#the focus on lower class lower rank soldiers instead of officers

[aceredshirt13]

so I experienced my own version of Barbenheimer on my flight back to America from Japan that my boyfriend has dubbed Barbenteen. because I replaced Oppenheimer with 1917. I currently have a pet interest in World War I fiction that discusses the hopeless brutality of war as compared and contrasted with the humanity within it, and also I just really wanted to watch the Barbie movie, so it seemed like a good choice of duo.

anyway the Barbie movie did a better job of humanizing the Kens who redeemed themselves after the failure of their radical conservative takeover than the movie about war’s senseless violence and futility did of humanizing… literally any of the German soldiers, at all, whatsoever. which is Sure Not Something I Thought I’d Be Saying But Here We Are

[lukeyhughes]

so the other day i reblogged a post and vagued about my issues with gk’s framing of iraqi tragedies in the tags, which was then replied to and that reply was circulated. while the reply was awesome/insightful/interesting i feel like my original point sorta got lost in the shuffle. i wasnt going to make a post about this for a bit but i feel like its been consuming my thoughts all day so i’ll elaborate what i meant under the cut! 

gen kill is david simon show, so like all david simon shows the thesis is “people exist in inside of a broken system.” in this case, the broken system is the marine corps chain of command and the people are the marines who have to carry out senseless orders. this is shown in many ways, including pointless dangerous missions (see: the bridge, danger close, etc.), how capable enlisted men are vs. most officers, how the “only good officer” nate is punished for rational choices, and how the marines have their spirits crushed because they are forced to senselessly kill iraqi civilians.

when i was in first year of undergrad i took an african studies class that in one seminar problematicized coverage of the Rwandan Genocide: how many times have you heard/read a Romeo Dallaire interview/account? how many times have you read/heard an interview from a genocide survivor? how many times have you seen pictures of bodies/skulls of genocide victims? the answer for the average person is a lot, hardly ever, a lot. with the iraq invasion, the questions would be: how many times have you heard the accounts of coalition soldiers about the iraq war across media types? how many times have you heard accounts of it from the iraqi civilian perspective? how many times have you seen statistics regarding the amount of iraqi civilian casualties? a lot, hardly ever, a lot.

that is all to say that in western media/society we are very comfortable listening to white narratives and just seeing brown bodies, which translates into only hearing white narratives of the tragedies of the deaths of others in foreign countries. in generation kill, iraqi civilian casualties/fatalities/tragedies are framed so that we feel sympathy for the marines that caused them as opposed to those suffering. that is not to say that we as the audience do not feel sympathy (i certainly do!) but it is because of our own internal empathy, not the narrative framing of the show.

let’s take a look at three of the biggest cases of iraqi civilian tragedy and how they’re framed in the show:

first, when rudy goes up to the roadblock and sees the dead little girl in episode 4. we get quite a few shots of the father’s shell-shocked face, but just as many are shots of rudy’s horror/sadness; we watch him walk away from behind from rudy’s perspective and we see that rudy is unable to look away from them. rudy didn’t actually have anything to do with it (aside from abetting i suppose), but even when he gets back to camp the show makes sure to illustrate how affected by it he is, ignoring brad and ray who call out to him. this one is actually surprisingly gk’s best example of eliciting sympathy for iraqi casualties; however, the focus of the scene is still on rudy and the father’s reaction is still mostly used to contribute to rudy’s guilt/horror.

the next scene is the little shepherd boys who were shot by trombley while out with their camels. we see the mom crying over her son, but its basically background noise and is if anything used to further the marines’ (particularly brad and doc bryan to a lesser extent) guilt at causing the situation. we know this because her actions don’t exist independently: they are used for the marines to react to. we also get considerably more shots of marines looking on in horror than her crying about her son. brad’s guilt/sadness about the subject is dwelled on for about twenty minutes over the next two episodes, longer than any of the actual victims’ screen-time dedicated to their feelings combined.

the worst scene is the man in the white car, which sets off the main drama for the next episode. we get why walt did it- the show goes out of its way to make sure that we do- but at the end of the day a man is still dead, likely for no reason. in the aftermath we get about a hundred heartbreaking shots of walt’s shocked face, with a few of brad thrown in as well. on the other hand, we get no shots of the people in the car being horrified at seeing someone they know lobotomized. we just see them run away, no sadness no horror no nothing: from the show’s narrative perspective, this man’s death has no impact on anybody except for walt and the other marines. to make matters worse the man’s face is only shown when the marines notice how horrifyingly disfigured his body is; to me this is robbing the real man of his dignity even in death. 

let’s take a step back and look at gen kill’s general portrayal of iraqis. we don’t really get to see the marines interact with civilians until they reach baghdad when they go into rundown neighbourhoods. here, the iraqi men are portrayed as greedy and dumb, cutting in front of children and not understanding that there are other types of government. that’s not to say that that didn’t happen in real life- i’m sure it did- but it’s essentially the ONLY view of iraq civilians we get: ignorant, greedy, backwards, etc. deadass the only sympathetic iraqi characters in episode 7 are children, where we get a couple of UNICEF-esque shots of doc bryan holding crying kids to drive home that guilt factor. i bring this up because it means that the iraqi characters are not written so that you feel bad for them or empathize with their terrible situation. instead, the narrative wants you to empathize with the marines (in this case, particularly nate) who feel guilty for causing this chaos that they can’t do anything to fix it. 

the only other time iraqi civilians even have lines is when a refugee women tells brad about how he is destroying her home, but even then the point of that isn’t really her pain but how brad feels guilty/ashamed about what the usmc (an institution that is part of identity more than anyone else) is doing that; also she’s attacking brad who really had nothing to do with the baghdad situation and already feels guilty about other things, so its just creating more material for brad’s identity/guilt crisis and our sympathies for it.

all of this to say is that in basically every single case civilian tragedies don’t exist in the narrative on their own: they are used for the marine main characters to react to: the village. the truck crew. the men at the roadside. even the syrian student.

also @sunnygreys replied to some tags i made alluding to this issue. you should read what they wrote bc it’s a really interesting counterweight to what i’m saying and offers a different perspective. but anyway basically they mention certain lines where people are like “no ones forcing us to be here.” particularly notable was when godfather says that no one is forced to be here because they’re all volunteers in episode 3. my view of this has always been that saying that is ignorance on his part and another symptom of the broken command system. godfather chose to be career military,  he chose to accept the mission, he chose to change the ROE, etc: there was no gun to his head. for the enlisted men, the ones on the bottom who actually carried out the mission that injured the boys, they are pretty much being forced to be there by their circumstances. out of all the marines we interact with in the series, im pretty sure brad is the only enlisted man who comes from wealth and by extension had other options, while most others either implicitly or explicitly grew up in impoverished/unstable households: poverty is the new draft. thats sorta between the lines, but i imagine david simon knows that because of his previous work on poverty. what isnt between the lines is that the command system DOES force men in lower ranks to “be there” and carry out order: they can get NJPed for disobeying, they sign contracts that they’ll be dishonourably discharged and lose their benefits if they break, etc. there’s no gun to their head physically but metaphorically its pretty close. to me at least, those lines are not narratively placed to make us sympathize less with the marine main characters but instead to make us sympathize with them even more, because it shows how disconnected command really is. david simon is a huge dick irl but he’s a really clever writer.

again, i reiterate that we as the audience likely feel sympathy for the iraqi population because for most people its naturally sad when people die/get injured/etc. i think a lot of points i made and ones made by @sunnygreys can be mutually true, but the main difference being that i really don’t believe that gk’s intention was to make us step back and reflect on our sympathy with the “oppressors:” i really do think that’s who the show intends for us to sympathize with most based on their choices in camera shots, who says what, etc. that doesn’t mean we can’t step back and reflect, as i hope many of us have, i just think that was an unintended consequence. (if i’m misconstruing what you said please lmk and ill edit!)

that being said, can’t think of a way that generation kill could have done better in this regard based on the book/characters it had. the marines ARE the main characters and by conventional standards its their narrative/feelings/growth that matters. but just because there may have been no other way doesn’t make it unproblematic. its another example of western media using violence against nameless, distant foreigners for their own horror. 

there are people wandering this earth who are dealing with the loss of the man in the white car, the little girl at the roadblock, an entire village. those little boys, if they’re still alive, probably have to deal with the severe injuries they got when they were shot by marines. those slums of baghdad may still be in unstable today and have likely lost community members due to sanitation/hunger/violence. imagine knowing that there is a show out there where you or your loved ones are being used as a plot device to make viewers feel sympathy for the ones who put you in those positions. i sympathize deeply with the marines of GK, but i can imagine how hard it would be to be in the iraqi population’s place watching yourself and your experiences interpreted in a way dissociated from your own suffering so that the primary victimhood can be placed on the ones who did it to you. 

in conclusion, i love gen kill a lot. i love the story and the characters, and i think its an effective story in terms of achieving what it seeks to achieve. i think it’s okay to love something and be critical of it. also if western media companies weren’t cowards and weren’t scared of losing american military financial contributions they would make a miniseries about the iraqi people who were terrorized by american invaders, including the ones we love in gk!

[mooksie01]

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends? (5/5)

Chapter Summary: A post-mission lunch break leads to... more mockery.

Clover is going to fire every single one of his teammates.

Warnings: More bullying of teammates, mild spiciness, workplace banter of a less-than-respectful nature

AO3 Link: [X]

First Chapter: [X]

Notes: Hey everyone! Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter out, I spent the majority of yesterday moving back into my dorm room and the rest of it hanging out with my friends that I haven't seen in a month, so I didn't really have time to post. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it, though! I hope you all enjoy the last chapter in this first installment of the series! Subsequent installments will be posted whenever I find time to write them, which may be sporadic now that classes have started back up again. 

Please like, reblog, and comment if you're able!!!! You guys have all been so amazing throughout this journey and I could not appreciate you more!

---

Clover is ambushed the moment he steps foot into the mess hall after the mission debrief. This time, he is fully prepared for Elm’s attack, and he ducks under her attempt at wrapping one of her well-muscled arms around his neck. 

“Aw, come on, captain! I was only going to mess up your hair a little!” Elm cries exuberantly, apparently elated at this turn of events. She is always excited when Clover plays along with her roughhousing. 

“Sorry, Elm,” Clover says, getting in line for some of whatever they’re serving today. He’d cook if he weren’t so wiped from the mission, but he supposes that he’ll have to settle for food from the canteen just this once. “I’m afraid that I’d like to keep my hair as it is for right now.”

He accepts a tray of some sort of hearty stew and a chunk of bread, pleased. He’d personally signed off on the directive to encourage the kitchen staff to serve more hot meals, and he’s glad to see that the order is being followed. The lower-ranking soldiers certainly deserve it. 

Elm laughs, boxing him on the shoulder with so much force that, had he not been ready for it, Clover likely would’ve dropped his newly-acquired food. “Why, captain!” she shouts as they head in the direction of the table where the rest of the Ace Ops are sitting, “Are you trying to look nice for someone? Has some little birdie caught your eye?” 

Clover rolls his eyes as they settle next to each other on one of the benches. Across from them, Vine speaks, “I believe Huntsman Branwen has captured the captain’s attention, Elm. I was under the impression that you already knew this.” 

“And I,” Clover cuts Elm off before she can say something stupid that will stack more disciplinary action on top of her ever-growing pile, “was under the impression that my subordinates had a bit more tact and a lot more sense, but I suppose that I was wrong. Especially considering that stunt you pulled during the mission today, Elm.”

Harriet and Marrow exchange a long suffering look from where they sit beside Vine. Harriet leans an elbow on the table and props her chin in her palm, half-heartedly stirring around her stew with the other hand. “Are you guys really still talking about this? I already told you, I have no desire to poke into my coworkers' personal lives.” 

Elm powers on, disregarding Harriet’s words, “Aw, lighten up, captain! I feel like you should be celebrating! After all,” she winks with all the subtlety of a raging Megoliath, “you got to spend the whole mission today with your pretty bird, didn’t you? Not to mention whatever was going on in the hall this morning….” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Clover sighs, “If you could please refrain from referring to Qrow as a ‘pretty bird’ or whatever else, I don’t think he’d be too happy if he heard you saying that.” 

Marrow perks up next to Harriet, “Qrow?”

