Wanted

By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)

Episode 17 - Professionals

May 31st, 20XX, 4:54 PM , PST

“Alicia, don’t let go, sweetie; we’re almost there.”, NeedleGal reassured.

Needle was within a few yards of the others, who were shooting at the escaping jet, which was now partially on fire and barely flight-worthy at this point, only a few minutes later.

Then, a flash of light, and NeedleGal was on the ground, clutching her stomach desperately. Was it that wound Blademan gave her? Had it re-opened itself?

She curled up on her knees, her hands grasping her abdomen, which were filling with fresh blood from a new wound. Her eyes bleary, she slowly tried to look up, only to see a pair of black boots before her, a single empty gun cartridge tumbling before them as she felt the mass of Alicia relieved from her back.

“Ah…Ali..cia… Nggh!”, she stammered, trying to keep excess blood back from pouring from her mouth from deep within. The wound was much worse than she initially thought, it seemed.

From the distance, she could hear her brother calling to her.

“Needle! Are you alright?!”, he yelled, gradually getting closer. The black boots before her turned towards Gauntlet’s voice.

She finally saw him a few feet away, just now visible in the ever-increasing dust. She could barely see his form, with her vision getting bleak.

“Needle…YOU!”

“You owed me. ”, the boots claimed.

“Damn you! Don’t you touch either one of them!”

“Hehehe…”

And then, another flash, and the boots were gone.

She heard her brother curse through gritted teeth as he ran towards his fallen cyber sibling.

“*Koff*…G…I’m…Ah…I’m sorry…I let him…*Hrk*”

“It’s…okay, Needle. Dammit…I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Gauntlet lamented as he took Needle in his arms, helping her to her feet.

“I’m sorry…Sorry…”, she slurred, her feet dragging more and more.

“Needle! NEEDLE!”, Gauntlet shouted, frantically dragging her back to the others. “SPARK! I need you!”

May 31st, 20XX, 4:54 PM , PST

“Hey.”, Rich finally said, tossing his helmet aside. He was slightly less bulky than he appeared a few months ago, with his five ‘o clock shadow growing into a beard, and his hair filling out.

Kenta removed his own helmet as well, his face grim and bitter.

“Alright…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean fer my new gig to end up mixin’ it up with old friends so soon…”

It had been a long day.

Brother or no brother, this man dies. Now.

Kenta silently held up his hand, calling upon his massive power yet again. And yet again, that power failed to answer the call.

Kassidy let out a small laugh.

“Hehehe…Guess this lil’ baby works after all.”, he explained, opening up his jacket to reveal a new device clipped to it inside. “’Magnetic resonance scrambler’, I think they called it. MRS. Messes up th’ electron frequency in the air fer a few kilometers once it’s switched on.

Incidentally...Ya probably already noticed this by now, but do ya feel that in the air?"

"Hm?"

"Our sensors picked up some heavy magnetic disturbance 'round here when we first touched down, yeah?"

"...Yes. I had noticed it."

"Figured ya would. 'Course, you understand what that means, don't cha?"

Kenta's eyes narrowed considerably. "Memory wipe."

"Bingo. That's right, a memory wipe, a deadly condition fer robots, providin' their defense systems go down. In short, any robot that goes down around here is in some serious shit."

Kenta’s hand balled up into a fist. Rich’s face got serious quickly.

“Alright, look…I’m serious when I mean I didn’t wanna fight you guys. But…A job's a job. ‘Sides, I knew the charges were bullshit- you’d find a way outta them. Ya know Gauntlet…”

“Is that the lie you’ve been telling yourself? I should have expected such from you.”

“I guess I deserve that, Ken. I’m sorry things got so ugly out here for you guys.”

“Shut up, you worthless drunk.”

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that, boy! I admit- I deserve alotta flak for what I used ta be…But I’m finally gettin’ my shit together. I mean, look! I’ve got a government gig, now.”

“Pathetic.”, Eigen uttered, his teeth clamped shut. “This is how you justify yourself? With a job? You’re hunting and killing the only people who called you ‘friend’…for a job?”

Magnetman tossed his poncho over his shoulder, exposing his fists as he marched towards his estranged brother.

Rich opened up his own coat, motioning for Kenta to stop. For whatever reason, he did.

