02-13-2018, 11:57 AM
The dust settled once again.
Proto Man picked himself up off the ground once again.
How long had he been doing this? Which year was this? The days, months, and years had all blended together in his databanks. Three? Six? Had he been here forever?
His gun hummed as he built a charge without being aware of it. He lifted his head up and stared into the smoldering horizon. The base of the Copper Eye lay just another thirty yards or so before him.
Wrong. He shook his head. This wasn’t the Dataverse.
The Temple of Artemis?
No, he was alone. Mickey and Belle weren’t here, and those were ninjas that lurked in the smog and haze around him.
A figure came shambling into direct sight. It clutched a curved short sword in one hand, and one of its legs had been replaced with a slightly rusted iron rod. While it would have looked human through a veil of shadows, in the light one could see the parts where its body had been mechanically lashed together with sutures and a mechanized soldering gun.
Darkling… Nebula!
Proto Man swung up his buster arm and blew off the monster’s head before it had lurched within striking distance. By the time it had crumbled to the despoiled earth, the android was already advancing past it toward the factory.
The preteen machine managed to get close enough to nearly see through soot-stained windows of the structure before he was beset by another wave of shambling, reanimated darkling creatures. Half-pirate and half-insect, the skittering creatures lunged at him from all angles—piling their festering and corroded bodies on the small-statured machine. One of his knees buckled as he tried to press forward against the pile. Claws and swords crashed against his body, leaving scrapes against his armor and threatening to tear apart his less densely covered extremities.
Y’know, Fella, you weren’t the best at doing this by yourself, or did’ja forget that fact? The mouse’s jovial tone was a nice contrast to the message itself.
“Shuddup, Mickey.” Proto Man groaned as he snaked an arm free, jammed it forward into the chest of a darkling, and released a thorax-shattering burst of energy. “I can’t be haunted, I’m a robot.”
This is text-to-voice, you nitwit. Unless I became a psychic or you have a viral infection. A beat later, the mouse started to laugh his unforgettable laugh—that goofy, infectious chuckle that made it impossible for Proto Man to keep a straight face.
“I was hoping you’d show up as a ghost to lead the way,” the machine replied as his sword screamed to life and sawed through a trio of darklings just in time for more to arrive and add themselves to the Liberator’s general calamity. “You know, tell me where to aim and stuff?” With something almost like a growl, Proto Man threw off a half dozen darklings and broke into a sprint toward the factory. This time, he got close enough to spit on the window when he had to turn around and deal with more company.
You can’t face them all. Why are you trying? You got pals back there who will help you.
Proto Man got off a trio of shots before four bodies dropped onto him and started hacking at him.
“Where are they at now?” The machine shouted as a broken sword raked against his arm. A jagged claw grabbed at his shoulder and nearly tore off a chunk of it before a headbutt and shotgun blast dealt with the screeching darkling. “Off chasing thugs and brigands, when the source of the evil lingers in eyesight. They’re in it for vengeance and glory, not justice.”
What do you call charging through mines into a hoard of enemies? Sounds like glory houndin’ to me, pal.
The red robot scowled as he sidestepped a thrusting attack. Rather than let his foe recall, he grabbed them, pivoted, and crushed their body against the solid façade of the factory. When the first bone-crunching thud left twisted light in the beast’s eyes, Proto Man wrenched them back and brought them crashing back into the unyielding surface.
This time, the reanimated darkling slipped back into whatever horror world it inhabited, and before its peers could collapse back onto Proto Man, he was on the move. His gears and joints hissed steam as he leapt up and grabbed the ledge beneath one of the massive building’s many windows. A beat later, he swung himself up—and then straight through—the glass obstacle. As he started to drop, Proto Man activated the thrusters beneath his feet. They managed a pair of bursts before they failed, but even those few moments were enough to let him land safely on the floor.
Eyes adjusting to the structure, Proto Man scowled at the scale of the industrial operation. Enormous vats of slag radiated heat and light as a web of conveyor belts carried carcasses and raw materials to and fro through the vast room. In the distance, he heard the almost rhythmic thrum of machinery. His sensors, albeit clearly inhibited by something he couldn’t deduce, made him aware that there were dozens of workers and crewmen in the surrounding area. For the moment, there were no sirens or klaxons, but despite that, Proto Man knew that the welcoming party would be here soon.
If you die, I’m telling Minnie.
The red robot failed to hide a faint smile.
“I tell her about our trip to that island with the sirens last summer,” Proto Man whispered as he made for the nearest batch of darkness he could find in what was otherwise a massive, light-filled room.
…You’re a butt, I hope you know that.
“Name calling doesn’t fit you,” the machine joked.
You sure you got this? You could have told me, and I would have joined you.
“You have Minnie to look after,” Proto Man whispered as he lifted the Proto Buster and started to charge a shot. “I’ll look after everything else. After all…” the machine strode out into the chamber and fired the concentrated blast up at the nearest conveyor belt. As the rain of shattered darklings and broken machinery started to descend upon him, crewmen started to materialize as if from nowhere, eliciting a grin from the robot.