“Ha!” Elm slams her fists down onto the table, rattling everyone’s dishes. “Seems like someone is on a first-name-basis!” 

Is it too late to take his food back to his quarters? Probably. That would likely be an admission of guilt in his teammates’ eyes. Instead, Clover raises his chin in challenge, narrowing his eyes at Elm. “I’ll have you know that Qrow requested that we all call him by his first name. I simply have enough respect for him to abide by that.” He may have resolved to get closer to the other man, but he doesn’t need his teammates to know that right away. That will just lead them to start harassing Qrow. 

“Seems like you’re doing a little more than ‘respecting’ him, Clover,” Marrow states, tail wagging behind him. 

Clover scowls at him, feeling betrayed, “What ever happened to not acting like kids, Marrow?” 

Marrow shrugs, leaning precariously into the open space where the back of the table’s bench would be, if it had one. He crosses his arms casually behind his head and closes his eyes. “Hey, the way I see it, if everyone’s dog-piling onto you instead of me, for once? That’s a good thing. Besides,” he sighs, “that was before I knew that you had an actual, real crush on the dude. I thought you just wanted to bone him.” 

At this, Clover swears that he can actually feel a few circuits in his brain all frying at once. He resolutely ignores any thoughts of “boning” Qrow, as well as the incessant laughter coming from Elm and Vine’s (faux-?)confused inquiries as to what exactly “bone” is a euphemism for, instead choosing to focus on Marrow, who is still lounging across from him. 

He snarls at the faunus, “Marrow. Need I remind you that I am your commanding officer and that I am more than willing to issue disciplinary if I feel it’s necessary? And that is incredibly disrespectful to Qrow, as well as myself.” 

Marrow straightens immediately and crosses his arms in a pout, “Aw, come on, Clover, I was just kidding. You did the same thing to me a few months ago when I was into that rabbit girl from Menagerie.”

That… was fair. But still, Qrow would probably be all kinds of upset and embarrassed if he heard that the people who were supposed to be his teammates for the foreseeable future were all making inappropriate jokes about him. 

Harriet groans loudly, dropping her head into her hands, “Can we please stop talking about this? The guy probably isn’t even gay.” 

Clover’s heart skips a beat. A strange sense of something that feels very much like panic floods his veins. “Really, you don’t think so?” He leans toward Harriet, aware that something weird is probably going on with his face, but unable to find it within himself to care.

Harriet backs away as much as she is able to while staying seated on the bench. “Uh.”

“I’d imagine that it would be simple enough to ask General Ironwood whether Huntsman Branwen is interested in acquiring a same-sex partner or not,” Vine folds his arms placidly onto the table, gaze contemplative, “considering their apparent long history. We may even be able to present our inquiries to some of the children that Huntsman Branwen brought with him. It is my understanding that a Miss ‘Ruby’ and Miss ‘Yang’ are related to him in some way, if the intel Elm and I received from Miss Valkyrie, Mister Arc, and Mister Ren while wandering the mines today is correct.”

Clover’s brain takes a long second to catch up to all of that. Then it rewinds.

“Hold on!” He interjects with no small amount of alarm. “What do you mean by ‘we’?” 

Elm grins a little too widely. It’s extremely off-putting. “Isn’t it obvious?!” she yells. Loudly. 

Several heads turn in their direction.

“We’re going to help you get your man!”

---

More Notes: There we go! A return to the roots of this story, which was always meant to be the Ace Ops torturing poor Clover (but really, how bad can you feel for the guy who's currently in the process of snagging a date with Qrow?). I hope you all enjoyed and I love you guys so much!

THANK YOU FOR READING!

(That Clover/Qrow/Elm story will be going up in a couple of hours, too, by the way! I have a few errands to run first, but then it's full steam ahead!)

[ericjuneau]

Scapegoat by Eric Juneau

Copyright 2020 by Eric J. Juneau. All rights reserved.

This story is in no way intended to infringe on the established copyrights and trademarks of Capcom Co., Ltd. It is for entertainment purposes only and is not intended for sale. It may be freely distributed providing that no alterations to the story are made.

The characters and incidents portrayed and the names in this story used herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person, living, dead, or otherwise, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Scapegoat

by Eric J. Juneau

The following takes place before "Mega Man X".

Commander Sigma did not need an office. Offices were human constructs to provide private space to focus on work. But a reploid accomplished most job tasks by connecting to a computer terminal. They executed at speeds beyond any organic life form's reaction time.

But it appeased the human politicians and militarists to give him an an office. One with a wall-to-wall window behind his desk overlooking the city buildings. They thought it befit his station as leader of the Elite Seventeenth Unit of Maverick Hunters. An office symbolized status--I get one, you don't. Therefore you are inferior to me.

Zero did not have an office.

Which was why he was standing in Sigma's.

"In my time as commanding officer... no, as a Maverick Hunter at all... I have never seen such a blatant disregard for property," Sigma said. "Do you know what was salvageable from the fire?"

Zero pursed his lips. "Judging by the disaster recovery brief, I would say 'very little'."

"I'm glad you had the mindfulness to at least consider the damage you've done." Sigma picked up the data PDA and held it out. "Nothing. Nothing was salvageable. As one would expect when a geothermal reactor becomes engulfed in flame."

"Sir, I didn't have a choice. One of the mavericks' stray shots hit the fission shielding."

"But you didn't have to add fuel to that fire. You turned a manageable blaze into a raging inferno. The entire district had to be evacuated."

"There were no human casualties. Besides, the plant was a lost cause anyway. The fire was controllable. So I let the natural process of destruction do some of the work for us. As far as I know, we have no standing orders to apprehend mavericks. Correct?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean actively trying to destroy them. Those mavericks could have been rehabilitated. Reprogrammed. We need soldiers in this war, Zero. There are more of them than there are of us."

"We don't know that, sir. Mavericks hide, stay undercover. There may be more of them, but they don't have a unifying force-"

"Until one day when they do. Dammit, Zero. You have clearly learned nothing from this incident. Since day one, I've been barely able to suppress your brutality and mania. Therefore, I'm demoting you, effective immediately."

Zero gasped. "You can't take away my A-Class. That's verified through independent eval-"

Sigma held up his hand. "No, not that. That can't be changed by your commanding officer. But your mission allocation can. From now on, you are only cleared for epsilon-level assignments."

"Epsilon? That's the lowest there is! It's for privates and emissaries, not hunters of any rank."

Sigma leaned in and pointed his finger. "Until you prove you can handle combat with a calmer head, this is your fate. These lower level assignments will teach you there's more to being a Maverick Hunter than violence and destruction."

"But-"

"There will be no argument. Your first assignment is already in progress. Get to it, hunter."

Sigma didn't have to tell him he was dismissed. Zero turned on his heel and left the office. The door slid shut behind him.

In the corridor, Zero accessed his account. Sure enough, the only tasks on his assignment queue were epsilon-level. Everything else had been filtered out.

Worse yet, all epsilon-class missions required a partner. Zero didn't see who the second delegate was on his current assignment, but it didn't matter. The system would notify him or her that the prerequisites had been filled. Reploids didn't need downtime--didn't need sleep, didn't need food, didn't need to relax. When an assignment was ready, so was the hunter.

Whoever signed on must have been a real go-getter if they didn't care who the senior officer would be. He or she was probably hopping at the door like a puppy.

Zero headed to the transportation bay. Nearly as he predicted, his partner chased after him, waving his hand. He was a blue reploid with angular limbs and a young face. Zero recognized him, though they had never met.

"You're Mega Man X, right?" Zero asked.

"Yes. Although everyone calls me 'X'. Honored to be working with you."

Zero nodded. They walked down the corridor, while Zero discerned first impressions. "So you're the original reploid?"

"Yes, sir. Although I'm not technically a reploid, since all existing reploids are based off my design. You know, since 'reploid' is a portmanteau of 'replicated android'. I'm considered the original prototype."

"But you're with the Maverick Hunters now. Why?" Zero asked. "Aren't we essentially killing your children?"

"Well..." X rubbed the back of his head as they walked. "I don't think of it that way. It could be some kind of programming error, or a fatal bug that makes them violent towards humans."

"Then why have they got you pushing pencils? Taking epsilon-level assignments? You should be with the tacticians and intelligence. You know the most about the vulnerabilities and flaws in your own design."

"Well, one is inexperience. I only joined up recently. Another is... I'm a pacifist." X hung his head.

Zero stopped in his tracks. "You're a pacifist? And you joined the Maverick Hunters?" Zero threw back his head and laughed, yellow hair swishing behind him.

X nodded. "But I realized that I could still do something about it. I wasn't intended for combat but I was designed for it. Every one of them is like me. So if they wreak havoc and I just sit there, I'm as bad as them."

Zero nodded. "Noble," he said as they walked into the elevator. At least he couldn't question X's loyalty. Even if he seemed a little wormy, a little naive for a Maverick Hunter, they'd get along fine.

The elevator dropped them off outside the transportation bay gate. Gristle, a hunched reploid with red bug eyes, was manning dispatch.

"Zero, what's shaking?" he said in a gravelly voice. "Whatcha got going on today? You got a chum?" Zero could almost feel Gristle's datacrawler oozing around his mission log. "Whoa, epsilon-class? What'd you do to get the garbage run?"

"Don't ask," Zero said. "Don't want to talk about it." Zero headed into the bay toward the teleportation capsules, with X following. A long row of booths stood against the wall, similar to restoration chambers. Reploids could use these instead of their own internal teleport circuits, which saved on energy and lifespan.

"Hey, hey!" Gristle shouted. "No, no, no. Not for you. Teleportation's only for delta-class assignments and higher. You take a manual."

Zero looked where Gristle pointed. Small personal vehicles--like ride chasers, cruisers, LUVs--lay scattered in the bay. They were necessary to humans who couldn't teleport. But to a reploid, he might as well have been told to ride a tricycle.

"Ha, ha. I recommend the Little Sultan." He pointed to a two-seated streamlined hovercar. "It's a fine day for a ride anyway, isn't it?"

Gristle's laughter followed them to the hovercar. They both got in and took off through the garage's open maw.

True to Gristle's statement, the day was fine—blue skies with crisp, clean air. But weather control systems will do that for a city. The bright sun certainly didn't match Zero's mood. But X drank it all in, like he had never left Maverick Hunter HQ. Perhaps that was true--rookies tended to get stuck in the bowels of labs and workstations.

"Look, a dog park," X pointed out.

To their right a fenced-off square field enclosed humans with dogs, humans with robot dogs, and robots with real dogs, all partaking of the sunny day.

"Sure is nice to see the city without all the destruction. Something to remind us what we're fighting for. What to look forward to when this is all over," X said.

Zero nodded. "What do you know about our mission?" Might as well make conversation, since the vehicle was self-driving.

"We're delivering an encrypted data package to IngeniVox, a technology manufacturer and innovator." X held up a tiny black rectangle.

"You know what IngeniVox does?" Zero asked.

"Primarily, they make the energen capsules reploids use to restabilize their reactor cores. The data we have is the updated hardware design for the power port interface, so IngeniVox can integrate it into their work."

Zero nodded. "Exciting stuff."

X fiddled with his fingers. "Well, I guess, since it concerns reploid power generation, it's sensitive enough they couldn't risk transmission over the HyperNet. So they needed a courier. And since all assignments require a backup..."

"Only epsilon-level," Zero said. "This mission doesn't need a delivery boy, it needs a mailbox."

X cocked his head. "I take it you think this mission is beneath you."

"It's not my typical fare… but you probably love this." Since you're a pacifist, Zero added in his head.

"Well, it's a safe mission. No one's going to come to any harm or be put in harm's way."

Zero barked a laugh. "I like your optimism, kid. "

X muttered "Kid? I'm older than you. I'm older than every reploid," as the hovercar curved around a corner.

Zero did feel a little lighter as they entered the venture district. Here, manufacturing mixed with business development--the epicenter of progress for the city. Every diamond-glass building glowed in the sun, from skyscraping towers to wide aquaponic fortresses.

The hovercar decelerated into the driveway of a small building shaped like a tulip bulb, covered with mirrored paneling. Maybe fifty people worked there at any given time. A modest logo was stenciled next to the door.

