I'm really sorry about the quality of the last version of this chapter.
Thus, I scrapped the whole thing and started again from square one. Here's
my second, and hopefully final, attempt.
Disclaimer:
Megaman X character designs belong to Capcom. I'm just borrowing 'em,
guys. I'll have 'em power washed before I bring 'em back. Yeah, yeah, I'll
even hot wax 'em. Ranma characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I'm just
borrowing 'em, Rumiko-san. I'll have 'em power washed before I return 'em.
Yeah, yeah, I'll even hot wax 'em. There's a character design that I
borrowed from the Sonic anime, but that should be it. He'll be waxed and
washed too.
Flashfyre5 Presents
A Flaming Amarant production
In association with Digital Wizardry Studios, Minnesota
The Opening Bet
Chapter Five: The Virus
" " = speech
[ ] = panda board
< > = thought
/ / = written
* * * * * *
I inhale slowly, savoring the scent of burning flesh. The pungent scent
of roasting human is quite unlike any other, a rare and intoxicating perfume
that is to be savored on those occasions that one is fortunate enough to
indulge themselves, either by action or chance. Suddenly, a skyscraper in
front of me, ringed by palm trees and bushes, explodes with a thunderous
explosion. The shock wave from the blast would be enough to send any person
unfortunate enough to be nearby tumbling away like a rag doll. I should
know. I set the charges that caused the explosion. How important can a
company called 'Square' be, anyway? I stroll casually up to the still-warm
rubble of the skyscraper that had dominated this part of the little island
that I now walk upon until just recently. The perfume is so intense that
it's staggering, especially with my sense of smell. I only wish that I could
concentrate the smell and bottle it, that I might wear this scent as a
testament to my glory.
Finally, I open my eyes, which I'd had screwed shut for the explosion.
My eyes are more than a little sensitive, and such a flash of light would
surely destroy them. No matter. The sight of the semi-molten rubble is
almost as intoxicating as the scent of this place. I pivot on my left foot,
the heavy boot scraping loudly on the rubble-strewn concrete, and look around
at my handiwork. Not a single building remains standing in this once-great
city, nor a single human left alive, as far as I can tell. As wonderful as
the perfume of death is, it deadens my nose to other scents, and though
gazing upon the blasted rubble of these pathetic human constructs is like
seeing the gates of Heaven itself, it provides many hidey-holes that a human
could hide in. It is of no matter. Should one survive, it would only serve
to heighten my glory.
I sigh, knowing that my time here is up. As wonderful as this place now
is, there are other places that I have to gift with my presence. Slowly,
savoring every last minute on the now-dead city of Honolulu, I walk to the
ocean, and dive in. My legs disengage, and fold into my body, and my twin
water turbine engines kick in. They function much the same way as a jet
engine does for a fighter, but these are made to work underwater. I relax
and allow the powerful engines propel me toward my next target, which lies
halfway across the Pacific. At my best speed, not more than two days away.
Not nearly soon enough.
* * * * * *
The man, huddled in the wreckage of what had once been his car, wondered
if it was safe to emerge. This man in particular did not like to hide, to
wait for the exacting toll that death would bring. His opinions and his job
reflected that. He was, arguably, the best composer that the world had seen
in generations, and was proud of the fact. He worked for one of the largest,
most visible companies in Japan, one that had international renown. His name
and work was known to people across the globe that had heard his music and
idolized him, though they would never see his face.
In his line of business, one had to have an exceptional sense of hearing.
Thus, pressed up against the seat of his overturned, American-built Ford
Taurus, it was the only way he could tell of the happenings of the outside
word. There had been one explosion, followed by a string of them and,
finally, one huge one that sounded like it had been very near. Afterwards,
silence. A long and agonizing silence that told him that, though there was
no more destruction, there was nobody else around to notice.
Finally, restless, he pushed open the passenger side doorway and peeked
out. The stench that immediately assailed him almost made him vomit, and the
sight that assailed his eyes did the rest. Once he had recovered, he bared
himself and rose from the wreckage of the American car, standing proud and
tall, like a character from the games he wrote music for.
The city was a wasteland, the incinerated and boiled-alive dead littering
the streets, making it look like a war zone. This was not that far from the
truth, the man supposed, looking at the ruins of the Hawaii headquarters of
Squaresoft. Suddenly, movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a small,
semi-humanoid form walking into the surf. The sun glinted off its angled
head, and the
ma****************************************************************************
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**********************************************sses dulled by the horrific
damage that surrounded him. Suddenly, he remembered what lay, from here, in
the west, where the sun set. He snatched his cellular phone out of his
pocket and hit the speed dial labeled '1' in Japanese. Some bored-sounding
young girl answered it, and he cursed at her until she transferred him to the
head of staffing, which was the best he could get without providing
verification information that he couldn't remember.
