a sound-proof operating room-- "I will /not/ have you waking up my damn patients if you decide to sob like a baby during this delicate procedure."-- the second X had stepped into the ward, a pair of plain grey sweatpants and matching t-shirt stuffed under his arm for Zero.

The room was full of equipment meant for human emergencies. Unlike reploid surgeries, humans were high maintenance creatures even when they didn't mean to be, and the padding between and over the walls were a consideration to everyone outside; not every casualty could be put under quick enough.

And now, Zero sat on the very table used to slice up wounded humans, his hands clutching the edge so hard his knuckles turned white and his feet played footsie with each other out of apprehension. Aesculapius was having too much fun, trying to make the atmosphere of grief, misery, fright, hesitance, nervousness, mourning, et cetera, last as long as possible. Easily, he accomplished it.

Donned in civilian attire, X sat lazily in a metal arm chair across from his friend, temple against his knuckles, and casting the illusion of discontentment and apathy. But inside, he did feel pity. The brunette knew first-hand how much Zero pampered his gold locks, from the care products that could be found in his toiletry duffel to the ebony-stained, ivory combs he kept locked away from all prying eyes.

Not to mention I used to love running my fingers through it, mused X sadly, his expression betraying no thought that crossed his mind.

"Alright then!" Aesclad cheered, the snipping of cloth shears rebounding through the small enclosing. "Let's get started."

The fair-haired doctor ignored the whimper from his victim, and hardly wasted any time chipping away at the artificial fibers, but savoring every bit of anguish the Shinobi emanated; he even began to hum the song stuck in his head since that morning.

X frowned sympathetically, but with Zero's eyes screwed tight and Aesclad submerged into his own sadistic world, no one noticed. What he should been doing was holding the blonde's hand in comfort and acting the role Aesculapius had summoned him for. Instead, he remained as is, staring at them both with a piercing gaze and as motionless as a marble statue.

Metal crunched beneath Zero's hands when Aesclad reached the mid-point and X finally gave in, leaning over to grasp onto his friend's wrist, hoping to coax it away from damaging the table any further. It let go without a fight and the hand twisted around to grasp X's firmly; Zero hardly moved otherwise.

"Almost done there, cherry boy," chirped Aesculapius, taking the last few cuts as slow as possible. "And when I'm done, you might as well go flop into a pod instead of that bed of yours-- why do you two even have beds? You're hardly the types that need them--; you're looking somewhat fatigued and you could use the recharge."

Zero gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, sure Doc, whatever."

"Hey hey, now." Aesclad leaned over Zero's shoulder, smirking. "Doctor's orders are /law/, 'sir'. You don't follow them, you can be suspended-- Ooooh!" He was looking down at the joined hands, eyes sparkling in mischief. "Is this why you suddenly got an attitude problem? If it is, I probably should've left X to whatever god-awful paperwork he was handling, if not then just to make you more cooperative."

Zero turned his head to growl at the intruding figure -- he -was- getting a piece of his best friend, after all, but received a sharp thwap to the back of his skull for even moving a millimeter, and Aesclad retreated back to finish his job. At the same time, X paled, his fingers slackening, but Zero's grip was resolved and unrelenting. "Ano...Aesca-san..."

Aesclad snorted good-naturedly, taking X's embarrassment as something else. "What? If you think I'm implying that you're a pair of gay lovers or something, you couldn't be more wrong." The last cut was made and Zero felt light headed without the weight. Aesculapius turned fox-faced again and happily tucked the huge tail of hair into a metal, storage box. "But if you asked me, you two would make a daaa'ling couple."

X flushed bright red. "Ae-Aesculapius!"

Aesclad only grinned. "Just stay here and comfort this injured shell of a man. ...Or leave, I don't care. I need to take this," he indicated the box, "to Burcan and Dougy for analysis. Be back in a few." And he skipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him without another word.

X kept his eye on the door for a spare second, skeptical of Aesclad's claims and, if anything, a touch paranoid that he'd burst back in there and try to catch them kissing...or something. People were strange like that and if Aesclad were one of them, he was to be very disappointed.

Out of eyesight, he heard Zero shift uncomfortably and X recast his eyes back to his friend. .....Were he anyone else, X might've found the uncharacteristic vulnerability in the other Hunter arousing; having the defenses of an S class Hunter drop to the dirt were the same chances of a reploid getting infected with the human's common cold.

