Prologue: Leave A Whisper

Author's Note: To those who haven't read my previous work in the Mega Man universe, this will likely make only partial, if any, sense. If so, you've been warned. As for the rest of you, those who follow the "Legacy Of Metal," as it's called, well, I can only hope you'll enjoy this as much as I will. Happy Maverick Independence Day.

January 1st, 2089, 6:00 PM

Mt. Everest, Nepal

Even in modern times, with the world on the fast-track to what had once been a Hanna-Barbera cartoon, there were still a few places in the world where one could find privacy. Of course, even the most antisocial hermit would have paused at the thought of selecting Mt. Everest for their retreat. The cabin had been built nearly on top of the peak, far too high for any human to remain for very long without risking their life due to lack of oxygen, nearly 9,000 meters above sea level. Expecting to actually find anybody living there would have been ridiculous, save for one fact.

The only inhabitant of the cabin was not a human at all.

"You're a difficult man to find," the mountaineer said by way of greeting as he stood in the doorway, looking into the single room. It was as pleasantly, if sparsely, furnished as any less unusual lodge would have been, aside from the conspicuous lack of anything related to food or drink. The cabin's resident sat in front of a roaring fireplace, staring into it, as if he hadn't heard.

"If you've come here looking for a man, I'm afraid you've wasted a great deal of time and effort," he replied eventually.

"Now, that would depend on how you define the term, wot?" the visitor shot back, deliberately exaggerating his British accent as always. "Personally, I've never been a chap to let a silly thing like species stand in the way of who you really are."

"A dangerous opinion to hold, in these times," the Robot Master murmured, still looking straight ahead. "This is a good place to watch the world from, without becoming involved, and what I've seen hasn't been good, especially for my kind. Without the Lights... without Mega Man..." He shook his head.

"Without your father," the visitor said quietly. "He gave the world an enemy, one foe they could face as a united front, even if they were helpless against him. In his absence, it seems all our old rivalries and grudges and silly, petty rationales haven't faded quite as far away as we think they have. It'll be war again, within a year or two. And that's not all it'll be, either." He took a deep breath before continuing. "That's part of the reason I've come here."

"Because of war?" The cabin's owner shook his head, ever so slightly. "No. Mega Man turned me from that path, and gave me my life, when any other would have taken it, and rightly so. Rock Light believed in me, in second chances. He believed that people could change. I will not demean his memory by proving his faith in me unjustified."

"Not for war, old bean," the visitor corrected him. "For the other targets that that kind of violence and hatred and rage will find. In times of war, people find enemies at home, as well as abroad. We both know who they'll go after now, without the Lights. Without Mega Man." He stared at the side of the Robot Master's head. "You called yourself the king of the robots. It's your name. I came here hoping it would be your duty as well."

"You have named me," King, third "son" of Dr. Albert Wily, noted as he finally turned to meet his visitor's eyes. "I suppose it's only proper that I do the same in return. Dr. Trenton Corbun, contemporary of Dr. Thomas Light. Founder and president of Sennet Robotics until its fall during the Third Robot Rebellion. One of the last surviving members of the 'Gamma Team,' the builders of the 'ultimate peacekeeper,' along with Darwin Vinkus. Commonly acknowledged as the fourth greatest robotocist of the late 21st century."

"In other words, the top of the bottom." Corbun chuckled bitterly; it was an old grievance, and the fact that he knew nobody had ever actually cared but himself only made it the more sharp. "The tagalong who never matched up to the top three. That's me, right enough." Taking a hit from the bottle he carried on a sling, he continued. "I'm surprised you know that much about me. By the time you were on the scene, I was offstage, wot."

"As I said, this is a good place to watch the world." King's eyes roamed over Corbun, and the doctor knew he wouldn't be impressed by what he saw. He'd been handsome enough in his youth, but years of hard drinking had taken their toll on him by now, and he was nearly sixty anyways. A thin, weathered man with graying hair and a trim mustache that was his only concession to vanity, buried in the heavy clothing that had been necessary for reaching the cabin even with the aid of modern technology.

King himself, on the other hand, had the kind of appearance that most statues of great rulers could only dream of. He'd been built with that ideal in mind, knowing his creator. Tall and brawny, with classical features and a healthy tan, he had shunned the heavy armor he'd worn in the Ninth Robot Rebellion in favor of slacks and a dress shirt. The temperatures at Everest's peak posed far less of a threat to him than any human, after all.

"Since the death of Mr. X, you've been the one overseeing the Robot Museums he built over the world," he continued. "You've been shutting them down, one by one, ever since Mt. Fuji erupted in 2087 and buried Tokyo. The first was always the most popular. Without it, I assume the rest simply couldn't stay afloat."

"That isn't why," Corbun told him. "The age of the robot masters is ending, King. Anti-robot sentiments are at an all-time high, and this time, there isn't anybody to champion their cause. If somebody doesn't do something, your people will be destroyed, old boy. Not by a megalomaniac bent on world domination. By simple human hatred and prejudice, the same sentiments that have slaughtered minorities for thousands of years. Only this time, their targets aren't 'human' at all." He shook his head in disgust.