Zero and X entered the reception area. Several flat-panel screens displayed a slideshow highlighting "cutting edge" and "hyper automation" among smart looking humans and teal-and-orange backdrops. The couches and tables looked barely used. But there was no one in the room, not even at the reception desk.

"How do we meet our contact?" X asked. "I expected the entrance to be monitored."

Zero checked the reception console. "Computer is locked due to timeout."

"Is the office closed?"

"It's normal business hours," Zero shrugged. The door to the building proper was secured by a thumbprint reader. Zero wasn't about to violate that policy--he was in enough trouble as it was.

X grimaced. "Something's… off. I don't know anymore than that. It's just... a funny feeling."

They waited for five minutes. X picked up a thermoplastic pyramid that was some business award. Zero examined an abstract painting and a potted palm tree. Surely someone would return after a given amount of time. Security logs would record that the door had been opened and there were occupants in the reception room.

Zero tapped his communicator. "Ophi, are you picking up my location?"

"Loud and clear, Zero. You're at the IngeniVox building right now."

"What's the net traffic look like coming from my location?"

"One second." Zero's eyes darted around the room while the operator examined the input/output transmission at their location. "Seems normal. E-mails, phone calls, internet transmission, all within expected parameters."

"Hmm, okay." Zero shut off the comm. "There's still signals from the building, so people are here."

X didn't answer. He was listening. "Something doesn't seem right. I've never felt anything like it."

Zero again turned his eyes to the door. Authorized Personnel Only.

"X, your buster operational?" Zero asked.

"Yes, sir. It's not as powerful as yours, but..."

Zero waved him off. He approached the door, examined its structure. The electronic lock was a basic "prox" card reader with RFID and 512-bit RSA encryption. Nothing special. A coffee maker could have hacked it. Zero emitted a brute force attack via radio signal and the door opened.

Inside was a typical office building--dispersed cubicles, thin carpeting, uniform desks and chairs. The hum of running machines filled the air. But the lights were off--only the windows lit their way.

"There's people here somewhere," X said. "Maybe they're at a company-wide meeting?"

"I doubt it."

The cubicles occupied only a small area on the way to the manufacturing center. Secure labs, glass windows showing big boxy servers. X peeked in one of the conference rooms. A display screen shuffled through natural landscape photographs.

"Maybe everyone is sick?" X asked. "Or has the day off?"

Zero didn't dignify that with a response. They looked in break rooms, conference rooms, computer rooms, closed-off lab stations, and personal offices. No reploids, no robots, no humans. The only moving object they encountered was a motorized vacuum crossing the floor. It sensed them, avoided their feet, and rerouted to the other hallways.

They stopped and listened, but there was nothing to hear. Nothing but some sinister feeling they couldn't figure out.

"Hey!" Zero shouted. "Hey, anyone!"

"Look," X pointed to an open door. "They wouldn't leave a laboratory open like this. It's a sterile room. And that little box has the chemical symbol for ranmatine. That's highly corrosive."

Without meeting a soul, their sojourn was halted by the other end of the building. They descended the fire stairs one floor.

"Never quite had this feeling before," X said. "I think humans would call it the heebie-jeebies."

Zero smirked. "Leave that out of your report," he said. Assuming we live to see the end of this.

The next floor down was much like above, although missing some of the niceties and human touches. No conference rooms. Just a small reception area with wooden floors and an airlock into the manufacturing floor.

"I've seen abandoned buildings before, but not like this," X said. "Not one that seems so recent. Still full of life-"

"Hold it, X."

The two of them froze.

"Did you hear something?" X asked.

"Thought I heard a... something like crying. Human crying."

X cocked his head, listening for the phantom noise. They waited for the sound to come again.

"HEY!" Zero shouted, startling X. "Is there anybody here?!"

"Let's look in here. This looks like their outbound router."

Inside a closet, taking up all the space, rested a silver and ebony server rack brimming with red, orange, and green lights. The rack was chilled to the touch from the running coolant.

But what caught Zero's eye was a device on the floor--a six-inch black box with an upright cylinder. The top of the cylinder beeped softly every three seconds. A human might have missed it among the snaking wires and conversion boxes. But this didn't fit with the setup. Especially when Zero turned it over and found it had no bottom, just circuit boards and loose wires.

"What is that?" X muttered.

Zero was about to respond when his comm board lit up with an incoming signal. From Ophi. "Zero, can you read me? We analyzed the network traffic coming from the building. It's there, but it's garbage. Random strings and repeated requests. Electronic messages from three days ago sent over and over. Like it's sending mock signals to resemble a normal amount of communication."

Zero turned the device over in his hands. "That's what this is. It's a transponder. Sending simulated network traffic."

"Because if it all stopped, an alert would trigger from the service provider," X said.

"But why? You want to make it seem like humans are still at their desks working. What could-"

Zero's and X's eyes were still on the transponder when they turned from the closet. That was why they didn't see the two reploids standing in front of them. Zero recognized their designations--Phase Crane and Chain Buffalox--and that they were mavericks. But that was all his reaction time would allow.

Phase Crane held some kind of rocket launcher on his shoulder. He fired it as Zero and X raised their buster arms. Two globes of milk-colored glop flew out. The blobs made perfect impact with the apertures of their arm cannons, covering them in sticky biscuit dough.

Phase Crane shifted the launcher tube off his shoulders. "I don't recommend you try to shoot us. That's liquid ceratanium. Well… it was liquid. It hardens quickly."

X tried to pry it off with his fingers, but true to the maverick's word, it had already solidified. Ceramic titanium was the only substance that could repel plasma energy. And his arm cannon was clogged with it.

"If you fire now, the shot'll bounce back in. And probably blow your arm off." Phase Crane cackled. "But if you want to try, go ahead, by all means. I'd like to see that."

Zero's lip twitched as Phase Crane laughed. He reared his fist and ran forward, screaming. X followed a split-second behind. Phase Crane and Chain Buffalox didn't move.

Halfway there, Zero's and X's legs tripped a taut chain across their floor. Their bodies convulsed with violent electric current, paralyzed by bands of yellow energy. Then they collapsed on the ground.

###

Zero and X's systems rebooted from the catastrophic shutdown as their bodies were thrown on a concrete surface.

"Maverick Hunters..." someone said after their heads hit the floor.

They were in a lab or product storage room. The air radiated with energen.

Zero and X stood. They were surrounded by six mavericks in total--the two from before, plus Grabber Kangaroid, Grease Caribou, Bullet Frog, and one hulking gorilla-dog in the center: Drill Mongrell. Mongrell sat on a makeshift throne made of old chassis and plastic parts. His fists were the size of industrial pistons.

"Maverick Hunters… hey... hey, you're Zero," Mongrell pointed as if he had seen a celebrity. "This here is Zero."

"No, he isn't," said Bullet Frog.

"Sure he is. Red and white armor, blond hair. Only A-class in the hunters. The Elite Seventeenth, right?"

"That's right," Zero replied.

Drill Mongrell stepped forward. His fist embedded in Zero's torso, crackling with energy. Zero rocketed up and smashed into the ceiling. Gravel and gray dust rained down with him as he fell like rotten fruit.

"You barbarous-" X started forward. Five arm cannons leveled at him.

Zero struggled to one knee, his limbs trembling. "Enjoy that, Mongrell." Zero glowered from under his helmet. He grinned. "It won't happen again."

"We'll see, Zero… pride of the Maverick Hunters. But later." He turned to Grabber Kangaroid. "Put them with the others."

"With the humans?" she asked. "Why not just get rid of them? We could-"

"Not yet. They might help us out yet. Hostages and such," Mongrell said.

As Chain Buffalox grabbed X's arm, he turned to the other mavericks. "Imagine that. Maverick Hunters helping us."

"They'll be begging to help in no time," Drill Mongrell said.

Bullet Frog and Grease Caribou picked up Zero and half-carried, half-dragged him away. The other two marched X at cannon-point.

They were in a sub-sub-basement, deeper underground. The floors were made of smooth concrete and shiny plastic, like a garage. It was cool and dry, had few lights, and no decorations.

The four mavericks took X and Zero to a room with a mechanical hatch covering the floor. Blinking servers stood against one wall in glass cases. Bullet Frog typed some commands into the standing console at the corner of the hatch. It hummed and slid back like a pool cover.

Bright light spilled out from an in-ground vat. Inside was an ultra-clean server room, indicated by the grid of black computer boxes. And people. About fifty people standing within the illuminated walls. They looked up and began moaning and pleading to be let out.

The mavericks tossed X and Zero into the pit. They landed on their faces, clanging on the semi-metallic floor. The other humans surrounded them, helping them up, checking for damage. Women and men, ages from young twenties to eighties. Everyone spoke at once.

"Guess we found the people," X said. "Are you all here?"

"We think so," said one of the humans. All looked dressed for a day at the office--some with lab coats, some with collared shirts. Most were roughed up, but uninjured.

Drill Mongrell stepped up to the rim of the pit, his allies on either side. "Shut up! Shut up, all of you!"

The group hushed down, except for one woman in the back who couldn't stop sobbing. Phase Crane leveled his arm cannon at her. She cried like her atoms were breaking apart.

"Lady, I told you to keep quiet. Shut up or I'll shut you up."

A man came to comfort her, holding her around the arms while whispering "sh-sh-sh-sh-sh..."

"Zero..." X said.

"Quiet," Zero said.

"Now that we have some new guests here, maybe you'll be more willing to talk. I'm going to ask you again. Which one of you is responsible for that energen bomb?" Drill Mongrell asked.

The humans remained as disconnected and frightened as before, clammy skin and glistening eyes. No one said anything.

"You know what I'm talking about. Which one? All right. Maybe you know these two I just dropped in. They're Maverick Hunters. Zero, in particular. Finest hunter in the Seventeenth Elite Unit, headed by Sigma. What you do from here on out, any consequences that come to pass, he's accountable. That's his purpose anyway, to protect you from reploids like us. Ain't that right, Zero?"

Zero ground his teeth. "You could say that."

Drill Mongrell bent to one knee, addressing Zero. "One of these weaklings killed Terror Mongrell. Same model, same system software as me. You could call him my brother. I did. Someone killed him with an explosive energen capsule, right when his back was turned. I want to know which one of these flesh-bags did it, so I can treat them to the same fate. And until I find out, there's going to be more death coming. So you talk to them, Zero." Drill Mongrell stood. "You explain to them what's at stake. Take a couple minutes."

Drill Mongrell walked away. His maverick gang followed.

Without the sight of them, the IngeniVox employees closed in.

"You guys got to help us," a man said. "Please. You don't know what they can do."

"Is anyone hurt? Does anyone need first aid?" Zero asked. The people shook their heads.

"Are you really Maverick Hunters?" asked a woman.

"Yes. Mega Man X and Zero," X said. "We came to deliver some engineering data regarding energen capsule ports."

"Oh, that would be Hadleigh Wilkins." The man pointed to a nearby heavyset Black woman in a white lab coat. Her crispy hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked dumbfounded at being called out by name.

X took the little plastic nubbin from the storage compartment in his armor and handed it out. "Thanks, I guess," she said as it went into her pocket.

"Mister Zero, sir?" asked a scared looking blond boy with lean features. He touched Zero on the arm. "H-hi. I'm Ryan Shetler. I-I'm a software developer. L-listen, you've got to do something. Those mavericks are gonna-"

"All right, Shetler. Calm down. We'll-"

A woman with long pink hair approached. "We've got people who don't even belong to the company down here. Maintenance managers and even the coffee shop guy. We've got to do something before they come back. Evelyn wasn't even supposed to come in today. She just came to pick up-"

"We're going to handle it, all right?" Zero snapped.

"Hold on! Hold on!" X said as they crowded in.

"We've got to stop them!" the others shouted. "They're going to kill us!"

"If you try and attack, they'd kill you all, get it?" Zero shouted. "Humans are nothing to a maverick. Your lives--all your lives--are on a very thin thread right now."

Shetler interrupted again. "We were thinking if we all rushed... I mean, there's fifty of us. Some of us might get hurt, but all fifty at once-"

"You ever seen flesh against a plasma cannon?" Zero sneered. "It'd go through you like a bullet through a garbage bag."

That quieted them down. Except Shetler, who meekly said "But... we've got to do something."

"We will. But someone needs to explain to me what's going on," Zero asked.