"Shin Kagami, head of staffing," a crisp male voice answered in Japanese.
"Put me through to Hironobu Sakaguchi, now!" the man practically yelled
into the phone, speaking Japanese as well.
"The CEO? I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think that I can do that," the man
replied, obviously miffed.
"This is Nobuo Uematsu, Gods damn you, and if you don't put me through to
Hironobu NOW, by all the powers in the Heavens, I'll have your job!" the man
roared, losing what calm he had retained. The line was immediately filled
with the sounds of years-old muzak as he was transferred. Finally, a
bored-sounding man picked up the line.
"Sakaguchi," he said simply. Nobuo liked Hironobu for his frankness and
lack of patronization. Naturally, this only applied to his own company. As
far as anybody else was concerned, he was as false a man as was ever born.
"Hiro, it's me, Nobuo," Nobuo said, reining in his temper and speaking in
a normal tone of voice.
"Nobuo, so you've made it to Hawaii," Hironobu replied, his tone
immediately brightening. Nobuo had no idea why Hiro liked him; few enough
people did. Though he was brilliant, he was a hard man to work for, and this
alienated many of his co-workers. "How is the work on the Tactics project
coming?"
"Couldn't say, Hiro. The building's been flattened," Nobuo said bluntly.
"What?" Hiro returned, alarm seeping into his voice.
"When I got here, some kind of metal monster came out of the ocean,
leveled the city, and left. As far as I can tell, I'm the only survivor,"
Nobuo explained.
"Nobuo, you're not making any sense," Hiro said, even though he knew that
Nobuo was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He'd never made a joke, as far as Hiro
knew, and would never even think of staging a practical joke, especially one
of this magnitude. "Now, what came out of the ocean?"
"Some kind of metal monster, or maybe a robot. I don't know. I only got
a glance at it before it blew up my car. It blew up the rest of the city,
building by building, then left. I saw it go back into the sea, headed
westward," Nobuo explained, calming himself again.
"Westward?" Hiro answered, his voice a little uncertain. Nobuo knew that
the man had caught on to what this meant.
"Yes, westward, toward Tokyo!"
* * * * * *
Nabiki pulled away from the basement's doorway and leaned against the
wall next to it. Her mind was racing , set alight by Dr. Light's suggestion
about Jakob's Law.
<What if he's right?> she wondered. <Jakob's Law... damn, I remember
that from somewhere.>
"So," she heard Ranma say. Quieting her thoughts, she pressed her ear to
the crack in the doorway so that she could listen more clearly. "Is there
anything we can do to pull them back apart?" Ranma asked.
"I'm afraid not," Dr. Light answered, sounding truly regretful. "If
things don't right themselves on their own, there's nothing that we can do
about it."
"Damn," Ranma cursed softly, almost beneath Nabiki's ability to hear.
Neither one of the two said anything for a long time after that. Nabiki sank
to sit on the floor, her ear still pressed to the doorjamb. "So," Ranma
finally said. "What do we do now?"
"Live, I suppose," Dr. Light replied. "As long as the Virus didn't make
it into this world, there shouldn't be any real problems."
"What virus?" Ranma asked.
"Don't worry about it, Ranma. It's probably nothing that you'll have to
worry about," Dr. Light answered.
"Whatever, Doc," Ranma sighed, obviously miffed. Dr. Light seemed not to
hear him, and silence descended upon the duo once again. "What did robots do
in your world, doc?" he asked after a while.
"Do you mean robots or Reploids, Ranma?" Dr. Light asked.
"Is there a difference?" Ranma asked.
"Very much so," Dr. Light said. "Robots, though they may possess
sentience, are bound by specific codes of conduct that, no matter how much
they may want to, they cannot violate. They must do what a human orders them
to and, once given orders, cannot deviate from the specified task until it is
completed. Reploids, on the other hand, can and do think completely for
themselves. They accept orders if they want to, when they want to, and may
ignore them at any time. They are unbound by the laws which govern robots,
and follow only their own conscience. I believe that one person once
described them as being 'humans in a metal body'."
"So I'm a Reploid, right?" Ranma asked.
"I should certainly hope so. After all, I designed you," Dr. Light
joked. Ranma granted the bad joke a snort.
"So, what did Reploids do in your world?" Ranma asked.
