04-15-2016, 12:37 PM
As nighttime spread across Nippur, Proto Man found himself unable to ‘sleep’. He spent some time trying to process the developments since his departure from Teucer’s prison verse, but in the end, he found himself with more questions and frustrations than solid answers. His thoughts kept going back to the experiences he’d had—hunger, cold, fear, loss… none of them pleasant. The warlock’s curse had let him see the misery that came with being a human being. In the end, he found himself happy to be returned to his normal state, but the memories were still there, even if he know lacked the proper faculties to feel the same feelings.
Staring up through the hole in the roof, Proto Man reached into the small bag around his waist and retrieved the little stone he’d received after ‘dealing’ with the Warlock. The shiny piece of rock, along with the relics, was the only real thing to emerge from that debacle. If the news reports were to be believed, the situation Proto Man had seen at the Nexus had boiled over into a scene of carnage and mass murder, culminating with nearly half a dozen fatalities. Among the dead was one of Gilgamesh’s lieutenants—the ninja Sasuke. How would Nippur react to news of his gruesome demise? Was it even known that he was the king’s left hand?
Proto Man frowned as he pocketed the little trinket and tried to calm his thoughts. Even with the majority of his systems offline, he still couldn’t stop himself from thinking about everything. Of all the features he had, why couldn’t his near-human consciousness have an ‘off’ switch as well?
With a grunt, the preteen machine rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. He recalled an anecdote about humans counting sheep when they found themselves unable to sleep at night. In his mind, Proto Man pictured a field filled with flowers and a small little hurdle. Hundreds upon thousands of sheep had lined up to hope over the fence and head onto whatever business they had left, so as each one leapt, Proto Man kept tabs.
One… Two… Three…
The android awoke the next day to the sound of…
Gunshots?
Bolting up, Proto Man shoved off the floor and scrambled toward the nearest hole in the wall. Throwing aside the burlap draped over what may have once been a little window, the preteen machine peered down below to see a crowd of people pushing, shoving, and trampling one another in an effort to get through the street. From his vantage point, the cyborg couldn’t see what was going on, and while Mickey and Mireya had started to stir from their slumber—equally confused and mortified by the sound of fighting—Proto Man was down the stairs before his companions could rise to their feet.
After essentially hurtling himself down three flights of stairs, the red robot barreled through the nearest exit door of the building and threw up an arm to block out some of the sunlight as his optical systems adjusted once more to the change. Once he could see clearly, he turned in the direction of the gunfire and saw that a small group of armed individuals were behind the fracas. Clad in robes and wearing masks over their faces, they were equipped with what sounded like muskets but fired concentrated pulses of red energy.
Whoever they were, the people they were shooting at weren’t fighting back, and in the preteen machine’s book, that made them the bad guys.
Racing through the retreating crowd of people, Proto Man activated his buster cannon and lowered his head as a few bolts of energy whistled passed his helmetless cranium. When he was close enough, the preteen machine slung his weapon forward and released a quick burst of low-intensity blasts, catching the group of attackers by surprise. A pair of them near the center was knocked backwards by the blasts, and by the time they caught a glimpse of their new adversary, Proto Man was already leaping through the air toward them.
With a quick kick, the preteen machine threw one of the staggered gunmen down to the ground. Before landing back on his legs, Proto Man also managed a swift hook against a second of his adversaries. When his feet hit the ground, he had just a quick moment to react before the butt of a rifle swung down at the crown of his head.
Hopping backwards, Proto Man aimed low and fired a blast that struck one of the men’s kneecaps. With a cry muffled by his facemask, the figure dropped to the ground and watched as his weapon skittered away from his grasp. Bursts of fire clipped the machine’s chest and arms, but there wasn’t enough punch in the attacks to keep him pinned down. Scrambling quickly to his feet as he steeled himself against the two intact gunmen, Proto Man held out a hand and activated a rarely used trick.
With a pair of confused shouts, the men were jerked forward by their rifles. One of them stumbled and fell as his gun was drawn toward Proto Man. The other man managed to hold on for a few more seconds before the ferromagnetic pull of the preteen machine likewise stole his weapon from him.
“Retreat.” One of the men groaned as he scrambled up from the ground and tried to flee down the street. Before he made it more than a few steps, he was smashed across his masked face by a club.
“Surrender yourselves!” The gruff voice came from a man in what seemed to be unlaundered guards clothes. Despite his unkempt appearance, his weapon and the effects that demarcated his status among the city were in pristine condition. One of the nearby men tried to scamper away and received a thunderous blow to the side of his skull. The bludgeoned vagrant hit the ground with a wet thud, twitched a few times, and stopped moving. A moment later, a few more men armed with clubs and sporting spit-shined badges filed in behind the original person.