“Ken…I put ya through alotta shit…I’m real sorry fer that.”, he said, unfastening a belt around his waist. “Lemme tell ya a bit about who we are.

Our dad’s great great grandfather, he was a cattle rustler. Ya know what that is?”

“An outlaw who stole cattle from ranchers in the American Old West.”, Kenta’s History Channel addiction answered.

“Yup. Man was a Mexican named Juan Chapa. He made a tidy sum stealin’ others’ cows, but he soon turned ta robbery and other offenses. I did some readin’ on old Gran’dad…Seems he even worked with Billy th’ Kid’s gang at some point. S’ like bein’ a part of the NBA All Star game in modern times…”

“Why are you babbling about this?”

Kassidy smirked, then tossed his belt towards Kenta’s feet.

“Here. Gran’dad used a pair a’ guns for his trade. Tracked both of ‘em down with my first government paycheck. I wanted you to have one.”

“I’m positively thrilled.”, Kenta snarled, not even making the effort to pick up the holstered gun at his feet.

“I’ve got the other one. Right here.”, Rich revealed. “Ken…I’ve got a single bullet loaded in each gun. A special bullet, y’see. R n’ D gave me all sortsa neat crap ta play with. These bullets’ll shoot through anything, including LCT.”, he explained, taking out his gun and pointing it at Kenta’s chest. “Y’ get me?”

Kenta’s eyes narrowed, and he slowly reached for the sheathed revolver according to his half-brother’s command.

He took stock of the old weapon. Even in the low light, he could tell it was used extensively and in disrepair as it sat in the weathered old leather. He removed it halfway from the holster, noting that, indeed, a single bullet was chambered in the revolver, ready to be fired.

“Put ‘er on.”, Rich urged, holstering his own weapon.

As Kenta did, Kassidy continued.

“I don’t think this requires any more elab’ration, does it?”

Magnetman shook his head slightly.

“…Good.”

Slowly, Rich’s hand descended, his fingers barely touching the handle of his own gun, equally in disrepair. Kenta’s own hand straddled his gun as the two locked eyes in an unwavering stare.

Kenta remained motionless, all save for his fingers. Rich, on the other hand, was sweating and fidgeting as his teeth gnashed within his closed mouth.

It was only three minutes, but they were the longest in Rich’s life. They crawled by agonizingly, his arm almost in pain from fighting repeated urges to draw.

He wanted…to savor this moment.

May 31st, 20XX, 5:00 PM , PST

It was so pure now.

A real fight. A true battle between two professionals, with nothing in their way. No excuses. No stipulations.

They almost respected each other after today’s ordeal. Had it not been for their completely opposite ideals, they may have even been friends. Instead, one was a convicted murderer and the other was the one responsible for ending his path of carnage.

Now they were separated by a mere fifty yards of broken Earth and ruins, each glaring at each through the scopes of their rifles. Each taking shots at each other whenever possible, with the other stopping only to see where the other had moved to.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at this!”, the Judge shouted in between dodging his arch enemy’s shots and taking a few of his own. “Someone trained you well!”

“Someone…Yeah, someone…”, Snakeman muttered to himself.

“Snake, you’ve definitely got a knack for this, I’ll give you that! I guess it was only fitting that my only protégé would be the one to take me down, huh?”

“You’re not my teacher.” Snakeman said, no small amount of anger in his voice. He wouldn’t allow this maniac to call himself his mentor. “You showed me a few tips here and there, but this is my skill.”

Trading bullets and barbs for what seemed like days now, the two eventually reached a conclusion when they looked into their ammunition packs.

“Hey…Snake! You’ve gotta be running low on ammo, yeah?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Say…What do you say we change it up a bit!”

Insanely enough, the Judge stood up from his hiding space, his rifle held by its stock at his side. It was the first time Snake had actually seen him today, come to think of it.

Snakeman stood up, but never let his gun rest. He kept his rifle level with the Judge’s chest, ready to send a final bullet through the chest of this monster.

Snakeman took stock of his day-long antagonist, and was befuddled when he found himself looking at an apparently sick man. His skin was pale, almost grey, with sweat pouring down his face, and the flesh around his eyes thin and dark. He was wearing a new camo pattern on his fatigues that seemed almost too perfect a match for this environment. Most insane of all, the man wore a black judge’s robe over his uniform in a haphazard fashion. He also noted the Judge’s use of a Gavel Arms rifle similar to the one he used in his murders…The very same rifle Snakeman now used.

