The Megaman War:
Part 1 - Whistle in the Wind

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

Chapter 6: New Detroit

Rock sat in the trailer of the semi, making sure the more sensitive equipment didn’t get jarred too much in the rougher parts of the ride. Dr. Light hadn’t allowed him out of the trailer in almost a week as they’d driven, so he had no way of knowing where they were now.

Not that it would matter. Rock had no clue what was going on anyway.

It was weird for him. He’d figured out that there was a life he’d led before becoming... whatever he was now. He knew, on the edge of his mind, that Dr. Light regretted the loss of Rock’s memory, but knew more than he was letting on. His mind hurt every time he caught a glimpse of a blonde haired girl whenever Dr. Light opened the back of the trailer to feed him or let him out in the sun at a gas station, but he didn’t know why.

He sighed heavily in the rumbling room and leaned back on his makeshift bed. Neither he nor Dr. Light knew what had happened at Cheyenne Mountain, or that Dr. Wily was already working on his fifth ‘Master,’ as he’d come to call them. To Rock, they’d left the Mountain, with something less than stealth (he distinctly remembered the sound of gunshots) and had been traveling in random directions on back roads for almost a week.

As the truck rumbled to a halt, and the back door of the trailer opened as the scientist allow Rock out to stretch his legs, Rock’s eyes stung in the sunlight. The sky here was an incredible blue, without a cloud in sight. As he took in his surrounding, he saw that they weren’t at a gas station.

“What’s going on, Dr. Light? Why’d we stop?” Rock asked, concerned.

Dr. Light smiled wearily, the very picture of sleep deprivation. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about anything for a while, so let’s sit down and have a real meal, okay?” He motioned to a nearby diner, and the two went inside.

The atmosphere was smokey, and there was a TV that could be heard, playing a news station above a rudimentary counter. Dr. Light and Rock both grabbed stools by the counter and looked over the menu. After placing their orders, Dr. Light dozed off while Rock watched the news.

It was an odd feeling for him. Almost like watching a news report in a different country. He didn’t know any of the names or any of the locations, but he could determine that, due to the use of the word ‘Local’ they were in something called Illinois. References to something called Chicago kept cropping up as well. As the only waitress in the place gave them their food, Rock shook the dozing doctor awake, who sleepily sipped his coffee as Rock dug into an omelette.

Then, the news station moved from local news to national.

“More news on the Siege of Cheyenne Mountain-“ coffee sprayed into the air from Dr. Light’s lips “-It appears that the mastermind behind the violence and bloodshed has made his demands known the both the White House and United Nations. We have not yet been able to discover what those demands may be, but highly placed sources within the White House indicate that steps are being taken to make counter offers and stall for time. To recap the story so far, a week ago, several reports of a ‘golden monster’ were recieved by Pentagon and White House officials, stating that Cheyenne Mountain was under attack by the beast. Any and all attempts so far to coax the so-called ‘Dr. Wily’ from beneath the Mountain itself have been as successful as the direct attacks...” camera footage played of several military vehicles in various states of destruction. Some were cut totally in half, others were on fire, while still others were frosted over or reduced to shards. The camera kept sweeping over an MI Abrams Tank that looked like someone had just punched straight through the top of it.

Dr. Light stared, wide eyed at the news as it continued, going into details about who the Media knew was dead for certain, and a list of ‘missing persons’ presumably being held hostage by Dr. Wily. Rock tried hard to keep up. “What... what does this mean, doc?”

Forgetting the ban on the use of the word, Dr. Light could only shake his head in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this could be happening. There was absolutely no way this could be happening.

And yet it was.

Somehow... Dr. Light tried to piece together what had happened. Somehow, Dr. Wily had used all of the data from Rock’s test to... copy... or recreate Light’s System. He HAD to have guessed at the bulk of it! Light had never allowed anyone bu the Suits to see the schematics, and there was no...

Oh.... Oh god...

Dr. Light stood up in a hurry, began to leave, remembered himself, left a $20 on the table for a $13.49 meal, began to leave again, collected himself, grabbed Rock by the shirt, and dragged the youth out of the diner as the brown haired boy shoved the remainder of the omelette in his mouth. As Rock began o keep pace, Dr. Light wordlessly handed Rock the keys and scrambled into the back of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

Rock stood there, totally lost. “Er... I guess I should... drive, then?” He managed. When silence greeted him, ha made his way cautiously around to the cab of the truck. Getting in on the side with the wheel, Rock settled in, taking in all of the odds and ends before him. He got a feeling like Deja Vu, except that, while he’d done something LIKE this before, he hadn’t done this particular thing before...