“Death before surrender!” The original clubbed vagrant roared as he reached into his robes. A moment later, his body burst like a kernel of popcorn, but instead of a movie theatre treat, there was a ground-splintering explosion within the marauder’s body. The blast threw Proto Man down the street like a ragdoll, and by the time he had managed to drag himself up to his feet, he saw that there was a mighty crater where he’d been standing a moment earlier. A quick count of the bodies on the floor revealed that a few of the masked attackers had fled into the adjoining streets.
On the other side of the destruction, the man with the club had already made it to his feet. He wore a scowl on his face as he tried to rouse his four teammates out of their explosion-induced stupor. Then, suddenly, something seemed to click in the enforcer’s mind. He spun away from his colleagues and leap over the crater, landing in front of Proto Man and brandishing the club in the youth’s direction. “What are you doing here? You can try to hide yourself, but anyone would recognize you once they’ve seen you defend yourself like that.”
Proto Man lifted up both his hands to show that he was currently unarmed. “I’m just here to help.”
“Help?” The man’s club remained tense for a brief moment, and then it swung away from the child and back to its owner’s side. “The only way anyone could help is to bring back Gilgamesh or put this place out of its fucking misery...”
“No one took over for Gilgamesh?”
The soldier—or vigilante, Proto Man still couldn’t tell—threw his head back and chuckled. “Of course, but those burueacrats couldn’t tell the difference between their mouths and their asses. Gilgamesh wasn’t a nice guy, but he held this place together through sheer force of will. Without him, the whole thing has been steadily collapsing, and these fucking raiders aren’t helping.”
“Outsiders?” Proto Man asked, eliciting a nod from the man.
“Most of them follow some desert nomad… I can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of me because he has too many of them. His crew is fanatical about him, though. You capture one, and you have to watch them at all hours. If you don’t, they always find ways to kill themselves, its fucking ridiculous.”
“Can’t you say the same about the people who were fanatical about Gilgamesh?”
“Even the most devoted citizen of Nippur isn’t going to blow themselves up,” the man replied. “You best watch yourself, Red. This city’s becoming increasingly divided, and one of those big divisions would love nothing more than to chew you up and spit you out.”
With that, the soldier/vigilante turned and moved out with his associates. Whoever he was would have to wait for another day.
Nearly a beat later, the forms of Mireya and Mickey parted through the layer of haze that had fallen over the street after the blast. “What happened, Blues?” The mouse reached down and hooked an arm under Proto Man to help him up to his feet.
“I’m not sure,” the preteen machine replied with a heavy frown. “We need to make sure we watch our backs more than ever.”
Staring up through the hole in the roof, Proto Man reached into the small bag around his waist and retrieved the little stone he’d received after ‘dealing’ with the Warlock. The shiny piece of rock, along with the relics, was the only real thing to emerge from that debacle. If the news reports were to be believed, the situation Proto Man had seen at the Nexus had boiled over into a scene of carnage and mass murder, culminating with nearly half a dozen fatalities. Among the dead was one of Gilgamesh’s lieutenants—the ninja Sasuke. How would Nippur react to news of his gruesome demise? Was it even known that he was the king’s left hand?
Proto Man frowned as he pocketed the little trinket and tried to calm his thoughts. Even with the majority of his systems offline, he still couldn’t stop himself from thinking about everything. Of all the features he had, why couldn’t his near-human consciousness have an ‘off’ switch as well?
With a grunt, the preteen machine rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. He recalled an anecdote about humans counting sheep when they found themselves unable to sleep at night. In his mind, Proto Man pictured a field filled with flowers and a small little hurdle. Hundreds upon thousands of sheep had lined up to hope over the fence and head onto whatever business they had left, so as each one leapt, Proto Man kept tabs.
One… Two… Three…
***
The android awoke the next day to the sound of…
Gunshots?
Bolting up, Proto Man shoved off the floor and scrambled toward the nearest hole in the wall. Throwing aside the burlap draped over what may have once been a little window, the preteen machine peered down below to see a crowd of people pushing, shoving, and trampling one another in an effort to get through the street. From his vantage point, the cyborg couldn’t see what was going on, and while Mickey and Mireya had started to stir from their slumber—equally confused and mortified by the sound of fighting—Proto Man was down the stairs before his companions could rise to their feet.
After essentially hurtling himself down three flights of stairs, the red robot barreled through the nearest exit door of the building and threw up an arm to block out some of the sunlight as his optical systems adjusted once more to the change. Once he could see clearly, he turned in the direction of the gunfire and saw that a small group of armed individuals were behind the fracas. Clad in robes and wearing masks over their faces, they were equipped with what sounded like muskets but fired concentrated pulses of red energy.
