Past Prologue

“Okay, X, he’s ready.”

X hesitated, glancing down upon Zero. Sigma had authorized X and Dr. Cain to carry out the gene therapy procedure, so they returned Zero to the stasis capsule to monitor his vitals while he underwent their treatment. They had opened his cranium and torso again, leaving the red Maverick grotesquely exposed to their tinkering. Zero’s bright, peacefully sleeping face in contrast caused X to experience a final jolt of doubt. In an instant, X became painfully self-aware of his emotions which, up until meeting the red Maverick, he had complete control over. X could not think of any one time that he did not understand his emotions, for they were always right, and always clear. If someone wishes you happy birthday, you feel quite happy. If a Maverick kills your comrade, you feel great sadness. Emotions had always been a compass—an essential guide that X took for granted.

The fact that emotions could not be so simple, that they could be more complex than what could appear on one’s face, was a revelation X grappled with. His turmoil was the reason why he could only give implicit permission for the procedure he was about to begin.

And so, taking his cue, X dialed in the command code. Strangely, his mind was a blank while his fingers moved over the input panel. The monitor, blooming like a flower from a tangled mass of cables, flickered and read: “Initializing…Deleting memory banks of all non-essential data…”

Dr. Cain advised that X get some rest, for he could not provide an accurate estimate for how long the memory wipe would take—from half a day, to many days. The doctor also explained that he was planning to introduce the synthetic virus slowly into Zero by giving him small, safe doses until the virus gradually took hold. Then, it would be a waiting game until results presented themselves. As a result, the doctor explained to X that he would need very little assistance.

In truth, the doctor also wished for X not to worry so much. The blue Reploid had taken to silently hovering in the lab when he was off duty, and it was only when the doctor firmly assured X that he would contact him about any major development did X stop visiting.

Coincidentally, X’s time for visiting the lab was gradually diminishing. Word had spread about the Federation’s takeover of the major anti-Maverick precincts, and changes swiftly took hold afterward. The news struck everyone with enthusiasm as well as anxiety, though many welcomed the idea of becoming government employees. The few who doubted the move quickly changed their minds once they learned that Commander Sigma would be in charge. The public approved as well, with civilians largely believing that government intervention in combating the Maverick phenomenon was long overdue.

The change, however, meant more work for X. The 17th unit was expanding greatly, as B-class or equivalent transfers rolled in from police forces all over the globe. There were also introductions made, including official ones made by new Class A officers: Chill Penguin, Sting Chameleon, and Storm Eagle, as well as a handful of other military-grade Reploids who were considered exceptional leaders by government standards. Training for all units was also increased; exercises were longer and harder than X thought was necessary at times.

Also expanding was Headquarters itself, and construction was already underway to transform the modest structure into a gigantic, state-of-the-art hub of security and intelligence. Most notably, the section of HQ above ground was changing fast and into something completely unrecognizable to X. The concrete-reinforced base he had called home was evolving into a towering spire of blast-resistant glass that glimmered in the sunlight above the hills like a white beacon. The project was grand and awe-inspiring, but X fell sullen at the construction, saddened that his former HQ had so quickly disappeared into little more than a bittersweet memory without much of a warning.

More troubling for X was how the underground laboratories would fare in the midst of the architectural overhaul. The blueprints had included the labs, but it seemed that renovations would halt at floor 30. The final floors would be permanently closed off—but only officially. That is what Sigma told Dr. Cain, who in turn informed X, who was greatly relieved.

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“Doctor, you wanted to see me?” X said walking into Lab 44. Two weeks had passed since he helped set Zero up for treatment. His memory was cleared in little less than two days, and the virus had successfully infected him a day after that. Since then, however, there had been no change for the better—but also none for the worse. Nonetheless, no progress would spell doom for Zero in the eyes of Sigma, and X hoped there had been a mistake. He refused to think that the treatment they administered was simply wrong.

“Very good, X. Yes, I have some very good news for you indeed,” Dr. Cain said. X’s face lit up and he followed the doctor into the room where Zero lay. “It appears that Zero’s auto-repair function has activated, which concerned me at first. Auto-repair includes increased production of antibodies in addition to builder nanomachines, and I feared that they would cancel out the work done by our virus.”

X nodded, believing that he vaguely understood. Dr. Cain continued, “Zero’s body is not producing more antibodies. From the looks of it, he appears to be ignoring the infection.”

“What is he repairing, then?” X asked.

“About that, I’m not sure,” Dr. Cain replied sheepishly. “I do believe it is a good sign for his health.”