Shrugging, he stuck the key in the ignition and went to adjust the mirrors. He was a little taller than Dr. Light, but all the same...

And then he saw himself.

The lab had mirrors. He’d seen himself in the mirror before, but it had always been while he was in the Armor. This as the first time he saw his own face... on its own...

The casual observer would find their gaze drawn to Rock’s forehead. There, right between his eyebrows and below his hairline, was a grey circle that lay beneath several layers of skin. It was faint, but definitely there. Branching off of this circle were several grey lines, some that went up into his hair line, while other snaked around his face. The two largest ones seemed to start right below his eyes and travel off to the side of his cheeks before heading down toward his chin.

Rock shivered at the sight of himself. Something about his appearance was much more alien than he felt used to. Shaking his head clear of the cobwebs, he turned the key and felt the semi truck roar to life below him. Hesitantly, he put the whole thing into drive and started toward the road. He had no idea where he was going. He had no real idea where he was. All he knew is that, for some reason, Dr. Light was depending on him to drive, wherever they went.

It was then that a name sprang forth in his mind. Something that Dr. Light had mentioned in their earliest of conversations. Something that stuck in his brain like a beacon and wouldn’t let go. Somewhere he suddenly wanted... no... HAD to go there, for some unfathomable reason.

New Detroit...

Major Keldon Harowitz ducked down behind the sand bags again, hiding from the sweeping gaze of the orange thing his men had nicknamed ‘The Butcher.’ It was not a name that hadn’t been earned. In the last two days, that... Master, the higher ups said they were called, had been responsible for the destruction of almost two entire companies worth of vehicles and had sheared more than a few limbs from the bodies of his men. It stood like a one man army at the only entrance to Cheyenne Mountain, its arms crossed. The arms weren’t the dangerous part.

Held to its back by forces unknown to Keldon was a three foot disc that were The Butcher’s only weapons. The gigantic pair of scissors that it could throw like a frisbee. More like a boomerang, really, as the massive cutting blades always returned to the Butcher, no matter how it threw them...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound he’d some to dread. A whining, high-pitched sound of air being cut to ribbons by the oversized shears as they were thrown, more out of boredom than anything else, apparently, at America’s finest. He dove away from the sandbags and held his hands over his head. It didn’t help him.

The Cut Model threw the blades at about half strength in the direction of the soldier that kept popping up over the sand bag line to stare. It wasn’t as if the Cut Model was suffering any damage, it was just plain annoying. Besides, it had proved amusing to kill the soldiers in single numbers rather than by droves. That way, he could see the individual sprays of blood as his beloved blades punctured the flesh bag...

Major Keldon Harowitz died by bisection, cut as cleanly in half as you please, but the sub sonic pair of blades that were completely clean before and after his death. The blades never stained, They never touched the blood itself. They were always moving too fast.

Dr. Wily finished the modifications on the Fire Model. He knew that the fuel powered flame throwers were a stupid idea, but the key was to get the Model out there to show it off, and THEN make it energy efficient.

The Fire Model itself was impressive. Roughly the same size as the Cut Model, with much the same motor abilities. Mainly red in color with an underlay of gray, the helmet of the Fire Model set it apart as a fearsome entity. The helmet itself was mostly protective in nature, but Dr. Wily had managed to create a gout of flame that continually spewed from the top, making it look like the Fire Model’s head was constantly on fire. The Fire Model also had no forearms, replaced instead by the flame-thrower mounts and, now, the ‘Arm Cannons,’ as Reggae had called them. Simple cylinders of empty air to spew fire...

Dr. Wily had just the way, too. He’d created something that, if one was built large enough, could power the entire state of New York for well past a hundred years. Simply dubbed the ‘Energy Collection Coil’, it was a sturdy copper spring that had been altered through chemical treatments and suffered from an electron imbalance. This imbalance caused a chain reaction that stole the electrons from the air around the coil to fix the imbalance, which was itself perpetuated by a vacuum-sealed box that the stolen electrons were almost immediately transferred to. In essence, it was a completely inexhaustible form of energy collection and storage. What was even better was that the system could be adapted to any number of uses, like powering Light’s prototype plasma rifle, or replacing the need for a lithium battery in the Armors of his Masters...