The crowd shushed then. Hadleigh sighed and stepped up. "They came in this morning. Burst in, corralled us up. I think they were looking for energen. The kangaroo one broke into the lab where I was, pocketed everything I was working on."

"There were no signs of forced entry," X said.

Hadleigh nodded. "They might have come from underground. Or the roof. I don't think they were looking for a spectacle, just the energen. They searched the building top to bottom, waving their cannons around. Weren't paying much attention to us."

"What happened to Terror Mongrell? How was he killed?" Zero asked.

"Some of the team in R&D, they call themselves 'rogue squad'. I guess they rigged some of the energen capsules to reverse polarity and implode. Snuck up and threw them, then ran away. One of them picked it up. Exploded right in his face. Whole torso disintegrated. I guess it was the big one's twin."

"That's when the havoc started?" Zero asked.

Hadleigh nodded. "They pulled any of us they could find, using us for hostages. Human shields. Interrogated us. Found every last human in the building. It was easy. We all gave in--no one wanted to get hurt or see anyone hurt."

"And you've been trapped here ever since?"

Hadleigh nodded. "The 'rogue squad' is here too, but the mavericks don't know that."

"Why doesn't he just kill you all? Then he'd have his revenge," X asked.

Zero shrugged. "Because it's personal. He must want to do something special he can't get from indiscriminate killing. We aren't dealing with mavericks like we used to. They never used to roam around in gangs, terrorizing humans for pleasure. They used to fight alone, popping up here and there. I've learned never to hold any expectations for a maverick."

"Anyway, we've been trapped here since," Hadleigh said. "Mongrell keeps threatening us unless we give them up. Even the guys in rogue squad don't know which one of them did it."

A woman gasped and covered her mouth as her watery eyes flashed. Drill Mongrell had returned, along with his cronies.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen? What's it going to be?" When no one spoke, he eyed Zero. "You get any answers out of them? Did you tell them to do the right thing?"

"The right thing would be to accept that your brother got what he deserved."

"Not on account of some human cowards."

"He was a moron who broke in somewhere and picked up a strange energen capsule tossed his way. If you're dumb enough-"

Mongrel's arms lit up as bright as his eyes. "I'm not gonna take a lecture from a servile thug like you about right and wrong. Now give 'em up." Mongrell held up his barrel-sized fist and cocked it like a shotgun. A surge of ocher energy rippled through. "Who did it? If I have to wipe out every mealy-mouthed meatbag here, I'll find out. I will."

"You think that's going to bring Terror Mongrell back?" Zero sneered.

Drill Mongrell growled under his voicebox. "Grabber, take two of them. That one..." He pointed to a rotund Indian man with meaty jowls. "And that one..." He pointed to Shetler.

"No!" X shouted.

"Mongrell, when I get out of here I'm going to tear you apart. There won't be anything left of you but dust," Zero said, fighting the urge to raise his useless arm cannon.

"You gotta get out of there first," Mongrell said.

Grabber Kangaroid stepped up. Her belly split across the middle and a large claw emerged. The claw, attached by a chain, hurtled out and clamped around the first victim. The clamp yanked back so hard, his neck wrenched hard enough to snap. Kangaroid caught him and threw him to the side.

Three others clutched onto Shetler's body, but that didn't matter. He flew out of their hands and into the mavericks'.

"Well? Anybody got anything to say now?" Mongrell asked once the cries had settled. No one spoke. "All right then. You can live with your decision." Mongrell stepped back. The mavericks dragged the dazed humans out of view.

Everyone stood in hushed sobs, like trembling zombies. Zero and X could do no more than the same, staring at the space above.

There was no charging of cannon, no hum of a power surge, no voices, no crying or pleading. Just two shots, with no way to shut out the sound. Some weeped louder, but otherwise, the death chill had frozen everyone.

"We've got to do something," muttered Hadleigh.

"We will," Zero said.

###

The hatch advanced, becoming their ceiling and shutting them back in a vault. Bright light from the paneled walls and floors irritated their eyes like gnats. Zero didn't know why the mavericks didn't come back and capitalize on the fresh fear. Maybe Mongrell was more gutless than he let on.

X had gone to circulate among the others, maybe to gather information. That suited Zero fine--he could stand against the wall and contemplate the situation. Strategize. Six mavericks, once seven. Still too many to take on, even with a buster that worked.

X returned. "Did you ever send out a distress signal?" he asked Zero.

"Have been ever since they threw us in here," Zero said. "Signal's being blocked. I can't even connect to you. Something's mangling it. Probably whatever lines this room."

"Lead-corbosite," Hadleigh tossed in. "It scrambles all wireless signals, prevents external hacking. These servers are for data-processing. They're only ever supposed to talk to each other. That's why they put us in here. Easier than trying to grab everyone's phones, PDAs, whatever."

"I found the members of 'rogue squad'," X said. "That's just a nickname they gave themselves. They're the top engineers for the company, innovators. Two of them are willing to submit themselves, but two aren't."

"And they shouldn't," Zero said. "We don't deal in lives. We should be thinking about escape."

"Even if we do, we're useless without our busters," X said.

"I know," Zero said. "We're just arms and legs."

"There's some vorticular acetinol in my lab. It can dissolve ceratanium. If we can get out of here," Hadleigh said.

"Eventually we're going to register as missing, either us or the humans," X said. "Then they'll send reinforcements."

"Too much time passes, they're going to come back here and kill another one of us. Or we'll just start dropping," Hadleigh added. "Haviland has an implant that sends neurosignals from his heart to his lungs and it's not working in here. If we don't get out of here soon, he's going to drop dead."

"Reinforcements?" Zero turned to X. "We are the reinforcements."

X, Zero, and Hadleigh spent an hour brainstorming plans, huddled in a corner. Many began shivering from cold, walking around, rubbing their arms and legs together. The vault wasn't meant for human habitation.

"Do they always come in the same way? Stand in the same spots?" X asked.

"Yes, right there." She pointed.

"How many approach at a time? I figure Grabber Kangaroid will always be one of them."

"The only time there's more than two is when the big one is with, the leader."

X's eyes brightened. "Here's what we could do. Zero and I could press against the wall under where they stand. That hatch opens slow, so they'll be waiting. Probably not paying too much attention. We'll wait until we see them. Then we jump, drag them down. Once they're in, we swarm, all fifty of us."

Hadleigh drew back.

"Just long enough to keep them down and confused while Zero and I disable them," X said.

"What's to stop them from signaling from help?" Hadleigh asked.

"Same thing stopping us." X gestured to the illuminated corbosite all around them.

"You don't think they'll be on a higher alert now that we're here?" Zero asked.

"Not without our blasters." X held up his arm cannon, still covered in hardened goo. Zero nodded.

"It's risky," Hadleigh said.

"Life is risk," Zero said. "If we're to have any chance at all, we have to take one."

"You're telling me," X said. "If the heaviest reploids show up, we might be screwed. I don't think I can take that buffalo one down."

"Surprise will be on our side," said Zero. "We'll also need everyone's help. Every last body."

"I'll start telling the others." Hadleigh stood from her crouch and sauntered toward the others.

X and Zero assumed positions where the hatch opened, comparing data about where they would approach from. Then they pressed against the wall to stay out of peripheral vision. After that, all they had to do was wait.

"Gotta admit, X, you've got a mind for method," Zero whispered. "Me? My central strategy is to rush in and start shooting."

"That's why you're an A-class hunter. You never hesitate on the battlefield. You have the skill that keeps you alive," X said.

"Could also be luck. I may take action, but it's not always the right action. You figure out the right action. There might be a place for you in the tactical division."

X looked down. "I could get people killed."

"You can get people killed doing what I do," Zero said.

"No, I mean I... may not be ready... yet."

"Well, with some training-"

"No, you don't understand." X's voice trembled. "You know my story. When Dr. Cain found me, I was sealed inside a capsule. I was supposed to be there for thirty years so it could test out my neuropsychology. Run simulations and correct the AI network. Make sure I wouldn't pose a danger to humans."

"Right, so?"

"So when Dr. Cain analyzed the capsule's computer, he couldn't find the date I was sealed in. The data was either corrupted or erased or... something. So no one knows how long I was in there." X gave Zero a desperate look. "What if it was less than thirty years? What if every maverick is my fault because they're all based on me? Because I was disconnected too early. And they all have it, Zero. Every reploid has my faulty programming. And there are so many of them, we could never stop them all, and they keep making more every day-"

"X, X, calm down," Zero said. "It's not your fault. You didn't make anyone go maverick. Whether it's a virus or a design flaw, you didn't make any of this. Besides you're doing everything you can to stop them."

"I'm doing everything I can because it could all be my fault," X said in a low tone.

Zero grimaced and huffed, unsure what to say.

A loud thud sounded, followed by grinding metal. The hatch was opening.

###

X and Zero hunkered down as the ceiling's shadow slid across the floor. The humans couldn't hear, but X and Zero, with their ultra-sensitive audio receptors, picked up conversation. Mongrell wasn't one of them.

"What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Mongrell. His whole… thing. They were close, I guess?"

"I never saw it. How many should we grab?"

"I don't know. He said to take one or two."

"Well, which is it? One or two?"

"How should I know? They all look the same to me."

"Maybe he meant we take one big one or two little ones."

"I don't think that's how it works. Each human's an individual unit."

Around Zero and X, the people trembled like chickens in a hen house. Hadleigh made a V sign with her fingers. "Two," she mouthed.

"The bigger ones might be more valuable."

"But more of them means more loss. Humans have a higher reaction to large numbers of dead."

"That's true. Maybe we take one small one and one big one. Like that one standing over there, he looks big enough."

"Hey, you. Step forward. Are you important?"

The silhouettes of the reploids crept over the rim of the wall, shadowed by the overhead lights. Zero and X aligned themselves directly under each.

In perfect synchronicity, they leapt up, kicked off the wall, and bounded over the pit. With Zero and X floating before them, Grabber Kangaroid and Bullet Frog stood stunned.

Zero seized Grabber Kangaroid by the shoulders. X grabbed Bullet Frog's bulbous head. As they fell, they dragged the mavericks down with them. Everyone landed scattered from each other with loud clanging.

The humans mobbed the prone reploids. They held them down anywhere they could squeeze in and get a hand on some metal. The mavericks appeared dazed, making little effort to get up as they were overrun.

X and Zero sprang up, no time to spare. They scrambled toward the mavericks, each heading toward one.

"Voice box," Zero said. Simultaneously, X and Zero plunged their free arms into Bullet Frog's and Grabber Kangaroid's mouths. They clutched the biggest chunk of equipment they could find purchase on and ripped it out.

"Arm cannon," Zero said. The humans spread apart, giving access to each maverick's right hand. X and Zero tore them off with as much strength as they could muster. Grabber Kangaroid and Bitter Frog convulsed in pain and terror. Taking away a maverick's weapon was like ripping out their soul.

"There." Zero sat back. "Can you hold them like that for a while?"

The humans nodded, while the mavericks flailed beneath them. "All of us together, we can do it."

"All right, let's get out of here." Zero turned to Hadleigh. "Where is your lab?"

"I'm coming with you," she said. "You need my keycode to get in. And 'rogue squad' told me there are more of those rigged-up energen grenades in there."

Zero should have said no, but time was of the essence. "Fine."

"Get on my back." X hunched down.

Hadleigh wrapped her arms around X like a human backpack. The two wall-kicked and jumped out of the pit, landing on concrete floor. In a darkened corner, they saw the two bodies that had been shot. Holes torn through their chest cavities, crispy flesh bubbling around the edges.

Hadleigh let herself down. "My lab's on this floor. South wing. Come on."

As they headed south, Zero said to X, "I just sent a message to HQ, but they won't be here soon enough."

"There's still four of them and two of us," X said.

"But we know that and they don't."

Hadleigh led them to a laboratory with a darkened door window. She entered a code on the keypad. The hydraulic lock behind the door whooshed open.

The lab was a mess--equipment scattered on the floor with sparkling glass and instruments. Rubber stoppers, vials, blue stain, frayed wires, along with the strong smell of latex and ozone.

Hadleigh reached under a standing table, where towers of differently-sized canisters were stacked. She placed one on the table. It hissed as she unscrewed the top. "Crap," she said. "There's only enough for one."

"X, you take it," Zero said.

"But your buster is more powerful. Mine's only a Mark-17."

