By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)
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.