“Hope rides alone.”
Proto Man picked himself up off the ground once again.
How long had he been doing this? Which year was this? The days, months, and years had all blended together in his databanks. Three? Six? Had he been here forever?
His gun hummed as he built a charge without being aware of it. He lifted his head up and stared into the smoldering horizon. The base of the Copper Eye lay just another thirty yards or so before him.
Wrong. He shook his head. This wasn’t the Dataverse.
The Temple of Artemis?
No, he was alone. Mickey and Belle weren’t here, and those were ninjas that lurked in the smog and haze around him.
A figure came shambling into direct sight. It clutched a curved short sword in one hand, and one of its legs had been replaced with a slightly rusted iron rod. While it would have looked human through a veil of shadows, in the light one could see the parts where its body had been mechanically lashed together with sutures and a mechanized soldering gun.
Darkling… Nebula!
Proto Man swung up his buster arm and blew off the monster’s head before it had lurched within striking distance. By the time it had crumbled to the despoiled earth, the android was already advancing past it toward the factory.
The preteen machine managed to get close enough to nearly see through soot-stained windows of the structure before he was beset by another wave of shambling, reanimated darkling creatures. Half-pirate and half-insect, the skittering creatures lunged at him from all angles—piling their festering and corroded bodies on the small-statured machine. One of his knees buckled as he tried to press forward against the pile. Claws and swords crashed against his body, leaving scrapes against his armor and threatening to tear apart his less densely covered extremities.
Y’know, Fella, you weren’t the best at doing this by yourself, or did’ja forget that fact? The mouse’s jovial tone was a nice contrast to the message itself.
“Shuddup, Mickey.” Proto Man groaned as he snaked an arm free, jammed it forward into the chest of a darkling, and released a thorax-shattering burst of energy. “I can’t be haunted, I’m a robot.”
This is text-to-voice, you nitwit. Unless I became a psychic or you have a viral infection. A beat later, the mouse started to laugh his unforgettable laugh—that goofy, infectious chuckle that made it impossible for Proto Man to keep a straight face.
“I was hoping you’d show up as a ghost to lead the way,” the machine replied as his sword screamed to life and sawed through a trio of darklings just in time for more to arrive and add themselves to the Liberator’s general calamity. “You know, tell me where to aim and stuff?” With something almost like a growl, Proto Man threw off a half dozen darklings and broke into a sprint toward the factory. This time, he got close enough to spit on the window when he had to turn around and deal with more company.
You can’t face them all. Why are you trying? You got pals back there who will help you.
Proto Man got off a trio of shots before four bodies dropped onto him and started hacking at him.
“Where are they at now?” The machine shouted as a broken sword raked against his arm. A jagged claw grabbed at his shoulder and nearly tore off a chunk of it before a headbutt and shotgun blast dealt with the screeching darkling. “Off chasing thugs and brigands, when the source of the evil lingers in eyesight. They’re in it for vengeance and glory, not justice.”
What do you call charging through mines into a hoard of enemies? Sounds like glory houndin’ to me, pal.
The red robot scowled as he sidestepped a thrusting attack. Rather than let his foe recall, he grabbed them, pivoted, and crushed their body against the solid façade of the factory. When the first bone-crunching thud left twisted light in the beast’s eyes, Proto Man wrenched them back and brought them crashing back into the unyielding surface.
This time, the reanimated darkling slipped back into whatever horror world it inhabited, and before its peers could collapse back onto Proto Man, he was on the move. His gears and joints hissed steam as he leapt up and grabbed the ledge beneath one of the massive building’s many windows. A beat later, he swung himself up—and then straight through—the glass obstacle. As he started to drop, Proto Man activated the thrusters beneath his feet. They managed a pair of bursts before they failed, but even those few moments were enough to let him land safely on the floor.
Eyes adjusting to the structure, Proto Man scowled at the scale of the industrial operation. Enormous vats of slag radiated heat and light as a web of conveyor belts carried carcasses and raw materials to and fro through the vast room. In the distance, he heard the almost rhythmic thrum of machinery. His sensors, albeit clearly inhibited by something he couldn’t deduce, made him aware that there were dozens of workers and crewmen in the surrounding area. For the moment, there were no sirens or klaxons, but despite that, Proto Man knew that the welcoming party would be here soon.
If you die, I’m telling Minnie.
The red robot failed to hide a faint smile.
“I tell her about our trip to that island with the sirens last summer,” Proto Man whispered as he made for the nearest batch of darkness he could find in what was otherwise a massive, light-filled room.
…You’re a butt, I hope you know that.
“Name calling doesn’t fit you,” the machine joked.
You sure you got this? You could have told me, and I would have joined you.
“You have Minnie to look after,” Proto Man whispered as he lifted the Proto Buster and started to charge a shot. “I’ll look after everything else. After all…” the machine strode out into the chamber and fired the concentrated blast up at the nearest conveyor belt. As the rain of shattered darklings and broken machinery started to descend upon him, crewmen started to materialize as if from nowhere, eliciting a grin from the robot.
“Hope rides alone.”
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