"All sorts of things. Many were purchased by law enforcement agencies,
and became police. Some were built to be scientists, and made some truly
great discoveries. Others worked as secretaries, and other businesspeople,"
Dr. Light elaborated. "In the beginning, due to the great expense involved
in creating them, a Reploid was only built to do a certain job, and mass
produced with a predisposition towards that kind of work. However, as my
original technology was refined, the costs involved dropped, and foundations
were established for the sole purpose of building original, well-rounded
Reploids to simply live and work, as a productive member of society. Soon,
the only mass-produced models were fighters and doctors, as most people found
that Reploids were just like any other person, once you got past the body."
As these Reploids matured, they found themselves desiring to join the
workforce, to make something out of their existence. Many returned to the
factories where they were built to have new, more appropriate bodies built
for them. Those that became Generals in an army, for example, needed
stronger, more lethal constructs than those that became diplomats, who had
their own needs. Since most were intelligent enough to know how they
themselves worked, many chose to design their own bodies. Needlessly to say,
this brought both great versatility and great diversity. There wasn't a walk
of life that one Reploid or another didn't call his or her own. In short,
they did everything," Dr. Light summed up.
"You like to talk, don't you?" Ranma asked sardonically. Dr. Light
chuckled in response.
"I suppose that I do," he agreed.
* * * * * *
Above the icy plains of northern Siberia, a gleaming metal figure seemed
to float through the air on soundless, motionless wings, searching for some
un-nameable object. The dreadnought, for this construct truly feared
nothing, moved slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. Indeed,
he had all the time he needed. Those that knew he existed were loyal to him,
would soon be as such, or dead.
He was powerful; no doubt about that. He stood well over six feet tall,
every inch of that devoted in some way to destruction. His lower arms,
gleaming silver cylinders that tapered to a point at the elbow, had enough
strength to crush a car like it was a pop can, and enough hidden firepower to
incinerate that car and everything in a good radius around it. His upper
arms, armored with nine silver bands each, further amplified his already
staggering strength, and housed the powerful generators that powered the
weapons in his arms. His chest was silver with purple inlay that wove in and
around his whole upper chest, giving it the illusion of depth and waviness.
The bottom of his breastplate, terminating above where a human's abdominal
muscles would be, was a thick purple band that started where each nipple
would be, were he human, and wrapped around his back. The front part, where
his pectorals might be, was hinged, and housed even more hidden weaponry.
Even he knew which robot had inspired his main body, but he held no
resentment. He knew a good design when he saw one, and even more so when he
inhabited one. The only aberrations were the twin rods jutting from his
back, each glowing with blue energy. They were three and a half feet long
each, and stood at a forty-five degree angle to his back.
His 'stomach' was a model in simplicity; four bands of thick silvery
metal wrapped around his midsection, the top one disappearing beneath his
breastplate and the bottom vanishing beneath his pelvic juncture. The bands
were thick, needing to protect the thunderously powerful fusion generator
that generated the massive amounts of power that he needed to function in a
fight. The amount of energy that the generator produced at full capacity
could be used to power a small town. Even still, he needed the auxiliaries
in his arms to supplement that, as the weapons he favored required a truly
bestial amount of power them.
The pelvic juncture, too, was simple in design, but far more complex in
its function. The semi-triangular construct was fairly lightly armored,
compared to the rest of him, but housed the power buffers that protected him
from his own power surges. Though it was somewhat of a weak point,
destroying the buffers would result in an explosion that would annihilate
whatever managed to do so. Though it would mean the destruction of his body,
the robot was not concerned. He had a backup copy of himself.
His upper legs were armored like his arms, in banded silver, thirteen
gleaming rings armoring his powerful legs from almost any conventional
attack. His lower legs widened into boots, the smooth silver bordered by
purple on the edges. They housed dash jets that could propel him to a land
speed of over thirty-five miles per hour. They also contained the
antigravity generators that would allow him to do so without ever touching
the ground. His feet were small, just large enough to provide him with solid
footing. They had sturdy rubber grips on the bottom for traction, and a
large hole in the middle for his jets.
Truly, though, the most dangerous part of the robot was his head. It
housed the brain of a man/monster that had both the desire and the capability
to slaughter any and everything that crossed his path. Modeled, in what had
become a tradition for him, after a human's head, it was designed to be the
most menacing face that his builder could imagine. It was completely bald,
the light colored psudo-skin reflecting light as if it were real skin. His
jaw was large, and square, and his ears were fairly small. His nose was, if
anything, a bit large and regal-looking, in the sense of the regality of a
warlord of a great army. He was large lipped, those lips locked into a
near-permanent sneer over his pristinely white teeth. One look into his
eyes, however, would dispel any impressions of the robot's humanity. They
were perfectly round gems, the deep crimson color of drying human blood.
They were matched by a vertical slashes of deepest purple that extended from
his mid-forehead to the middle of his cheeks. In the center of his forehead
was a round ruby, similar to those in his eyes, set in silver.