“Prison’s been rough for you…”, Snakeman quipped.

The Judge smiled as he dropped his rifle and pulled a combat knife from his chest holster.

“Heh…I am a former cop, after all…I brought a lot of bad men down in my day. A few of them were kind enough to give me a proper welcome in the State Pen.”

Snakeman didn’t want to press on with any more questions after that. He quite easily filled in the blanks.

He could tell at this point the Judge was sick with some form of HIV or AIDS, given his appearance. It was a common practice in prison to purposely infect certain enemies with the virus as an ultimate form of revenge. Him being a cop certainly didn’t help him out in that department.

Snakeman pondered if killing the Judge all those months ago would have been more humane knowing what he knew now. It certainly would have cut down on today’s troubles, at least.

Something…deep down in Snakeman goaded him into dropping his gun and meeting the Judge’s challenge. He knew it was a stupid move. He knew he didn’t deserve it after what he had put him through today.

He also knew he was a Robot Master fighting a very sick human being now. The Judge knew that as well.

Snakeman realized something at this moment.

“ Munich …You came here to die today, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Not like I had much of a decision to make. I could either die in prison or maybe die out here today…I sure as hell don’t intend to do either. As soon as I beat you, Snakeman…I’m out of here!”

He’s lying. It’s all over his face, Snakeman told himself.

Snakeman dropped his rifle and pulled his own knife from his boot holster.

“Very kind of you…”, the Judge muttered beneath his breath, not realizing that Snakeman’s super keen sense of hearing allowed him to hear that.

“No more games, Munich.”, Snakeman warned.

“No more games…”, the Judge smirked.

The two closed the gap between each other, marching towards one another over the twisted terrain. Finally, they were within arms’ length of one another, each man holding a knife. The Judge looked even sicker up close, but he hid it well with a purposely insane grin.

“…C’mon!”, he chided Snakeman as he assumed a defensive stance with his knife.

The Robot Master nodded in confirmation, slowly bringing up his knife.

Somehow, it felt…nostalgic.

May 31st, 20XX, 5:00 PM , PST

Finally, he felt it. Along with the loud, archaic shot, the sensation of flesh being pierced in his kidney-area, blood freely pouring out of the new hole in his stomach. Human blood, from a human body.

He never even drew his own gun.

Slowly, he slumped to his knees before Kenta, who approached, the smoking revolver clutched in his good hand.

Rich fell backwards, holding his hand to his side for a moment before he examined the blood soaked into his fingers. He grinned through the pain as he looked up at his younger sibling.

“Nnggh…Ahhh…Ken…Gah…I’m glad…it was you…”

Eigen knelt down beside his brother, removing Rich’s gun from its holster. He needed to confirm something.

Removing the cradle, Kenta found that all six chambers were empty.

“You…wanted this?”

“Hngh…Ken…I’m…I was so sorry…fer not bein’…who ya needed me ta be…Ya deserved…better…”

“This…This changes nothing.”, he said, coldly.

“Hah…Heh! Ahh…’Nother thing I deserve…Ngh…But…I gotta…I gotta ask ya…a favor…

“What makes you believe you deserve such a thing?”

“Heh…Hehe…Ken…Ya gotta…You gotta take care a’…this…”

Rich’s hand shakily moved upwards, his finger pointing to his forehead.

“Don’t let ‘em…Ngh! Don’t let them bring me back…Don’t wanna…I’m…tired…H-hah…”

Kenta seemed almost mortified by the request as he stood upright.

“K-Ken…Ahh…I wish…I did things…differently…”

“…We all do.”

“I…Ngh…I hope that…maybe someday…you’ll learn ta…forgive me…even after I’m gone…”

“…Maybe someday.”

“…*koff*…Ken…I’m hopin’…you’ll be able…ta forgive yerself…I know yer…a good kid…Take care a’ yerself…Kenta…”

Kenta stood above Rich’s body, watching the last bit of air escape his lungs. He was…in awe.

Is this what he…wanted? It felt…tainted.

It was a few more minutes still before he lifted his boot over Rich’s head.