But X still felt nothing but sympathy, and lifted a hand to brush back a now diminutive lock behind an ear. "It's not that bad, Z. We can go get you a professional cut later, if that's okay."

Zero mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a whine. X cocked an eyebrow. "Louder."

"...I want ice cream."

With an uneasy smile and a chuckle to boot, X stood up, taking both of Zero's hands into his and guiding the blonde onto his own feet. "Yeah, I can imagine. ...C'mon, lemme take you back to the room."

"Major Akaia!"

The woman in question's head snapped up to the alerted officer's direction, hurrying over in stiff, controlled strides. "What is it, Sergeant?"

"We have five irregularities hanging over the outer edge of the city."

"'Hanging'?"

"Yes, ma'am. The energy they're emitting is scaling off the charts, like the TDs, except...." The reploid sounded stumped. "...bigger. But the flux relay shows they only have a six foot diameter."

Akaia growled at the monitor's calculations and whipped around to face the backs of other spotters. "All personnel who are currently not overseeing one of the units, I want these things under observation, now! And I want the 18th to act as a medium standby!"

"Ma'am, something's happening!"

"I'm detecting litho-titanium shells dropping from each signature."

"Are they bombs?!"

"No sign of explosives in any of them."

"Major, they've reached ground zero!"

Silence.

Akaia's heart stopped momentarily, waiting for the heat scanners to rise and reveal the makings of nuclear war... But seconds turned into minutes and she resumed command again as fluid as mercury. "Units 18 and 11. Get them out there to each of the five points, stat!"

In the past...

"Dr. Light?" Roll watched as the scientist frantically busied himself with locating an electrical pattern of a reading on screen. "What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure," replied the elderly man, barely taking his eyes off the giant monitor. "A high flux of energy appeared in a local area, but away from populated residencies. If I were an expert on behavior of bizarre occurrences, I'd say /this/ was odd."

"Could it be Dr. Wily?" inquired Roll fearfully.

"I don't-- Do me a favor and scan for any humanoid bio-signatures around the flux in a mile diameter."

Instantly, the girl pulled up a rolling chair and swung herself over to the instruments on the doctor's right. With practiced ease, every wire was inserted into her neck and ears and she closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. The first thing to appear in her memory banks was a crude contour map made of dots and lines, fed to her from the dish atop the laboratory. Accessing the programs for Creation, she was able to pinpoint three signatures, two in combat-- to the south of the flux-- and a third farther north of both the traces and flux. Library records indicated that Forte and Rock were at it again, and Blues was closing on their irregularity.

Dr. Light received the answer to his request in two point seven-five-eight seconds. "The 'trio' are in the quadrant. Coincidence? It can't be."

Mentally filing the information, Light refused to waver from his analysis. "Contact Rock."

The benefits of being a machine. ... Port terminal A, five by five no peace on earth, hail the knight and his horse, surrender to Atlantis. Control point dash-zero-zero-one to dash-zero-zero-two, dial up and connect.

The response was lightning, if not emotionally strained. [I'm busy, Roll!]

In her trance, Roll's face scrunched up. How rude. [There's a situation in your area and I'm not talking about your daily scuffle. An alien energy mass has penetrated reality!]

From where Rock stood, he crashed with a flail; he avoided Forte's attack out of sheer luck. His tone rang of disbelief. [Come again??]

[You heard me, Rock. Big energy flux, not too far away from your current position. Don't you feel it?]

[If you don't mind--] Rock barely managed to roll out of the way from the ebony robot's follow-up move and changed his tactics from 'retaliate' to 'defend'. [--I won't be feeling anything except Forte's /fist/ through my che-- What??]

[Rrrrruh! Boys. Pay attention. Stop focusing on Forte and concentrate on the north!]

Rock blinked. "...." .... [.....] ....What?

[...Blues is there.]

Okay, that much cleared his battle-fuddled mind. His eyes brightened and a huge smile broke on his face; he spun to face the north, stars in those blue eyes. "Oniisama!"

Obviously, Rock wasn't the only one to become distracted. "Yeeaaaa--huh?" There was a crash of metal against earth and Forte's body slide into view beside him, face down in the slightly damp dirt. Rock looked down at his fallen opponent and tapped the crested helmet with his foot. "Oi, Forte-kun, you alright?"