"I can handle myself. I didn't become a Class-A solely because of this." Zero held up his arm.

A light entered Hadleigh's eyes. "I think I know something you can use."

X poured out the canister on his arm and rubbed the viscous goo in. In a few seconds, the ceratanium began hissing and smoking, emitting a foul chemical odor. Meanwhile, Zero followed Hadleigh to the corner of the lab. She bent down to a chest. Inside was a palm-sized gold stick.

"Try this. Hold the hilt away from you and energize it."

Zero did so. A needle-thin ray of green light extended out three feet. It crackled a bit, then stabilized.

"It's a laser sword," Zero said.

"It's an irradiated plasma ray with a hydron blocker attached to an output impedance. And an extended amplitude regulator to control the length. But yes, it's a laser sword." She shrugged. "What can I say? We're nerds. Problem is, no one can use it, because we'd chop off our limbs. No human at least--we don't have the dexterity or control. But a reploid..."

Zero stood clear of any objects. He swooped the sword around, stabbing and slashing. Each swing made a vrrrp-sound that increased in timbre with velocity. He grinned.

"I could get used to this." His mind raced with ways to refine it for combat. The hilt was clunky. It could be longer and have an added guard. Maybe increase the blade width. Make it swing in a more fluid arc. And make it green. Or blue. Both? He couldn't decide.

"Zero?"

"Huh?"

"We're ready," X said. He brushed the remaining chunks of ceratanium off his arm cannon. It had a discolored stain, but nothing that couldn't be cleaned. Assuming they survived this.

"I'm ready." Hadleigh zipped up a squarish bag with a vendor's logo and shoulder strap. It was full of small round globes, each with a band of prismatic light around the center.

The three of them made their way to the grand conference room where X and Zero had woken up. Its windows were made of frosted glass and they could see the mavericks' silhouettes inside. They were talking, scheming, hoarding the energen, searching through computers for data.

Zero and X stood a ways from the room, out of sight. "If we could pick them off one by one, we'd be fine," X said.

"Don't think we're going to have that option," Zero said.

X's eyes traced a path along the ceiling. "Is there a maintenance shaft that cuts across that room?"

"I think so," Hadleigh said. "It's always cold in there."

"You thinking about sneaking in?" Zero asked.

"I'm thinking about a three-pronged assault. Surprise them. I can get through the vents--I'm lighter than I look. You bait them out the door. Hadleigh stands to the side and chucks her explosives at them."

"I don't know if we can take that chance-"

"I'm willing," Hadleigh said. "I think it's a good plan."

"We gotta do something now. They're going to get suspicious when those mavericks don't come back," X said.

"All right. I'll get their attention on me. You drop behind them. Then we all unleash hell."

X nodded. He climbed up some boxes to the ceiling, tore the grate out, and climbed in.

"We'll wait a bit for X to get into position. Let's get ourselves ready."

With quiet steps, Zero and Hadleigh approached the conference room door. Without lights, they wouldn't be seen, as long as no one looked too hard. Hadleigh stood on the other side of the door frame. She silently unzipped her bag. Zero stood a few feet from the entrance. From here, he could hear the dialogue inside.

"It's all about psychology," Phase Crane was saying. "You use fear to motivate them. Humans eat up fear. And you know what they fear the most?"

"Uh, snakes?" came one of the answers. "The dark? Squishy things?"

"No, no. The unknown. That's why I told Mongrell to put them in isolation. They don't know when we're coming. They don't know who's going to die. They don't know where we are. So they stew in their little gray brains for hours thinking of the worst case scenarios. Intimidating themselves. Building up their fear. They do the work for us."

There were murmurs of assent and approval.

"I don't care. I want them to pay for what they did to my brother," came Mongrell's voice. "Go find out where the other two are. Tell them to grab the two reploids, the Maverick Hunters. They're harmless now. Kill 'em outright. Let them know there's no one protecting them."

"Don't be so sure about that!" Zero shouted.

The chatter inside halted. Zero held his sword across his chest. Hadleigh shifted her feet.

The door burst open. Chain Buffalox stood there, steam emitting from his nostrils. Phase Crane behind him.

"Kill him!" Mongrell shouted.

Mega Man X dropped out of the ceiling behind them. Everyone but Buffalox turned around--he was rushing Zero. As soon as he cleared the door, Hadleigh started throwing metal balls of energy inside, one after the other. The room filled with explosions. The other mavericks darted around chaotically as X targeted them one by one.

Buffalox tried to punch Zero, but he side-stepped, severing the arm at the elbow. But that didn't faze the buffalo-reploid--a chain burst out of his arm cannon, embedding into Zero's chest. It lit up with an electric surge, stunning Zero, sending pain through him like red hot spikes. Chain Buffalox retracted the grapple. Zero held out the laser sword as he was brought into Buffalox's range. The green ray impaled the maverick through the chest. Sparks and smoke puffed into his face, and the maverick fell over.

Zero rushed toward the conference room. Smoke and screams and explosions saturated the area. Flames crackling and flashing, glass breaking, a gummy acrid smell that burned the nose. Zero pushed himself through the fog. "X?"

Zero's foot made contact with something outside the door. A body. He waved the smoke away. It was Hadleigh. Her eyes were closed, charred skin and blood above her left eye. Body covered in ash. Dead by explosion, not a stray plasma shot. Maybe one of those jerry-rigged capsules rolled back to her.

"X?" Zero shouted again.

"I'm here!" X said.

At Zero's feet, Drill Mongrell's shape crawled along the floor through the smog. Zero gripped under the maverick's chest armor and spun him on his back. Mongrell cried out. Zero stomped a foot on Mongrell's torso and held the sword to his chin.

"It's over, Drill," Zero shouted.

"Ain't nothing over. They killed my brother, I'll kill you too."

"There's been enough killing today."

Drill Mongrell stopped struggling. He grinned toothily. "All right, Zero. That's fine, then. I surrender."

Zero remembered what Commander Sigma had said. Those mavericks could have been rehabilitated. Reprogrammed. We need soldiers in this war, Zero.

He plunged his sword deep into Drill Mongrell's chest cavity, into the power core. Mongrell gasped as liquid plasma and oil eked out. "I'd rather become a maverick myself than have to work side-by-side with you, rehabilitated or not," Zero whispered.

When Drill Mongrell stopped twitching, Zero unsheathed the sword and turned it off.

"You okay, Zero?" X asked, getting closer.

"Just fine," Zero said.

###

And it was over.

Zero and X rushed back and disposed of the two mavericks held in the pit. The humans had held up their end of the bargain, so X and Zero held up theirs. Shortly thereafter, HQ sent in the cavalry. The humans were treated, the building locked down, and order restored.

X and Zero were standing in front of the doorway when the medical gurney slid out. A body lay under a shroud, carried by the anti-grav lifters.

"A human willing to sacrifice herself, so that us Maverick Hunters could live..." Zero muttered.

"I've learned never to hold any expectations for a human," X replied with a small smirk.

Zero took a breath. "I've always thought of humans as characters in the background. Like sheep that get in the way. I think... I think that must be how the mavericks think too." Zero began to walk away, back to the troop transport. "You know it could be more," he called back.

X turned to him. "Huh?"

"It could be more than thirty years… that you were in the capsule. If they don't know the date, you might have been in there the full duration and you're fine. You were tested fully and the reploids go maverick because of something else. Maybe they get ideas in their head or their programming gets hacked."

"I suppose," X said. Maybe not convinced, but less burdened. "I'm going to stick around, in case they need help with clean-up."

Zero nodded. "See you at headquarters, X." And he walked off.

#END#

[knights-of-itania]

For the Preservation of Knowledge!

...in continuation:

In the aftermath of helping Lieutenant Tavares take the crafter's district, Rokath sent a message around to the east gate to let Derm know where they were and what their next plans.   Ki'itshka left with the message, disinclined to re-enter the anti-magic field blanketing Sarn.  The others left her to it, and hoped Derm received their message soon, as they headed back into the city, following their previous path along the edge of the military and mid-residential districts.

They only managed to get a short distance along their path when they came across what looked like a full-scale street brawl between fully equipped soldiers and civilians in scavenged armor.  Yvresse almost immediately charged into the melee, aiding the soldiers while the others were still assessing the situation.  Virux scurried off to find a building to break into for some temporary cover, but discovered that the windows of the building he'd chosen had been boarded over on the inside.  His attempt at finding cover was thwarted - which turned out to be a good thing, as he hadn't paid much attention to which side of the street he was running to, and had ended up on the military's side.

"Virux," Rokath called with a sigh. "That way?" He pointed to the other side of the street.

"Oh! Right!" Virux abandoned the boarded up building in favour of an easier to break into one across the street, setting up a sniper nest for himself.  Monty and Peregrine chose the same building to climb to set up their own sniper nests at the top.  On the ground, Rokath and Stefanee started pulling the wounded out of the fight, tending to what wounds and injuries they could as they did so.  As it had at the gate, the group's assistance quickly turned the tide of the battle: though it was more due to the fact that Virux seemed unable to focus properly on aiming, resulting in him shooting wildly into the crowd.  The danger of getting shot seemed all the incentive needed to lay down arms, with many of the civilians surrendering, and the soldiers moving more cautiously in the hopes of not getting hit.

When the fighting had finished, Yvresse sought out the ranking officer, a young captain, and inquired about the cause of the melee.

"Oh, they charged us," he replied breezily.

"And does this happen often?" she asked curiously.

"Whenever they get hungry enough, they decide to make a go for our storehouses." The captain seemed very unconcerned with this fact, almost casual.

"Are they not getting access to any sort of supply shipments?" Yvresse pressed, frowning slightly.

"Well they're stuck in the middle of the city and we have the docks to go fishing."

"Have you tried negotiating with them for food?"

"We told them they could have whatever they need, so long as they surrender control of the district to us, but they decided they didn't want that," the captain said with a shrug. Further questions were diverted as the captain was called away by one of his soldiers, and Yvresse let him go. Rokath and Monty decided to question the injured civilians in the meantime, under cover of dressing their wounds before handing them over to their military captors.  They had little luck with the belligerent civilians, however, gaining no additional information about the cause of the spat.  Monty did notice that they all had either a symbol of - or an actual - book on them somewhere, a unifying symbol that stood out when taken into account with them being mostly middle to lower class, many of whom were undoubtedly illiterate.  The civilians were unhelpful when questioned about it, but the military supplied the information that the book symbol was the one of the inn where they'd set up their base of operations.

They stuck around for a little while longer, finishing up first aid and assisting the military in retreating back behind their barricades.  They moved on afterwards, travelling without trouble down their previously discovered 'neutral zone' between the military and mid-residential districts to the embassy.  Without Ki'itshka to calm the lions, they climbed over their rear wall again, entering the embassy and checking in with the staff.  Yvresse informed the staff of their plan to escort them out, then started distributing the weapons they'd brought to help on the journey.  Stefanee saw to making rations, while Virux kept watch for the lions.

Rokath sought out Peregrine's brother, Mattimo, to inquire about disarming the log trap aimed at the rear gate, allowing them an easier exit path than risking the lions again.  Mattimo was more than willing to disarm the trap, but required the assistance of Rokath's height to do so - their ladder had apparently broken.  Rokath was amenable to helping, and they headed back just in time for Derm to tumble over the back wall, having finally caught up to them.

"Oh hey Derm," Rokath greeted him casually, while Mattimo paused in surprise.

"Sup!" Derm replied, and fell over to lay on the ground, very out of breath and sweating profusely from running around the city from the east gate and in to the embassy.  An amused Rokath simply lifted Mattimo up onto his shoulders to disarm the gate trap.

Meanwhile, Peregrine and Monty had decided to scout around a bit more - specifically, in the Donalos Embassy next door.  From his lookout post at the top of the embassy, Virux watched with amusement, debating joining them, but opted to provide overwatch in case they got into trouble instead.  This proved slightly problematic, as Peregrine and Monty slipped into stealth after entering the embassy grounds, and Virux was unable to spot them.  He did his best, however, keeping watch for any sort of movement.

