Orchestrated By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)
By Cyros
[Timeframe unknown]
Who am I?
I am nothing.
Nothing matters now.
An image of a body, tall and insect-like, faded into a humanoid form,
before burning into nothing.
I am... cursed.
Cursed to wander this world... without meaning...
Without purpose...
An image of featureless robots in a line moved by, stopping on the
blue form of Flashman. His gaze was emotionless. His eyes, glowing
blood red.
I am nothing but a machine...
A machine... it follows orders...
...who’s orders?
The laughing face of Doctor Wily. The sneering gazes of politicians.
A blood red face, skull like, which sickening yellow eyes.
And my past... what past?
“You don’t have a past! Stop making things up!”
Okay then, Airman... I will. Because there’s nothing left... nothing
to remember...
What am I now? What I always been. Nothing. My existence... meaningless.
Like always.
“Stop it.”
Why am I allowed to go on? No one needs me. There is nothing to gain
from life...
“Stop it.”
Life... it’s cruel. It’s sickening. Both organic and artificial.
What... what is the point?
“Stop it.”
Maybe... someone... something... could take care of it. Like he wanted
to. Yes... he had the right idea, didn’t he?
“Stop it!”
Its simple, isn’t it? The General already does it. He just spares
his own kind. Nothing deserves to be spared. Not the humans. Not
the machines. Not me...
“Stop it!”
There is nothing-
-they don’t deserve life-
-it’s not fair-
-just wanted to be happy-
-kill them all-
-so close, so close-
-it wasn’t my fault-
-I can fix this! I can keep us together-
-what is this place-
-why are you doing this!? why-
-so many dead-
“Stop it!”
-kill-stop-not fair-hope-life-failure-friends-out of time-so close-nothing
left-good-oblivion-betrayal-free will-morality-war-existence-darkness-let
it end-let it end-end-end-end-end-end-end-
“STOP IT!!!”
His eyes opened. He looked down and saw a little boy. He was wearing
a blue armor. He looked like nothing but a Megaman clone with a jet
pack. He was...
“You are dead.”
The boy looked up with determined blue eyes. “No I’m not. You know
who I am.”
He gazed at those eyes with his own pair; blood red and glowing. “You
are nothing. You are a past to be forgotten. You are meaningless.”
His voice was so cold, so emotionless...
So robotic.
“That’s a lie and you know it. Why are you acting like this!?”
The robot looked down upon the little boy. “I am a machine. Nothing
more. My behavior is as it is dictated.”
“Do you even listen to yourself!?” shouted the boy. “You’re not making
any sense!”
“Irrelevant.”
The boy growled angrily and walked around the robot with a piercing
gaze. “Do you even know who YOU are anymore!?”
“Indeed. I am DWN-014, “Flashman”; nothing more.”
“You’re lying again.”
This time, the robot, Flashman frown and aimed his arm cannon at the
boy. “Your presence here is a nuisance. You are not needed here.”
But the boy was persistent; he smirked and crossed his arms. “But you
said already that I’m nothing. So shooting at nothing doesn’t make
any sense, does it?”
“...”
“Well? Got anything to say to that?”
“...why do you torment me, child?”
The boy looked up at Flashman’s face. Instead of amusement or anger,
there was sadness. “I want to help you. You’re not well.”
Flashman’s eyes flashed angrily, though his face did not show it. “I
have never been well. Never since-” He paused.
“Never since ‘when,’ huh?” The boy leaned forward, waiting for an answer.
“...it is irrelevant.”
The boy sighed. He shouldn’t even been doing this, but he had no choice.
Someone had to get some sense into this guy. And all he did was make
things more difficult.
Yet he had to keep trying. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“I require no assistance...” Flashman knelt down and gazed into the
boys eyes. “Especially from figments of my programming.”
“I am not a figment! And you weren’t programmed!”
“You are mistaken. I was created by Dr. Albert-”
“You were created, yes, I admit that, but not by that old coot! You
weren’t even built in this dimension!
Dimension...
“You efforts to sway me are futile, nuisance.” Flashman turned his
back on the boy. “Leave, and I will show you mercy.”
“...then I guess I’m going to have to do this...”
Flashman’s eyes glowed dangerously. “By what do you-”
The environment had finally come into focus. It was nighttime in the
city. And it was burning.
Flashman’s eyes shrunk. This was... no... this couldn’t be...
“This... is not real... this never happened...”
The boy shook his head sadly. “Please don’t lie about this. It did
happen. You... we were there. HE was there.
He...
Him...
HIM...
“No...”
“Yes. Look.”
Flashman could do nothing but obey. He saw, in the distance, a figure,
destroying everything in his path. There were people running... many
like the boy, some not. The figure in the distance didn’t distinguish
between the two as he reached for them, broke their limbs, burned their
bodies, shred them into pieces.
No! This wasn’t real! This was just a nightmare! I didn’t happen! It
could never happen!
“But it did happen,” whispered the boy. “And you saw it again.”
