The Business of War

Orchestrated By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)

Broken Armour Part 2

By the Armored Assassins

Revival

"Wake up."

The eyes slowly opened. Blurred images from all around flooded into his gradually-adjusting optic lenses; the silver-grey walls plated with steel panels, the dim lights fizzling away above him....and the decrepit visage of an elderly man, mostly balding, but with two large tufts of jagged hair and a crooked mustache drooping from his pointed nose. His eyes held little emotion, not much more than a bitter glare. But for some reason, staring blankly into those weary eyes....he felt....safe.

"Oh, good, you're awake," the strange old man said in a rough, pseudo-German accent.

"What....?"

"Yes, it will probably take you some time to get used to your sudden reactivation. Give it some time."

The robot this old man was talking to slowly raised his right arm, gazing at the snow-white hand flexed out in front of him at the end of the chunky, purple wrist of sorts attatched to a much slimmer black arm. Curiously, he flexed his fingers, feeling them respond to his stimulus. He then glanced at his left arm: no difference there. His legs were fairly similar; they both had large purple "boots" of sorts at the bottoms, with rounded white feet jutting out at the feet.

"So," the man queried rather suddenly, "How do you feel?"

He pondered this question. In truth, he felt strange - waking up after you don't even know how long you've been gone or what happened in the first place tends to have that effect on you. Besides this, though, he felt like he was able to move freely.

"....Good. I feel good."

The old man smiled slightly, a bushy grey eyebrow cocked casually.

"Good. I had a feeling I left you in good hands."

"....Left? You mean you didn't create me?"

The elderly fellow chuckled to himself, his coarse voice ringing hollowly through the metal room.

"No, of course not. Well, originally, yes....but you see, you were killed."

The purple-clad robot felt a sense of shock course its way through his mechanical body. What was he talking about? Originally....?

"However, someone managed to retrieve your remains, which were promptly dumped right back on my doorstep. Ungrateful...." He trailed off, but quickly resumed his casual stance. "As I was saying: your remnants were returned to us, and I gave them to the one person I knew would be capable of restoring you. I believe you know him. His name is Blizzard Man."

Blizzard Man?

This name brought faint memories spiralling back to him. He knew this "Blizzard Man"....but why?

"Blizzard Man created me?"

"Well, re-created you, actually." The aging scientist placed a thin finger through his mustache and began stroking it somewhat lovingly. "I see your memories have left you, Yamato Man. Not a problem: just have Blizzard Man install that chip in you later."

Yamato Man, as he now knew he was known as, slowly turned around and cautiously headed for the door.

He was confused....but he felt as though this strange old man was trying to help him, somehow. And this "Blizzard Man"....from what he could remember, he was an ally. A friend. Someone he could trust.

After all, he was his boss.

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