Whoever they were, the people they were shooting at weren’t fighting back, and in the preteen machine’s book, that made them the bad guys.
Racing through the retreating crowd of people, Proto Man activated his buster cannon and lowered his head as a few bolts of energy whistled passed his helmetless cranium. When he was close enough, the preteen machine slung his weapon forward and released a quick burst of low-intensity blasts, catching the group of attackers by surprise. A pair of them near the center was knocked backwards by the blasts, and by the time they caught a glimpse of their new adversary, Proto Man was already leaping through the air toward them.
With a quick kick, the preteen machine threw one of the staggered gunmen down to the ground. Before landing back on his legs, Proto Man also managed a swift hook against a second of his adversaries. When his feet hit the ground, he had just a quick moment to react before the butt of a rifle swung down at the crown of his head.
Hopping backwards, Proto Man aimed low and fired a blast that struck one of the men’s kneecaps. With a cry muffled by his facemask, the figure dropped to the ground and watched as his weapon skittered away from his grasp. Bursts of fire clipped the machine’s chest and arms, but there wasn’t enough punch in the attacks to keep him pinned down. Scrambling quickly to his feet as he steeled himself against the two intact gunmen, Proto Man held out a hand and activated a rarely used trick.
With a pair of confused shouts, the men were jerked forward by their rifles. One of them stumbled and fell as his gun was drawn toward Proto Man. The other man managed to hold on for a few more seconds before the ferromagnetic pull of the preteen machine likewise stole his weapon from him.
“Retreat.” One of the men groaned as he scrambled up from the ground and tried to flee down the street. Before he made it more than a few steps, he was smashed across his masked face by a club.
“Surrender yourselves!” The gruff voice came from a man in what seemed to be unlaundered guards clothes. Despite his unkempt appearance, his weapon and the effects that demarcated his status among the city were in pristine condition. One of the nearby men tried to scamper away and received a thunderous blow to the side of his skull. The bludgeoned vagrant hit the ground with a wet thud, twitched a few times, and stopped moving. A moment later, a few more men armed with clubs and sporting spit-shined badges filed in behind the original person.
“Death before surrender!” The original clubbed vagrant roared as he reached into his robes. A moment later, his body burst like a kernel of popcorn, but instead of a movie theatre treat, there was a ground-splintering explosion within the marauder’s body. The blast threw Proto Man down the street like a ragdoll, and by the time he had managed to drag himself up to his feet, he saw that there was a mighty crater where he’d been standing a moment earlier. A quick count of the bodies on the floor revealed that a few of the masked attackers had fled into the adjoining streets.
On the other side of the destruction, the man with the club had already made it to his feet. He wore a scowl on his face as he tried to rouse his four teammates out of their explosion-induced stupor. Then, suddenly, something seemed to click in the enforcer’s mind. He spun away from his colleagues and leap over the crater, landing in front of Proto Man and brandishing the club in the youth’s direction. “What are you doing here? You can try to hide yourself, but anyone would recognize you once they’ve seen you defend yourself like that.”
Proto Man lifted up both his hands to show that he was currently unarmed. “I’m just here to help.”
“Help?” The man’s club remained tense for a brief moment, and then it swung away from the child and back to its owner’s side. “The only way anyone could help is to bring back Gilgamesh or put this place out of its fucking misery...”
“No one took over for Gilgamesh?”
The soldier—or vigilante, Proto Man still couldn’t tell—threw his head back and chuckled. “Of course, but those burueacrats couldn’t tell the difference between their mouths and their asses. Gilgamesh wasn’t a nice guy, but he held this place together through sheer force of will. Without him, the whole thing has been steadily collapsing, and these fucking raiders aren’t helping.”
“Outsiders?” Proto Man asked, eliciting a nod from the man.
“Most of them follow some desert nomad… I can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of me because he has too many of them. His crew is fanatical about him, though. You capture one, and you have to watch them at all hours. If you don’t, they always find ways to kill themselves, its fucking ridiculous.”
“Can’t you say the same about the people who were fanatical about Gilgamesh?”
“Even the most devoted citizen of Nippur isn’t going to blow themselves up,” the man replied. “You best watch yourself, Red. This city’s becoming increasingly divided, and one of those big divisions would love nothing more than to chew you up and spit you out.”
With that, the soldier/vigilante turned and moved out with his associates. Whoever he was would have to wait for another day.
Nearly a beat later, the forms of Mireya and Mickey parted through the layer of haze that had fallen over the street after the blast. “What happened, Blues?” The mouse reached down and hooked an arm under Proto Man to help him up to his feet.
“I’m not sure,” the preteen machine replied with a heavy frown. “We need to make sure we watch our backs more than ever.”