The city faded into another one. A different city, a different time,
a different place. But the slaughter was the same. Instead of one visored
figure, there were many. Instead of the strange Megaman-like beings,
humans. But the result was the same. There was bloodshed. There was
terror. There was... fear...
“Enough of this horrid images!” pleaded Flashman. “I- I- Why do you
show me such things!? Why!?”
“If you were really that far gone as you thought you were...” the boy
circled around the taller robot. “None of this would have bothered
you.”
“This is...” In anger, Flashman grabbed the boy and slammed him against
a building, pointing his buster at his head. “Cease this at once! Or
I shall destroy you!”
The boy did not back off, despite the gun at his head. “You would only
be destroying who you are. You have to remember. You can never forget.”
“THERE IS NOTHING TO REMEMBER! NOTHING TO FORGET!”
The barrel was at the boy’s temple now, and yet he showed no fear.
“I know why you’re acting like this... it’s because your selfish.”
...selfish?
“The one thing you wanted the most gets taken away from you, and you
decide it’s the end of the world. You should know better than that.”
...what I most desired?
Something knocked Flashman aside. He tumbled on the ground for several
feet before he righted himself. He saw a figure, a rust colored machine
in a dirty lab smock. The General.
“In that moment, escaping the station, you thought of nothing but getting
your body back. Not the war, not the people dying, not your friends,
not even your own survival. You were overcome with greed most foul,
and you embellished it.”
Flashman growled and fired at the General, who effortlessly deflected
it with his blades. A step was taken, and the General was not longer
there; instead, it was the red visored form of him.
“And now look at you. Here you are, wallowing in your own despair,
as the real world collapses around you. You lock yourself up, and your
body walks the earth like one of the living dead. Look at yourself!
We don’t even need Mesmerman to create your own personal hell; you’ve
created it yourself.”
With a burst of speed, Flashman leapt at his foe. Effortlessly, he
was dodged, grabbed, and thrown several hundred feet into a crumbling
building. The robot master groaned, hearing footsteps to his left.
It was the boy once more.
“This very moment, people are suffering, and you have to potential
to do something about it. Instead you’re here, trapped in a prison
of your own demise. You’re failing yourself. And yet only you can break
free.”
There was silence. Grief.... genuine grief came into Flashman’s eyes.
“No... I can’t do anything... I’ll just fail again...”
“Like you failed to stop me?” It was him again, still taunting
him from afar. He laughed coldly at Flashman’s pain. He wasn’t
even real; it hurt all the same.
“Listen to me,” pleaded the boy. “You may think yourself a failure,
but you can not allow that to stop you. We are not a perfect being.
We make mistakes. We have made mistakes.” The boy looked at
the approaching figure of him with sadness. “All we can do is
learn from them.”
Flashman laid prone, listening to the boy’s words. And he responded
with some of his own. “But I couldn’t... even save myself...”
The image of his burning body came to mind. He never saw it happen
personally, but its fate was obvious. Nothing could have survived that
catastrophe. Nothing.
“Does it matter, though?”
The boy’s words struck him hard. Did it matter? Of course it mattered!
He was nothing without his body! Nothing!
“Do you really believe that?”
Of course he... of course he... he did believe...suddenly, Flashman
was confused.
But it did matter, though... did it?
Why wouldn’t it matter?
“When you’re with your friends, were you any different then than you
were when you first came to life?”
He remembered... remembered hanging out with the other Warriors. Before
the War started. They were difficult to be with, yes... but they were
enjoyable. He liked hanging out with them. They were his... friends.
He remembered... just barely... his birth. His creation. He just wanted
to have fun. To hang out with friends. To be liked. Until he came,
that is just what happened.
Was he... really any different back then as he was now?
“What,” he asked the boy, “are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to tell me something. Just one thing.”
“...what?”
The boy looked into Flashman’s eyes and pleaded. “Tell me... what’s
the one thing that matters about a person?”
It finally hit him. The answer... the answer the boy wanted to hear...
Flashman understood what the boy wanted him to say. Wanted him to see.
Wanted him to believe.
His body... his original body was destroyed. He could never
undo that. But he still held something, something more important than
that.
“...the soul.”
His soul.
The world vanished before his eyes. Crumbling buildings, the screaming
victims, the scampering Scissors Joes, the shadowed form of him...
All faded into nothing but white.
Only Flashman and the little boy remained.
Except Flashman wasn’t Flashman anymore. He was a human. Or the very
least, he looked like a human. A strong torso, toned arms and legs,
flesh colored skin, ragged brown hair; he was the boy before him, grown
up. He stared at his new body... no, it was not his body. This was
the image of his soul.
He may be a robot, but that did not mean he could not have a soul.
He... understood that now.
The boy smiled and looked up at him. “Do you know who you are, now?”
He looked down at his younger counterpart... and smiled. “We’re the
same person. That’s what.”
“And what is our name?”
“...Cyros.”
“Your friends... they need you right now.”
“Yeah. They do. ...I better go help them.”
The boy faded, his smile staying until the very end. And Cyros finally
decided it was time to wake up.
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