After a time, it seemed that the war machine had finally found what it
was searching for, and began a steady descent. Indeed, a speck of purple
marred the pristine whiteness of the tundra, far ahead of the flying machine.
As they drew nearer one another, its features came into focus, for it
watched and approached the flyer as carefully as the flyer himself did.
Its design was much simpler than the flying robot's. Its head was
lupine, pointed sheets of purple-painted metal giving the it appearance of a
wolf. It's shoulders and breastplate, a single piece, were heavy, and purple
bordered with light blue. Its arms were silver from the shoulder to the
elbow, where they once again became jagged, hairlike sheets of purple metal
that terminated in three-inch-long claws. The arms themselves were longer
than usual, hanging almost to the robot's knees. His legs were simple
affairs, lightly built and highly mobile. Though fairly thick, the jagged
purple metal that they were composed of, built in the same fashion as its
lower arms and head, were amazingly lightweight and ended in razor sharp
three-inch-long claws, like his hands. Overall, he had a feral look to him,
the look of a hunter waiting to pounce.
Soo***************************************************************************
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***********************************************e in this world. So many of
our comrades have vanished in the past few weeks," the robot said reverently,
his voice a surprisingly deep tenor.
"Get up. We don't have time for this kind of thing any more," the silver
robot commanded. "Address me as Sigma. You are one of the few that
survived. That doesn't make you worth the parts you're built out of, but you
and a handful of others are all that I've got. What's your name and
designation?" The purple robot rose, but kept his eyes downcast.
"I am Arctic Wolf, Lord Sigma, a scout. My commander commended me three
times for decision making in the heat of battle, and four for excellence in
reconnaissance," the purple robot said.
"Who was your commander?" Sigma asked, one part of his forehead where his
eyebrow would be cocked, a bit surprised.
"I served under Blizzard Buffalo during the third insurrection, shortly
after I was Infected, and did not receive a permanent assignment after that.
All my commendations are from Lord Buffalo," Arctic Wolf explained.
"Impressive. Buffalo didn't like giving out awards," Sigma mused.
"Thank you, sir," Arctic nodded.
"I wasn't pleased when you called me out here. I was investigating
something that may prove extremely important in the coming war," Sigma said,
almost as if Arctic Wolf hadn't even spoken. His voice, though always
sneering, sounded positively hateful while saying this, and Arctic Wolf
cringed, fearing Sigma's temper. "However, you may be exactly what I need,"
he continued, and Arctic risked a hopeful look upwards. "Someone or
something has been destroying Reploids in Tokyo. So far, the only times that
that's happened were when humans were threatened. Go there and find out what
it is."
"You think that it might be..." Arctic trailed off, fear growing inside
of him. There were few things that a Reploid feared almost as much as Sigma,
and two of them were X and Zero, the living, breathing Grim Reapers of
Maverick society.
"X or Zero? Maybe. I'm not taking any chances. I would've won the
first war if I hadn't underestimated them. I lost the second and third
because Doppler and the X Hunters couldn't build a decent Reploid to save
their lives. This time, though, I've got real power backing me," Sigma
finished. "Inferno Phoenix and Typhoon Dragon have already gone Maverick,
and Mine Boar will soon join them."
"Three of the Hunter High Command," Arctic breathed, in awe. "What about
Riptide Shark? If the other three made it, he will have too."
"With three of the four and myself, there shouldn't be any problems.
Besides, I have a stockpile of the Virus. If possible, I'll recruit him,"
Sigma explained. "Now get to Tokyo. I expect your first report there in two
days. Keep me waiting and I will personally dismember you, piece by piece.
Just because you're one of the Masters doesn't put you above my wrath."
Stunned, Arctic Wolf could only stare at Sigma.
"A... A Master? Lord, are you sure?" Arctic stammered. Sigma turned
away from him before answering.
"Blizzard Buffalo was one of the few things that Doppler did right. If
Buffalo thought enough of you to commend you seven times, then you should be
good enough. Just remember," Sigma warned, the rods on his back glowing red
and beginning to roar. "Everyone else has proven themselves to me; you have
not. Make one mistake and it'll be your last. With those ominous words, he
blasted skyward, foregoing his usual silent flight for the speed that his
fully powered flight could give him.
Arctic Wolf stood, silent, in the crater of melting snow that his master
had left behind, still stunned. Finally, he turned and began to run in a
southeasterly direction. As he did so, he dropped to all fours, his long
arms matching his legs perfectly. Slowly, as things began to settle in, he
began to grin ferally. Eagerly, he ran towards the coast; Tokyo was a long
way away, and he planned to make his first report early.
* * * * * *
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