The first movement to be seen was one of the shutters opening after Monty unlocked it. Moving cautiously, Monty poked his head up to look inside, but the embassy was mostly closed up, and the interior was dark.  Unfortunately, the window inside the shutter didn't seem to be the type that opened, so Peregrine and Monty retrieved one of the rocks from the embassy's rock garden to break the glass of the window.  After shattering the window, they promptly hid outside, waiting to see if anyone responded to the noise.  Someone did, with a ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk noise coming from inside the embassy, getting louder as it headed for the broken window.

A figure appeared in the far doorway, the silhouette vaguely similar to that of full plate or mountain plate, and Monty decided to raise a flask in offering to what was quite possibly a dwarf, left to guard the embassy.  The heavy footsteps drew closer, and Monty stretched up, sticking the flask through the window.  A metal hand clamped around his wrist, lifting him from his hiding spot and dragging him half into the window, and Monty found himself staring at the iron face of a construct.

"Hi!" Monty greeted with a roguish grin. He waited a beat, but no response was forth-coming, so he continued: "Would you like to leave with us?  We've got an exit plan.  We're escaping the city.  You're welcome to come with us." He waited again, but there was still no response. "We thought you might be a dwarf."

The construct finally moved, stepping forward until Monty was fully outside the embassy, then dropped him.  It reached over to grab the open shutter, pulled it closed, and re-did the lock, leaving Peregrine and Monty on the ground outside.  Monty grinned at the challenge, but Peregrine quickly convinced him that perhaps, for now, the embassy's secrets were not worth the trouble. They headed back over the wall, back to their own embassy, to rejoin the group preparing to leave.

The group finished the last of their preparations, then filed out quietly through the back gate, interspersing themselves amongst the now-armed embassy staff. Stefanee, Monty, and Peregrine went ahead to scout, while Virux stayed in the midst of the group, his superior range making him most useful in the thick of things for once.  Yvresse naturally lead the way, while Rokath and Derm took up the rear.  The plan was to head straight down to the edge of the military district, then follow it over to the crafters district as they had before.

The plan was slightly diverted as the forward scouts spotted one of the lionesses from the pride ahead of them, laying along the top of the surrounding wall of an estate, watching them.  The three scouts halted, then slowly retreated to warn the others, taking them down a side path instead.  They continued to move cautiously, keeping wary eyes out now that they knew the lions were on the move.

They made it several blocks before the three scouts spotted a wooden water tower on top of nearby building, wobbling and creaking unsteadily in the breeze.  Stefanee lagged behind, while Peregrine and Monty hustled ahead - only to have to jump back as the water tower finally went over the edge, crashing down onto the street in front of them, splattering them with the vestiges of water left inside.  After a quick exchange of glances, Peregrine went to inspect the bottom edge of the tower's legs, where he found them cut cleanly.  Stefanee was sent back to warn the group, while Peregrine and Monty scouted other routes.  The other routes proved to be blocked with debris, and Peregrine and Monty became even more convinced of an ambush.

Once warned, Yvresse quickly organized the embassy staff into a semblance of a military formation, making sure all sides were covered, at there was no telling which way ambushers might come from.  No sooner had she done so than humans with longbows popped up on the rooftops of the buildings lining the road.  A moment of tense silence followed, then Rokath spoke up.

"What are your intentions?" he called.

"What are yours?" the source of the voice wasn't immediately discernible, other than that it came from above the men on the rooftops.

"Passing through to leave Sarn," Rokath replied promptly.

"Funny, cuz ya stomped a bunch of our guys not more than two hours ago," the voice replied.

"They were rioting in our way," Rokath said flatly.

"They were getting food!" came the sharp response.

"Is the military keeping you from acquiring food?" Yvresse called.  There was a general rumbling of discontent from the rooftops, and more than one voice shouted an angry confirmation.

"Is it just because you refuse to give up this district?" Virux inquired.

"Because they're assholes, yes!" the first voice responded over the continued upset mutterings of the others.

"Yeah, but they're assholes with food," Virux argued.

"They're still assholes, and we've had fucking enough of them!" There was a yell of angry support to that statement, the men clearly united on this front.  Virux's response, at this point, was predictable:

"Have you thought about investing in Tuggled Firearms?" There were incredulous responses, but Virux pressed on with his sales pitch as a very effective distraction to Monty and Peregrine climbing the building the water tower fell from, seeking higher ground. When Virux ran out of steam, Rokath stepped up to the plate again.

"With all due respect, the civil unrest of Sarn is not our concern," he said. "I offered first aid to your comrades attacking the military, but from what we could see it was very clear that they were outmatched and going to lose.  We simply wanted to prevent them from losing their lives in the process." Virux tagged on with the wild claim that he missed on purpose, though they actually seemed to believe that, not that it helped.

"That may be, but you still helped the military foil our attempts to feed ourselves.  And why are you even in here?" Whoever was speaking for the humans was clearly growing irate now, the men on the rooftops shifting impatiently at the chatter.

"To get our countrymen out of here," Stefanee replied promptly.

"So you're here for your own people and the rest of us can fucking starve. Great, you're as bad as our king!"

"To be fair, I'm here to sell guns!" Virux piped up helpfully.

"Besides, you can leave the city, can't you?" Derm asked.

"No!"

"Why not?" Rokath asked.

"Because there's an entire district of stupid thugs between us and the gate, and the other gates have things like oh, I don't know, mafia,  weird-ass creatures that are puddles on the ground -" the rant cut off as Rokath, Virux, and Stefanee spoke up over him at once, Rokath's voice eventually rising above the others.

"The city guard recaptured the crafters district," he called.

"If you want you can come with us?" Stefanee offered.

"Fucking what." A few bows on the rooftops dropped slightly, glances and whispers being exchanged.

"Yeah, you guys can literally just go through the crafter's district and out the west gate now," Virux confirmed.  There's a very long moment of silence, and several of the longbows disappeared entirely. "I'm sure the city guard would be very happy to advance forward through this district as well."

"Yeah, they dislike the military almost as much as you guys from what we can tell," Rokath agreed.  There was more muted whispering, then a head popped up over the edge of one of the buildings, and when he spoke, they finally had a face for the voice they'd been conversing with.

"Question!  Which Lieutenant is in charge of the gate?" he asked.

"Tavares?" Rokath answered.

"Yes!  She's great," the leader replied cheerfully.

"Come with us, we'll get you through -" Stefanee started.

"We're not going nowhere with you.  Just - shoo!" the leader retorted sharply. The group exchanged looks, then shrugged and continued onwards.  They didn't run across any other challenges on their way, successfully escorting the embassy staff to the gate.

Once assured that Mattimo had everything well in hand in regards to the staff, the group sought out Tavares, letting her know that they may have secured the guard access to another district as well.  While surprised, Tavares was perfectly accepting of this.  They filled her in on their lack of progress finding Captain Minoff or his paperwork, but Tavares didn't seem surprised at his continued absence.  They debated what to do next, thoroughly split an indecisive about where to go from here.  Rokath inquired about pay from Tavares, who clarified that deputies were usually paid by the week - though with the amount they'd gotten done in just three days, she had no problem paying them now.

"Was there anything else you need us to stick around for?" Yvresse asked the Lieutenant.

"Well, you're all very competent, I'd love your help retaking the city, but for deputy's pay?  I'm not going to insist you stay, if you've got places to be," Tavares said with a shrug. "Not like I can grant adventurer's contracts or mercenary pay."

"Because the captain is the only one who can do so and he's missing," Yvresse mused. "What is your normal protocol in this situation?"

"The protocol is go to his safe and get the 2nd in command paperwork," Tavares drawled.

"Do you not have any contingencies for if he and all of his property go missing?" Yvresse asked in confusion.

"If there's a problem with getting into the Captain's safe, we go to the higher-ups, who are all currently in the palace," Tavares replied with a wry smile, motioning towards the palace walls, still visible even this far away.

"And - probably - dead, because we were given a noble's head..." Rokath concluded.

"What?" Tavares asked with a frown, and the group paused, realizing they'd told the military about their attempts to access the palace, but not her.

"Oh, right.  We tried to make contact with someone in the palace, identify ourselves as deputies, and they returned the head of a noble," Peregrine supplied.

"Well that's - that's good to know," Tavares said with a long-suffering sigh.

"So the palace probably isn't...held," Peregrine finished awkwardly.

"Could someone send a letter north to the king, have him assign a captain?" Stefanee queried.

"It's kinda low down on priorities right now, but it's been on our list," Tavares said with a shrug.

"What is high on your list?" Yvresse asked with a touch of impatience.

"Retaking the city, supporting the citizens, and making sure as many people as possible are left alive?"

"And how are you planning on doing that?" Yvresse inquired.

"The plan is to go district by district, as we have the resources for it," Tavares replied easily, offering them a wry grin. "Right now we have no real need for a guard captain beyond the obvious morale bonus.  We're each in charge of our own gates, and the lack of captain is only going to become an issue once we start having conflicts of authority."

"It will take you what, a day or two to secure your hold on the crafters district?" Yvresse clarified.

"Yes, especially if we're getting the middle residential, too.   We don't want to spread ourselves too thin," Tavares agreed with a nod. "Once we've fortified this, from what we're hearing we're going to have to push into the magical district quite quickly."

"What are you hearing about the magical district?  We've been hearing some...rumblings," Rokath queried.

"Disaster zone, has been the general consensus.  A lot of the spellcasters homes were held up, held together by magic...and then it failed.  So we're looking at a massive search and rescue operation over there," Tavares said with a heavy sigh. "And figuring out what the fuck is going on with that tower.  I'm not looking forward to that, but might as well get to it sooner than later."

"Would you wish assistance with that?" Yvresse asked.

"If you're offering, sure!" Tavares replied, perking up.

"If you wish, perhaps while you take the next day or two to solidify your hold, we can take that same amount of time to scout out the center of the catastrophe to the north?" Yvresse proposed.

"Absolutely!" Tavares agreed with a small smile, seeming more than happy to have them solve the problem for her.

Decided, the group settled down for the night, requesting tent space from Tavares since Derm's wagon was at the eastern gate still.  They rested for the night, with Derm waking up early to run back to the eastern gate and retrieve his wagon and their possessions.  In the morning, they refreshed their supplies and made preparations to return, before finding themselves invited to join Lieutenant Tavares in her tent just after breakfast.  Inside, Tavares had her map laid out again, two districts now showing the flag of Thereshelm on them.

"Alright, it looks like our friends in that middle residential district are - well - friends, which is good," she greeted them, then frowned. "They do want to see the king deposed, which we'll have to talk about later, but they'd rather deal with us than the military."

"Yes, you will need to talk about that later," Monty said with a small smile.  The halflings pointedly did not look at one another as Tavares suddenly brightened.

"I also got the best letter in existence, right before breakfast this morning," the Lieutenant continued cheerily.

"Oh? What's it say?" Stefanee asked curiously.

"Military has been formally ordered to answer to us," Tavares said with a Cheshire-cat grin, holding up a letter bearing the royal seal of Thereshelm.  There was an appropriate amount of cheers and congratulations from the group, and Tavares accepted them readily before speaking again. "So, could I get you guys to do me a favour?"

"Would you like us to deliver this?" Peregrine asked with a grin, almost cutting Tavares off in his enthusiasm to offer.

"Ah, not this one - but there's duplicates," Tavares prevaricated, looking very satisfied with events.

"It would be a pleasure," Monty informed her formally.

"And an honour!" Peregrine agreed, grin not dimmed in the slightest.

"I just need one handed in, and then if they don't, y'know, capitulate, I'll send another, and then another..." she trailed off a little dreamily.

"Who are we to deliver it to?" Yvresse asked, bringing Tavares back to the task at hand, and the Lieutenant shook herself.

"Whichever officer in the military you find first," she replied crisply.

"Who is the head of the military here?"

"General Erik Polac," Tavares replied. "If you can get to him, and hand it to him face to face - oh, wait, no - no.  I want to hand him this one myself." Her smirk was sharp as she looked at the letter bearing the royal seal.  They chattered some more about the letter, and Tavares's plans to get General Polac to acknowledge it.  Soon enough, however, talk turned back to their planned expedition in to the magical district, with Tavares requesting that they in specific check out the remains of Spellshine Tower and try to determine what happened to it.

They headed out shortly afterwards, the guards letting them through the gates without challenge - and, perhaps, hidden grins, as they knew the letter the group carried with them.  They headed directly to the military district, asking to speak to an officer. The one they got was less than enthusiastic about receiving mail now, and appropriately dubious about the authenticity of a letter from the king that wasn't even sealed.  But he took the letter, and the group left him to deliver the letter, or not, to the general.