A grounded hand curled into the dirt in frustration and Forte quickly got to his feet, spitting grass and soil out of his mouth. He sneered. "Does it look like I'm fucking 'alright' to you?!"

Rock rolled his eyes, then licked his thumb and reached out to clean off Forte's now baffled face. "There. All better."

Forte stuttered, choked on god knows what words that he wanted to speak. On one hand he was insulted and outraged at Rock, for daring to treat him like a disgusting human child. On the other, he was slightly curious as to why Rock would touch him at all, let alone-- His face twisted in indignation. "HEY! DON'T TOUCH ME LIKE THAT."

So much for indecision.

But Rock merely shrugged off the outburst; Forte may be lethal and dangerous, but time after time-- this being the final straw-- only proved that the black robot, while slightly advanced, was no match for the original. ...Even if Rock normally survived out of dumb luck. But for a moment, Rock was silent, looking up into the sky. Then, he turned back and asked casually, "Hey Forte, Roll wants to know if Wily's experimenting with energy masses. Is he?"

Anger clouding his judgment, Forte growled and folded his arms. "'Course not," he spat. "The old coot's been busy with other shit."

"Oh yeah?" Rock smiled expectantly. "Like what?"

"He's building this robot that's-- HEY!" Forte flailed; he didn't like how Rock was trying to con information out of him... Didn't like how he was volunteering it out either. "SHUT UP YOU LITTLE FREAK I'M GONNA KILL YOU ONE OF THESE DAYS SO DON'T TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL-- Where you going??"

The blue bioroid gave him a look that spoke, 'Duh, something else's come up.' "I have to go check something out for Dr. Light. You can stay here if you want and keep screaming your head off, but I've got other things to do."

Forte stared, the fight draining out of him, then grumbled some expletive and hurried to fall into step beside Rock. He was still sour-faced and tried to remember exactly what started this stupid exchange of words. "What about your damned 'oniisama'?"

Rock's face turned back into its expression of heavy adoration and Forte recoiled from the horror of its purity and disgusting sap. "He's out there, near where we're headed. ...Wait." He blinked and looked around them. "...Where's Rush and Gospel?"

The cobra-crested bot collected himself, then snorted, continuing to storm in the initial direction with a stride of determination and overbearing insult to his pride. "Probably napping," he muttered loathingly. "They'll find us later."

'Us'. Rock smiled lightly at Forte's back, almost shy to follow. Maybe, just maybe, Forte could be turned around...and be his friend again.

"Hurry up, Rockman! This is your damn thing and /I'm/ not gonna go with this if I don't have you to blame it for later on."

So began the Loop of Time.

In the present...

Aesclad handed the case over to the ursine female, smiling gaily as the Russian reploid took it from his. "Nice dealing with you, Burcan!"

The woman, whom towered over even Signas, merely curled her lip back; how such delight annoyed her. "Go back to your dungeon, sadist," she said, accent thick to the point that it was almost impossible to understand her. "I'm sure you have a few victims waiting for your torture."

The smile wavered, and Aesclad's fists clenched at his side. "Please, m'dear, you wound me so." But he did as she said and exited the largest room of the north wing. Once his back was to her and all other witnesses, his expression dropped into a dark scowl. He had prayed to run into Douglas first, but obviously someone in heaven liked him as much as Burcan did.

Burcan was one of the few who didn't cower in terror at his passing. Yes, his reputation was meant to command authority, to keep their minds sharp on staying unscathed and forcing them to fight for the win. But Burcan... she scared -him-.

Because she was constantly suspicious. Because she was clever and observant. Because she'd once been a Maverick. And that gave her the edge over others.

"Aesculapius."

Startled, the platinum blonde was knocked out of his reverie by the cybernetic voice and he cursed himself for letting his guard down. He touched a button at the underside of his wrist. "What is it, Shaman?"

"We need you in the Pit, 3rd block. Something.....bizarre...has happened."

Aesclad's fine eyebrow rose. Shaman was one who never used the word 'bizarre'. "See you in eight, then."

Ice cream he wanted, ice cream he got.

Their room was identical to any other dorm on the premises, except for its smaller size. The only double on the entire fourth level of the barracks. But nothing more was different from any other dorm. Two status pods for the reploids (if there were any in that room) and the same number of cots to match the number of occupants. A small chest of drawers with three shelves mounted above it. Nope, no difference. None at all.