Dr. Wily finished installing the smaller coils into the arms of the Fire Model. By using a release catch on the vacuum-sealed box, a large amount of energy would be released on a very small amount of air, super heating it. This air would be so hot as to be fire, expelled from the arms of the Fire Model as its primary mode of attack. The best thing was that the coils in the arms had been modified to work on heat energy as well as the usual electron gathering system, making the entire model self-sustaining. Dr. Wily giggled at his own genius.

Reggae, in the meantime, was making sure the dwindling number of lab technicians kept working on the pieces of the Yellow Devil, which had remained mostly immobile and silent after its initial task of taking the Mountain in the name of Wily had been completed. Reggae remembered the only snag in that moment of glory for his boss...

“You... YOU VAT?” Dr. Wily screamed, bringing all activity in the lab to a halt. “HOW COULD YOU CHUST LOSE ZEM? VERE? VERE HAF ZEY GONE! FIND ZEM! FIND ZEM NOW!”

The mad howls of the man that had dragged him along on his insane attempt to rule the world had frightened Reggae in ways his mother could only have dreamed of...

Roll sat on the foot of her bed, clutching a teddy bear that had been a birthday gift from Rock, watching the terrible story on the news. She’d seen the first report, when nobody had known anything, but now that people knew things, it just seemed worse. She had no way of knowing that Dr. Wily had anything to do with Rock, but she couldn’t help but sit up and pay attention every time the story played out on the news. In the weeks since Rock had disappeared, she’d cried more often than any other time of her life, wanting only answers, or a sign... She couldn’t shake the feeling, the gut feeling, that Rock’s disappearance and the fall of Cheyenne Mountain had been connected in some weird way.

Tango meowed, hoping to bring her attention to his lack of food, and she only petted him absentmindedly. The tabby cat heaved a kitty-like sigh and laid down on her lap, hoping she’d feed him soon.

Roll’s phone rang, and she ignored it. Her answering machine had been piling up with messages from people who were concerned about her, they way she’d been acting since Rock’s disappearance. They all wanted to know if they could do something for her, to which her only answer was ‘Find Rock.’

They hadn’t found him yet. The police hadn’t found him yet. Roll hadn’t found him yet. Was he even still alive? How could she be sure? How could she know anything or do anything?

She felt the tears well up in her eyes and slide down the worn pathways of her cheeks again as she sobbed once more. Tango huddled closer to her, sensing her anguish, but unable to do anything to help...

The meter said ‘E.’ Something told Rock that meant the truck was out of gas. Or close to it. Better pull into a gas station, he thought...

He opened the back of the trailer to ask Dr. Light for some money to put gas in the truck, only to find the scientist huddled over a makeshift table with a flickering lamp. He stepped into the trailer and tried to get Dr. Light’s attention, but was only rewarded with a noncommital whimper.

“Dr. Light?” Rock asked, coming up behind the scientist. He could see that on the desk was a piece of paper with writing on it, however illegible it may have been, but noticed something else. The general dampness of the paper and the desk around it. That’s when he heard Dr. Light sob.

“I’m a monster,” the older man said weakly into the darkness. “I created it... I made it all possible for him... he’s using it against the world, and when all is said and done, I’m just as bad as he is... I’m a monster... I’m just as bad as he is... I’m a m...” Dr. Light finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Rock couldn’t even begin to cope with this, and took the unresisting scientist’s wallet, casting a sad glance at the sobbing man on his way out.

Rock shut the door of the trailer and peered once again at the sky. “If he’s a monster,” Rock said to himself, “what does that make me?”

Rock looked down at his hands. He could see the grey circles there, with the lines leading up his forearms and into his T-shirt. He thought about the Armor. He thought about what he was capable of. He tried to think of the memories he’d paid to become what he was.

“Whatever I am...” Rock said, after a long time of self contemplation, “I’m not human anymore.” He looked at the blue sky again, and could hear the sobs of the white haired man in the lab coat that he knew was a good man at heart. Rock couldn’t bring himself to feel sad over the events he knew were, in some ways, his fault somehow. He couldn’t find it in him to pity Dr. Light. All he could do was feel angry. Angry at Dr. Wily for making a good man like Thomas Light into a broken shell of his former self. Angry at the German scientist for hurting the thousands of people inside the Mountain. Angry at the madman for killing the soldiers who tried to stop him.

“Whatever I am,” Rock said again, louder this time, narrowing his eyes at the cloudless sky, “I’m pissed.”