Leaving the military district behind, they headed for the magical district instead, quickly finding it just as devastated as Tavares had described. Though the tower falling over had done massive amounts of damage, it's clear that it's far from the only source of destruction in the district: walking down the street, every other house is destroyed in a different manner - collapse, explosion, implosion, fire, on and on.  They kept their eyes and ears open, ready to offer aid if anyone called for help, but they heard nothing as they made their way to the front gate of the Spellshine Tower grounds.

When they reached the gate, another rumble sounded, and this time the ground trembled underneath them.  It wasn't strong enough to make walking difficult, starting off abruptly before petering off into gentle tremors after around twenty seconds, but was still concerning.  They moved into the courtyard cautiously, taking stock of the destruction.  Most of the northern portion of the grounds were intact, as were the lower levels of the tower.  Somewhere above the third floor the tower had broken, collapsing to the west, covering the main entrance in rubble.

Judging the tower to be the only building of importance to investigate, Yvresse found a window near the ground on the north-eastern wall, breaking in carefully through the elegant stained glass windows.  Clearing the glass away so they could all enter safely, Yvresse slipped inside and found herself in an office.  Searching around, she quickly determined that it was a basic administrative office for those acting as support to the front desk clerks.  The latest date on any of the paperwork was the day magic failed and the tower fell, and Yvresse called out to the others to join her.

Once inside, they quickly split up, searching for any survivors or things of interest.  The office opened onto a long circular hallway that wrapped around the reception area, which was as large and grandiose as could be expected of a premier magical academy.  The offices revealed little of interest, all being for relatively low-level administrative staff, their records ending abruptly the day the tower fell.  The western walls showed signs of damage, their windows blown inwards, but seemed stable enough for now.  The group still moved quickly, some of them searching for a hidden entrance downwards, while the others moved cautiously up the remains of the stairway to the remaining upper floors.

The 2nd floor contained more offices, including student records.  The storage room for the records proved to be a complete mess: an expansion charm had evidently failed, resulting in the files exploding everywhere in the room.  In the office just outside, three files remained out on the desk: one for a student who withdrew, one who went on medical leave, and the last who had no reason listed for leaving.  Virux pocketed the files in case they were of interest later, but not much else on the floor was of interest.

The 3rd floor, however, contained offices of professors and department heads, starting with the Head of Prepared Magical Studies at the top of the stairs. Peregrine and Monty searched it thoroughly, finding that while some items were obviously missing, the professor's collection of  famous wizard's spellbooks remained.  The two halflings exchanged looks before declaring that they needed to preserve this knowledge in case of further disaster, shoving the spellbooks into their backpacks.

Out in the hallway, Yvresse was busy inspecting the nameplates on the doors, finding that there was a professor for each school of magic, as well as different types of casting.  She didn't venture inside, however, until she found the office for the professor of divination.  Inside, the office was a cluttered mess: shelves were stuffed full of scrolls and books at all angles, every available surface was covered in knickknacks of various types, including a dipping bird that was still going.  Though it was no less messy than the rest of the office, Yvresse bee-lined to the desk, hoping to find something of interest there - after all, a divination professor was more likely that anyone else to have seen disaster coming.

As it turned out, the professor had seen more than just disaster, for resting in the center of the desk in big bold letters was a note:

               Lady Yvresse, could you get Deacon out? Thanks.

               PS he's in the basement

Yvresse stared for a long moment, then cautiously stepped back from the desk. While she had not personally been to Sarn before this trip, it was well-known throughout the basin that Spellshine Academy's dean, Deacon Blackfyre, was a dragon of mixed lineage who had adventured in his youth.  Not someone who should need rescuing - but also, not someone who should be left un-rescued should such be requested.

"I suggest we go to the basement.  I have it on good authority that what we're looking for will be there!" Yvresse called out to her companions, and Peregrine poked his head in.

"Did you find a note or something?" he asked, and Yvresse carefully picked up the note, offering it to him. "Oh." Peregrine flipped the note over, hoping there was a map, since they'd had no luck finding a basement thus far, but there was nothing further.  They opted to finish searching the offices on that floor before taking another crack at finding the basement, ultimately ending up at the office of the Professor of Elemental Studies.  Inside were pure samples of various elements, including a brazier for fire, now unlit, a waterfall that was standing still, a bowl of earth, and an empty clear glass jar.

Of more importance, however, was a map of the tower tacked to the front board of the desk, right in front of where a visitor of the office might sit, placed in such a way that the owner of the office might not have even known it was there. A little red 'x' was on the map right next to the reception desk on the main floor, where they recalled a huge tapestry had hung, and on the bottom was another note in a familiar hand:

               Oh yes, you'll probably need this. :)

They headed down to the first floor, moving the tapestry and letting Derm inspect it carefully.   He found the trigger mechanism easily, but it seemed unable to function without magic, so Rokath stepped up with his crowbar, prying it open.  They stuck a wedge in it, so it wouldn't close and lock behind them, then carefully moved down the revealed set of stairs into the basement.

At the base of the stairs was a long hallway, stretching beyond the footprint of the tower and into the ground underneath the courtyard of the academy. The hallway was lined with doors that opened onto storage areas for all types of things, from stationary and cleaning supplies to spell components with particular storage requirements.  At the end of this hallway was an L-shaped set of stairs leading down to another hallway, this one fairly short: four locked vault doors, two on either side, and at the end, there was one massive vault door, nearly fifteen feet around.  Peregrine went along the doors, knocking on each to try and determine if Deacon was inside.  At the final door, Peregrine had barely knocked when there was a loud thud against the other side, and the entire hallway shook.

"Think we found him!" Peregrine called, then motioned Monty and Stefanee over to try and open the door.  Stefanee observed it critically, then spun the locking mechanism expertly.  The bolts slid back, and the door swung out easily, revealing a large vault beyond...though the sight of it was somewhat blocked by the dragon in the way, staring at them.

"Hi!" Stefanee greeted him brightly, and was answered by an odd warble. "Is your name Deacon?"  The dragon nodded. "Can you communicate in common? Because none of us speak draconic." Deacon let out a huff, shaking his head.

"Vocal chords," Peregrine offered the reason helpfully - then panicked slightly as a draconic hand reached through the vault door to poke him.  Deacon huffed again at the halfling's fear, then turned away from the door and wandered a few steps into the vault, delicately picking up a single gold coin, which he brought back and dropped at Peregrine's feet.

"Is this the only way for ya t'get out?" Stefanee asked worriedly, and Deacon nodded.

"Is there a supply of water in there for you?  You must be very thirsty," Monty suggested, pulling out a flask he'd found on the upper floors and unscrewing the top, offering it to Deacon.  The dragon carefully lifted the flask, but moved it no more than a few inches before a claw punctured the metal and the liquid was lost.  Stefanee offered water instead, but Deacon just shook his head, taking a step back and settling down, head resting on the floor as he watched them.

"When's the last time you ate?" Yvresse asked in concern. Deacon lifted one of his claws and started tapping, and Derm counted up to 27 before the taps stopped.

"So you've been down here a month?" Peregrine asked, and Deacon nodded. "Do you know what happened?" Deacon nodded again.

"First things first, we need to get him fed, and out of here," Yvresse interrupted.

"Right, yes - map!" Stefanee requested, and was quickly given the map of the tower. "Do you know -"  Deacon reached out, poking the red 'x' on the map, tilting his large head to read the note at the bottom.

"Your professors are very helpful," Peregrine supplied with a grin, and Deacon answered it in kind, showing all of his teeth, and offered a thumbs-up.

"Do you know where we are in relation to the map?  Are we under the courtyard?" Stefanee asked.  Deacon contemplated the map, then stabbed at the floor about a foot to the left of the portion showing the lower floor of the tower - which would, coincidentally, be directly under the courtyard, as expected. "Right. Can we come in and look around? Do you think punching up through the ceiling would be the way to go?" Deacon's response was a huff of what could only be draconic laughter, and he backed up into the vault, giving them space to enter, before looking up.  All four walls, as well as the ceiling, were made of the same metal as the vault door, and the ceiling was covered in recent scratch marks.

"Do you have any friends or allies that you could call in favours to help you get out of here?" Rokath asked, and Deacon quickly nodded.

"The only way he'd be able to do that is probably by magic," Virux mused.

"We can get someone who speaks draconic," Yvresse pointed out.

"Oh oh oh!" Stefanee suddenly brightened. "You can understand us, so I'm guessing you can still write in common!" Deacon nodded. "Ok, can you scratch on the wall, or someplace we can see, who you want us to contact?"

"Can he hold a quill in those talons?" Yvresse mused, and Deacon huffed a laugh at her.

"We could get a barrel of ink, and he'd just have to dip his claw in it once," Derm realized.  Deacon nodded, then pointed out the doors.  They glanced in confusion in the direction he'd pointed, not getting the message, and they spent the next minute or so with an increasingly frustrated dragon pantomiming out what he meant - which was, as it turned out, that there were storerooms on the first basement floor, one of which had contain stationary supplies...such as ink.  Derm and Rokath quickly headed off to fetch some, while Yvresse headed back to the city gates in order to get help - and food.  Stefanee, Monty and Peregrine were left in the vault with Deacon, with Peregrine asking the important questions:

"Are we allowed to look in the other vaults?" he asked with his most charming grin.  Deacon hissed at him, and Peregrine quickly backed down. "Ok! Nope!"  They waited awkwardly until Derm and Rokath returned, setting the barrels of ink on the floor by Deacon.  The dragon almost immediately popped a cork out of one of the barrels, then dipped a claw in.

"So who can we get to help you out?" Derm asked, and Deacon scratched the name 'LILY' in ink on the floor.

"Who's Lily?" Peregrine asked.

"We're not from around here," Stefanee supplied, then abruptly lit up and turned to Monty. "Wait, you're from around here.  Who's Lily?"  Monty stared at the name on the floor for a moment, then chuckled awkwardly.

"Well, uh.  There's this story...when the history nerds come for a party, and we get really drunk, they tell us this fable," he said cautiously.  Deacon casually reached over to the piles of treasure around him, pulling out a gold coin and flicking it at Monty in a clear sign to continue. "About how once upon a time, there was a funny man who owned a wagon, and he was the sidekick to this really awesome little dragon. They'd tear up the hinterlands, basically ended up being the marshal, hasn't been seen in really long time..." Deacon snorted, then went back to the barrel of ink.

"Valteri?" Peregrine read. "Uh, the king is currently indisposed." Deacon rolled his eyes. "His guards aren't letting him out of Freewaters for fear he'll do something rash." Deacon rolled his eyes, then considered for a moment and grudgingly nodded.

"Could've saved a lot of trouble if they just stuck the king in the vault..." Monty mused, and Deacon chuckled, flicking a platinum piece at him.

"By Valteri you mean the current king, right?" Stefanee clarified, and Deacon shrugged.

"Any Valteri will do?" Monty guessed - though King Lucian was an only child, his parents both long dead.  Deacon dipped his claw in the ink again, then scratched out 'BOOK'.

"Who's Book?"

"You want a book?"

Deacon sighed, and dragged an arrow between 'BOOK' and 'VALTERI'.

"Uhhh...are any of these written by a Valteri?" Peregrine asked nervously, emptying his backpack of the spellbooks he and Monty had 'preserved from further damage' earlier.  Deacon peered at the pile, pawing through the books carefully with one claw, eventually dragging one towards himself and flipping through it, nodding is satisfaction before gently picking it up and slipping it back up under a scale.

"Is that one yours?" Peregrine asked, and Deacon grinned with all his teeth again. "Oh! Also, most of your tower's gone.  Like, all of it." Deacon looked amused, and scribbled 'NOT MINE' on the floor.

"Not your tower?" Stefanee guessed. "The university's tower."

"It's the Spellshine Order's tower," Monty supplied, naming the organization that had originally owned the tower, hundreds of years before.

"So, you want us to find Lily..." Peregrine mused.

"And a book written by a Valteri?" Virux asked.

"Or is the person's name Book?" Stefanee countered, and Deacon flicked a gold coin at her. "Is this a first name, or a nickname?" Deacon nodded at the second one.