With the secret affair-- many assumed it to exist in jest-- having come to a halt, there should have been more tension and stress within in walls and atmosphere. But there was hardly a tablespoon. Four years spent trying to respect stationed boundaries and each other, there should have been. But there was none to be found. Days when one or the other wanted nothing more than to crash through the glass barrier between hearts but didn't, there should have been. But there just wasn't.

Now seemed to be an exception. There was tension, taut yet unpainful, and respect for a promise had been thrown into the howling wind as Zero sat cross-legged on his bed, no different his mood since Aesclad started the first cut, with X leaning against his back, mildly stroking gold that had once been four feet longer.

Three styrofoam cups and spoon, trimmed in chocolate, lay comfortably in the wastebasket.

Neither had exchanged a word since the infirmary and fortunately, the trip back had been uneventful and witness-free. And while this was no grief over matters of the war, it seemed equally important. To both.

"People've talked about this," murmured the blonde suddenly, "behind my back, what it would be like if I ever lost something as trivial as my hair. ...I thought it was stupid, that my hair could be /any/ sort of topic in a conversation." He chuckled bitterly. "And here I am, mourning over it like I lost my dog. I shouldn't be, in all honesty, because it's ridiculous to cry over a haircut. ..So why doesn't it seem like it?"

X didn't let his fingers stop their combing as he replied just as soundly. "Because, underneath all that bravado and egotism is a sick and twisted part of you. The part that is flamingly vain over your looks."

Zero cast a look over his shoulder. "You know," he began, "you really suck at this."

X smiled lightly back at him. "I only speak the truth. And you /are/, Z. Vain, I mean. I've seen your combs and shampoos; hell, I've even used them on you, remember?"

With a dull pout, Zero nodded. "I remember. ...I'm not vain, dammit."

X only laughed quietly. "Whatever you say."

"You don't believe me."

"I've known you too long to know what you are and aren't."

"Don't you think I would know if I were vain?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"You only act as you know how to instinctively, which is why you never put a name to what you are. On the other hand, your audience acts are your judge."

"People have their own opinions though."

"Touché, but I think I should have a better idea to who and what you are."

"So why the sudden urge to throw faults into my face?"

"Because it's about time someone did."

"....."

"Face it, you're vain."

"God dammit."

A chittery beeping saved X from Zero's outrage; the brunette got off the bed and pressed at a panel inside the door's alcove. The screen above it flickered on to reveal a pale Aesculapius. X blinked, his mind running through every possible explanation for the call. "Aesclad?"

"If... If it's not any trouble, X, Shaman and I would like you to come to the Pit. It's...very important."

Green eyes narrowed and his posture changed. "Give me about fifteen minutes. I'll be there then."

The screen blackened and X only shook his head. Thrice the amount of Aesclad than he wanted in one night. Once was frightening enough. But Shaman asked for him too, so that was the curve... "I feel like I've run all over the base today."

"Guess someone thinks you didn't run around enough with those...things."

"Yeah." He looked up, frowning thoughtfully. "It's probably about them too. Only reason I can think of."

Zero frowned as well, but under a different emotion. "Except there's no reason why /you'd/ be called down there. Signas, yeah, Burcan or Dougy, sure, absolutely. But why you??"

X shrugged weakly and reached for the doorknob. "I dunno. ....Look, if you want we can.." his face twisted slightly, "get you an appointment with the barber. Fix up that hack job an' get you all shiny and pretty again."

The blonde's entire body sagged at the mention of his worst enemy-- right below Aesculapius, anyhow-- and nodded mutely. "Sounds like fun."

After whispering he'd be back soon, X vanished, and Zero was left alone to muse his life away. With a tentative touch, the reploid brought up a hand to grasp the golden locks for the very first time. They were short, but not short enough that he couldn't eye the tips sadly. Were he human, he'd be wailing about forty years gone down the drain. But synthetic hair -didn't- grow, much to his dismay. And to that, he felt like a piece of him had died...

On the other hand-- sullen, he combed his fingers through it-- there was something...oddly comforting about this length. Which only made him more upset.

Adding to the misery, he missed the ghosting hand that tried to comfort him and the body that'd been slightly pressed against him. He could've forgiven Aesculapius for the fatal blow, if it meant X would have remained there. But no, the same junk pile had to be the one to take his X away again. So, who was to blame?