Suddenly, Zero’s body lurched violently in the capsule. The computer blared an emergency siren as his vital signs spiked out of control. Thoroughly alarmed, X dashed to Zero’s side and Dr. Cain moved quickly to a station of monitoring panels to examine the readouts.

“Zero!” X said. He struggled to hold the red Maverick, concerned that he would rip his life support lines out. Zero’s sickly green eyes drooped and his jaw slackened as he shook.

“Dr. Cain! What’s wrong?” X called, barely containing his panic.

“X, hold him steady until I prepare a tranquilizer!” Dr. Cain replied. “Most peculiar,” he muttered, skimming the data flashing before him at multiple consoles.

The quakes soon reduced to tremors, and the seizure dissipated as swiftly as it began. The monitors returned to their green, quiet, serene state. However, the end of Zero’s violent episode came as a small relief for X. “Oh no,” he breathed. His face warped with sorrow and regret when he moved to wipe the droplets of blood that were leaking from the corner of Zero’s lip with his thumb. He then whispered, “This was a big mistake.”

X leaning into his arm against the capsule, and rested his head next to Zero. He reached out to shut Zero’s eyelids, sighing deeply and wishing they were playing their game again.

“He stopped on his own, I see,” Dr. Cain said, holding a capsule of what X presumed to be a very powerful sedative.

Suddenly, X snapped his hand back as if Zero had bit him, for the red Maverick lurched violently forward without warning. The seizure came back with a vengeance, and the emergency siren blared once again. This time, however, to X it seemed that Zero was fully aware. X could sense great fear, confusion, and pain coming from Zero, though his face remained unexpressive.

“Doctor!” X called. He stood horrified when more blood bubbled out from Zero’s lips, staining more of his chin and torso.

“On it,” Dr. Cain said, speedily coming over to the capsule to administer the contents of the capsule. He also handed X a suction tube with its device and said, “Intubate him, and start clearing out the blood.”

X followed the order once the sedative began to work—well within seconds of its application. Profuse amounts of fluid flowed out of Zero’s body as soon as X turned on the pump.

“It appears he’s suffering from severe internal damage,” the doctor said. “It is as I feared. Oh, X, I don’t know what to tell you now. I wanted to lift your hopes, not dash them like this.” As he spoke, Dr. Cain moved to sit beside X and place a hand on his blue arm. X did not reply. In fact, he was unsettlingly quiet. From the angle he was in, the doctor could not see X’s face clearly, but he guessed that it was completely blank. Despite that, X’s demeanor felt almost threatening, and it caused the doctor to retract his hand.

Dr. Cain watched as X’s shoulders drooped, and he sensed that the blue robot had relaxed, but into great sorrow. So great that there had been only one other time the doctor had seen him in such a mess: the harrowing time when X realized he was different, and that he was all alone in the world. X was much in the same state, silent but immensely distraught. And much like that time, Dr. Cain found himself in awe of how a human could create such a robot with the ability feel and react to such powerful emotions, including ones of isolation. The depth and breadth of his emotions were wholly unique from any other Reploid.

“Pull the plug,” X suddenly said, snapping the doctor out of his thoughts.

“What?” Dr. Cain said.

“It’s clearly not working. We should stop this,” X said firmly and coldly.

“I think we should give it some more time,” the doctor began.

“No,” X said softly, cutting him off while turning around to address the doctor. “Please.”

Dr. Cain sighed. X was also unique for what he was able to produce, and was something no other Reploid could make: tears. The doctor categorically disagreed, but upon seeing X’s tear-streaked face, he was far less willing to deny X’s wishes. X had implicitly assumed authority over the well being of the red Maverick anyway, and cared so deeply, that the doctor felt it was improper to contradict him further. “I’ll inform Sigma,” Dr. Cain said.

“Wait. Don’t tell him yet,” X asked solemnly. “I am not ready to hear what he has to say.”

Dr. Cain nodded, letting a corner of his lip curl up. “Me either,” he said. “I can begin disconnecting him from life support now in the meantime, if you would like.”

X nodded, and Dr. Cain made his way back to his monitoring station. X turned his sights toward Zero, who slumbered with an innocent, oblivious expression. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I promised you that things would get better. I promised.”

Unable to maintain steady composure, X bowed his head and waited for Dr. Cain. After a moment at his station, Dr. Cain gave him the signal to terminate. With a deep breath, X tapped in the stop commands. The hum of equipment, and the warm glow of the stasis capsule circuits faded.

X could not watch. He had to get away from Zero, who was now dead for all intents and purposes. The thought pushed him away until he crumpled to his knees some feet away.