"Ok, where is Book?" Peregrine asked.  Deacon dipped his claw in the ink again and scratched 'PRANKSTER' into the floor.  He barely paused to hear their confusion about how the gnomish deity fit into this before adding 'DEMIPLANE?' underneath. "The red moustache?"

"How do we get to a demiplane?" Stefanee asked with a frown.  Deacon drew another arrow, from 'BOOK' to  'PRANKSTER', then scratched 'GODSON' above the arrow. "So if we get out of the city and find a cleric, would they be able to send us there, or get in touch?" Deacon shrugged.

"Could you send us there if we got you out?" Virux asked, and Deacon nodded firmly. "But we need to get there to get the magic to work."

"This is not exactly a useful line of thought," Rokath pointed out.

"Well, magic works outside the city, so we just have to get Deacon outside the city," Peregrine pointed out.

"Yes," Rokath replied patiently. "But the whole reason that we want to contact these people is so that we can have them help Deacon get out of this vault."

"...right," Peregrine realized, then turned to Deacon with a grin. "Do you know any dwarves?" An amused Deacon pointed to Derm. "Besides this one." Deacon shook his head, settling in as they continued to bat around ideas on how to get him out.  They came up with little of use, and gained no more interesting answers from him, while they waited for Yvresse to return with assistance.

As for Yvresse, once she reached the districts controlled by the city guard, she stopped the first member of the guard she could find, informing him of their discovery in the basement of the tower.  The guard at first laughed, then when Yvresse got to the part where Deacon hadn't eaten in nearly a month, abruptly got very quiet and hurried off to update Lieutenant Tavares, trusting Yvresse to follow along.  Tavares had a very similar reaction, though once they got to the part about food, the Lieutenant grew thoughtful, considering the stores they had on hand.

"I hope he likes fish," she declared before heading off. "Come with me, Lady Yvresse, we've got some supplies to gather.  Did he say if he knew anything about what happened?"

"Oh, right.  As a matter of fact, he might," Yvresse supplied. "There's the minor inconvenience of him being stuck as a dragon, however.  He can't speak, he mostly just hisses."

"I thought you lot were adventurers?" Tavares asked, stopping to frown at Yvresse.

"Not by choice?  I'm sort of on a working vacation." Yvresse shifted her weight from one foot to another slightly self-consciously.

"But none of you speak draconic?" Tavares clarified dubiously.

"No. If you have someone that speaks it -"

"Right, I'm coming with you," Tavares interrupted firmly, and headed off again, Yvresse following along as the Lieutenant issued orders to keep things moving in her absence, including gathering people to dig the dean out, while mobilizing several of her guardsmen to load four barrels of fish and water onto a wagon.  She drafted two guards to escort the wagon while she drove it back through the city, following Yvresse to the academy.  When they arrived, Tavares and one of the guards each grabbed a barrel of salted fish, then had Yvresse lead the way while the remaining guard stayed behind to guard the wagon.

In the vault itself, Deacon barely let the guard get in the door before his head snaked forward, grabbing the barrel of fish out of his hands and sending the guard back to the surface in terror.   Deacon tilted his head back with the barrel still in his jaws, bit down slightly to crack it, and poured the fish down his gullet before setting down the remains of the barrel.  Tavares had already set her barrel down, and it was devoured just as quickly.  Dragon now a little less hungry, Tavares stepped forward and began speaking to him in draconic, which Deacon was quick to reply in.

"So, you think the general's going to respect your order now?" Monty piped up, grinning widely.  Tavares paused, then grinned just as widely as she turned back to Deacon, the two speaking rapidly for a moment before Deacon started laughing loudly, something that was mildly terrifying, especially in so relatively small of a space.

"To be fair, a dragon delivering orders from the king is rather hard to ignore," Yvresse mused.  Deacon perked up, still grinning toothily, and shuffled over to Yvresse, gently picking her up and move her over next to Tavares, setting her down.

"Did you just get promoted?" Peregrine asked with amusement.

"He's going to bring General Polac to me," Tavares offered with a vicious grin, and the group joined in on the laughter now as they imagined the response that would get out of the general. "But first, we have to get him out of here."

"He said there were two people that might be able to help: someone named Lily, and a Book Valteri," Stefanee supplied, and Tavares let out an incredulous bark of laughter at the names.

"Book is a myth.  And Lily...we can probably get someone to message her, but she hasn't been seen since Horus died."

"Um," Rokath replied, pointing to the ink scratches on the floor.

"Apparently this Book is the Godson of the Prankster god?" Stefanee offered helpfully, and Tavares' laughter cut off into a frown as she turned back to Deacon and spoke to him again.

"Well, apparently Book's not a myth," she deadpanned, looking back to them.

"So, you send the message for Lily, we'll find this Book person?" Stefanee offered.

"Book might be a bit...difficult from what Deacon says." Tavares shook her head.

"Does Deacon know how one would get to a demiplane?  Is it a spell, or -?" Stefanee asked curiously, and Deacon answered, Tavares listening briefly before translating.

"Yes, it's a spell, and a powerful one," she replied. "Also, the deity has to want you to get there.  Or, apparently, you can go to the plane the demiplane is based off of and find a portal, and then you don't have to have the deity's approval.  But that comes with its own problems."

"Because then you're there without the deity's approval," Rokath supplied.

"Well, also the Prankster's demiplane is based off the plane of air and water," Tavares replied.  Deacon spoke again, and she listened intently before nodding. "He also says you could also probably pray really hard.  Especially since you have a gnome.  Not here, obviously, because he's tried that."

"We also have the option of finding out what's causing this whole anti-magic zone and seeing if there's someone we can do about averting it," Derm spoke up, and his words seemed to set Deacon off into a rant, which Tavares listened to intently.  When the dragon finally broke off, the Lieutenant spoke up again.

"He says he searched before he had his magic turn off - and whatever it is, it's not a normal anti-magic zone," she said, frowning.

"Alright.  Can you give us physical descriptions of Lily and Book?" Stefanee asked.

"Well, Lily's a gold dragon," Tavares supplied dryly.

"Ok, any other advice on how to find either of these people?" Stefanee's hopeful question was met with a shrug from Deacon.

"He also said that the king has the resources to get him out - any Valteri would be helpful, which was why he wrote it down.  Book could definitely get him out, but any Valteri will do," Tavares replied.

"Well, a few more days and he should be out of here," Yvresse commented.

"Could take weeks, actually," Stefanee corrected her. "Months, even, of digging.  If they want to do it safely."

"He's fine as long as he gets a variety of food, he says," Tavares supplied. "But he's way more useful outside of here right now."

"Is there anything that you could give us to show to the king to prove it's from you?  A seal or a scale, or something from your hoard?" Peregrine asked, motioning into the vault.  Deacon considered, then pulled out the spellbook he'd stashed amongst his scales, flipping it open to one of the last few pages that remained blank, carefully ripping one out before returning the book to its hiding spot.  He laid the piece of parchment flat on the floor, then reached over and smashed one of the kegs of ink under a clawed hand before stamping the now-inked hand down on the parchment.  He stepped back and grinned at them, leaving his palm-print available for them to take.  Rokath stepped forward and carefully lifted it, flapping it gently to help the ink dry.

"Hey Yvresse, we're going to go meet a king," Peregrine said brightly.

To be continued…

[djgblogger-blog]

How much longer will Maduro's grip on power last? Look to the military

http://bit.ly/2vKrYFD

If the Venezuelan military withdraws support for President Nicholás Maduro, his end may be near.

A large middle class has been thrust into poverty in Venezuela. Food and medicine are in short supply, and malnourishment is widespread. Security forces have violently beaten back security forces and jailed leading opposition figures.

Reigning over this disaster is Maduro, who was narrowly elected in March of 2013 following the death of leftist leader Hugo Chávez. Amid the stunning decline, many are asking, what will the military do?

My research on civil-military relations in Latin America and other regions finds that a military’s loyalty to a regime can waver when it is confronted with mass protests. If the military grants loyalty to a leader, it comes at a price. But if the armed forces withdraw their support by remaining in their barracks and refusing to silence the protests, the leader’s days are numbered.

Confronting the protesters

In Latin America, the former Soviet Republics and the Middle East, I have found that as the numbers of protesters swell, police often retreat because they are not equipped to contain mass demonstrations. At that point, when the armed forces choose to stay in their barracks rather than head to the streets to enforce order, political leaders quickly fall from power. This was true in every case.

For example, this occurred in Argentina in December 2001 when President Fernando de la Rúa presided over a financial collapse of epic proportions. Citizens could no longer withdraw money from their own checking and savings accounts, resulting in widespread rioting and looting. When the president asked his military to intervene to restore order, they refused. Immediately thereafter, De la Rúa was forced to flee for his life by helicopter from the rooftop of the presidential palace, as throngs of angry protesters descended.

Similar scenarios unfolded during the revolutionary uprisings in Georgia (2003) and Ukraine (2004), and more recently in Tunisia (2010) and Egypt (2011) during the Arab Spring. After the military in each of those countries made it known it would not silence the protesters, presidents were forced to step down.

In Venezuela itself in 2002, President Hugo Chávez was momentarily thrown out of power after he had ordered the military to violently subdue a mass demonstration. Soldiers refused to obey. Instead, many participated in the coup plot to unseat him.

President Maduro certainly recalls that event vividly, which may explain why he has not pressed soldiers to crack down on demonstrators. But what if things really begin to unravel for him? Will he try to play his final card, begging his generals to intervene to restore political order and save his regime?

Motivations for military loyalty

So far, the Venezuelan armed forces have remained dedicated to the Maduro government and the cause of “Chavismo,” a left-wing blend of socialism, populism and nationalism. A military that has stayed this loyal for this long to a hugely unpopular leader is motivated by power, perks and principles. Indeed, many militaries are.

Maduro, like Chavez, has invited the armed forces to occupy some of the highest political offices in state and federal government. According to The New York Times, 11 of 23 state governors are military men, and one-third of the national ministries are run by uniformed officers. Officers have gotten a real taste of political power, and they seemingly like it.

The monetary perks of working in Venezuela’s military are significant. Military personnel have been rewarded with salary increases in recent years that have exceeded rates of inflation, while other public sector employees have seen wages stagnate. Armed forces have also enriched themselves through control over lucrative drug trafficking networks.

They have also been put in charge of the production and distribution of a very scarce commodity these days – food – which has predictably given rise to black markets and smuggling operations that have lined military pockets.

Finally, both Chávez and Maduro promoted soldiers who professed utmost dedication to their ideological cause, while purging the less committed from the ranks. The regime has used military academies to indoctrinate its soldiers with its brand of socialist anti-imperialism. Officers are expected to be members of the official party, while adopting the motto, “fatherland, socialism or death.” Maduro has torn a page right out of the Cuban socialist playbook to assure military fidelity.

But soldiers are also guided by professional norms regarding the missions they are assigned. The people of the military prefer not to take missions that are, in their mind, professionally degrading. For example, police work – including crowd control – is a mission soldiers commonly resent doing because it is not what they were professionally trained to do.

For now, Maduro can count himself fortunate that when it comes to doing the dirty work of violently repressing the demonstrators, he can turn to another force: Venezuela’s National Guard. The National Guard has taken on the burden of internal security along with the national police, allowing the regular army to focus on external defense.

But what might occur if the National Guard itself says enough?

The military’s options

The military will have to weigh its options, in light of two important possibilities.

If the military participated in violent repression, it would place them in a vulnerable position, should the president eventually fall. A new government would likely come to power, launch human rights inquests and trials against perpetrators, putting many officers’ careers in jeopardy.

In a second possible scenario, the Maduro government endures but the military is divided by conflict within its ranks. Many mid- to lower-ranking officers in Venezuela are not only less ideologically committed, but are less economically privileged. They can more readily empathize with the plight of millions of ordinary Venezuelans. It is from these ranks that recent military rebel groups have emerged.

Should these rebellious elements grow, they may come to blows with loyalists, placing in peril the cohesion of the military. At that point, military leaders may very well decide that reunification of their institution is more important than regime loyalty. They may help drive the last nail into the coffin of a much reviled regime by tossing Maduro out themselves. Then, if they are wise, the generals could call for new elections, and swiftly return to the barracks.

David Pion-Berlin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond the academic appointment above.