I know exactly who to blame, he thought, thinning his lips. Watch your back, Aesclad. Once you turn it on me, I will skewer you and taste your blood! ....Right after I trip some more ice cream out of this from sympathetic souls.

If anything, the double doors at the end of the tunneling ramp terrified him. Beyond them lay horrors that gave robots of all kinds nightmares. He was no exception; X nibbled lightly on his lip, one hand upon a door, ready to open it, but not ready to face whatever was behind it.

His heart raced and sweat trickled down his nose. He didn't like the feeling that was numbly swelling in his chest.

With a quick inhale, X stepped through the doors, closer to Hell than ever before. Much to his relief, Aesclad was right there, waiting. He wasn't looking any more relaxed, but god knew he held it in better.

The Pit was nothing but a sanctuary to the unstable, a garden of white with ashen existents puttering around like lost and hungry phantoms. It was an entire basement, one level below the ground, with cubicles and workstations that were never empty, occupied with the obsessive and the extremely dedicated by humans and machines. No decent person would tread this floor without reason or protection from the anxious and overbearing curious.

Every step became agony as the pale-haired medic led him forward, despite X keeping his eyes focused ahead; he had -some- resolve, after all. However, half way across the basement level area, the numbness began to sting. A subtle wave of nausea swept over him, crashing too quickly to leave behind anything but a mild headache.

"Aesclad," he addressed, "why am I down here?"

"They found something," he stated, not even sparing X a glance. "While I was getting the oil sample from Zero's hair, they brought in two....specimens, I guess. Fell from the sky, they did. Five in total, but only two were picked up. The other three vanished into thin air."

"....So?"

Aesculapius didn't reply. Instead, he hooked his arm into a blue-armored one-- Support?-- and continued to stare anywhere but at the commander. Yet with each step, the stabs in X's chest grew in pressure and pain. He stopped them both. "Wait."

Aesclad only blinked in question. X grabbed at his chestplate, more specifically, over the area of his modem. "I'm not feeling so hot."

"Block 3 isn't far," murmured the medic, ignoring X's statement. "I swear, it won't be much longer." And he was leading X again, the azure Hunter having no choice but to follow. Once they were in front of the cubicle, the pain was slipping between tolerable and not. Inside brought no comfort; X couldn't even focus on all the white coats bustling about, couldn't see Shaman in the corner with his wide-eyed expression, but the curtain in the center of the room was in his blurred sights and Aesclad led him to it.

It was searing and white. X wanted nothing more than to rip the hold on him and run, and accuse all associated staff of conspiracy, but some force kept him rooted to this path, like an iron-shackled command etched into his programming when he wasn't looking. Instead, he did tear out of Aesclad's grasp, but stalked, resolved, to whatever was being kept hidden from view.

He was barely able to open it before his vision began to blacken around the edges. And he got a good look at what lay there, prone and enchanted into sleep, before whatever attacked him became too much and swallowed him into Void.

It looked like me. So? Why does it hurt?

† ‡§‡ † ‡§‡ †

When compared, 20XX and 21XX are two very different eras: one is thrown into the turmoils of hell-on-Earth, chaotic war with serious repercussions on the line, and the other is under attack by one madman and a pack of eight robots at a time, attacking not together, but separately, like /this/ is the method to destroy the world's one protector.

Which one do you think I chose to make light of? Hence, Rock and Forte's inability to fight seriously.

Zero's hair is dead. Long live the ponytail. Every fanboy and every fangirl knows how important Zero's hair is to the MMXZ fandom. That translates into this story as everyone around him feeling the same way; I consider it one of the many reasons he's popular among the ranks, despite being short-tempered and sadistic within training regimens (ignoring the fact that he's also insubordinate, loud, rude, promiscuous, good-looking, and opinionated, which actually adds to his fanon-charisma). Which is why X sympathizes, as a friend. So in a way, yes, this is still first-chapter territory (i.e. not being involved physically with Crimsondevilman), in case you were concerned this didn't follow the standards X kept to.

And for the record, I hate how I did that last scene. It didn't seem believable, so I plan to change it later. No worries though, the scene following in the next chapter won't have to be. Meaning nothing to revise.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Japanese Vocabulary!:
oniisama = big brother (with lots of respect tacked on [-sama] versus default respect [-san])