"Another will come," King told him calmly. "The family of Light is not yet extinct."

"You know too, then?" Corbun raised an eyebrow. "Aye, he'll come, but when? A year? A decade? A century? It'll be too late, by then. Tom's final gift to the world will usher in a new age of robots, ones who will be for all intents and purposes just like humans, but that will be small comfort to their murdered predecessors. If somebody's going to do something about this, it'll have to start now."

"You've practiced this speech," King said after a moment. "You've been planning this for quite some time."

"As I said." Corbun shrugged. "You're a difficult man to find."

"Then why go to the effort?" King asked him, and his tone was suddenly different from his previous detached monotone. Sharper. More serious. "If you want my help, answer honestly. I'm the son of Wily. I was your enemy, the enemy of all humans. Why me, of all people?"

"Because you're the only one left," Corbun answered without hesitation. "Tom is dead, now, may he rest in peace. He died in the eruption of Mt. Fuji. X died years ago. Darwin... is gone." He closed his eyes before continuing. "If you know about Tom's legacy, then you know what Wily's demon did to the others. Rock, Roll, Blues. Bass. Beat and Rush. Eddie. Gods, even Eddie." His voice cracked for a moment, before he continued. "They're all dead. Duo left this world again, almost certainly for good this time. Auto..." He trailed off, unable to finish.

"Auto?" King asked, and for the first time, his face showed emotion; worry. "When I went to visit, he was still alive. He was the one who told me what had happened. I'd thought, even if Dr. Light had no more desire to live..."

"He..." Corbun shook his head angrily. "He couldn't take it. He was the youngest, and those last few years, alone with Tom... Tom said he erased Auto's mind, converted him into a sentry at his request, but... gods, Auto was his son. He'd never have done that. He couldn't have."

"You think..." King's eyes widened.

"It's done, however it happened." Corbun opened his eyes again. "Auto's gone too, King. We're the only ones left, you and me. You're the only one I can ask for help with this, even if you are the son of Wily. There's nobody else."

"What of Cossack?" King pointed out. "He still lives, with his daughter, and his own robot masters."

"I lost Sergei Cossack's trust long ago, before even Blues was created," Corbun explained sadly. "In time, we became pals again, thanks to Tom, but even then... no. I considered it, but something like this... even if he would agree, I have no right asking it of him. He has burdens enough already." He smiled grimly for a moment. "Though I daresay he'd take it better coming from me than he would from you."

"And his reaction would pale to that of his daughter, should I knock on that door." King smiled as well, faintly, his eyes distant. "I heard a story once, about an incident sometime during my Rebellion. Bass was working with the Lights then, and he came over to the house in order to confer with Rock on their next course of action..."

"Oh, blimey, I remember this," Corbun said, smile widening and voice growing mirthful. "And unbeknownst to him, Kalinka Cossack was visiting at the time. She'd come by to see Blues, and they hadn't told her Bass was on their side this time."

"So my little brother rings the doorbell, like a polite guest, and Roll goes to answer it." King's tone had become amused as well. "And Kalinka's in the living room with Blues, so she sees who it is, and because they're not freaking out, she doesn't either."

"She just stands up, very abruptly, and tells Bass it's nice to meet him, and leaves the room." Corbun lowered his head and started laughing. "Hahaha... and then the next thing they hear... ha ha... is her yelling to Auto... ha ha ha... that she's going to borrow his chainsaw for a bit! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

"And then..." King covered his mouth for a moment before continuing. "And then Bass just looks at Blues and says, very sarcastically, 'Cute girlfriend, cuz!' Hahahahaha!" He lost it too, and they both laughed together for almost a minute, before abruptly quieting down, faces growing sorrowful once more. "If I had been there... if I'd been able to help them fight..."

"You'd have died, just like they did, old chap," Corbun told him, quietly but firmly. "And accomplished nothing more with your death than they did."

"Instead, you would have me change the world," King said, raising an eyebrow. "We've already addressed the whys of that, of course. So then, why you? What are your reasons for taking this task upon yourself?"

"Tom was my friend." Corbun took another hit off the bottle before continuing. "Him, and all his children. He dreamed of a world where humans and robots could live in peace. I can't make that world a reality, but I can give the robot masters the next best thing. If I do that... maybe my life won't seem like such a waste."

"You have a wife," King pointed out mildly. "Daughters."

"My wife died of cancer earlier this year," Corbun said flatly, keeping all emotion out of the statement, and trying to act like it hurt less that way. "My daughters have lives and families of their own now. They don't need an old failure hanging around getting in the way."

"Then you are willing to commit the rest of your life to this?" King asked. "Everything you have, and everything you ever will?"

"Would I have climbed Mt. bloody Everest to find you if I wasn't?" Corbun snorted.

"Fair enough." King nodded. "Three conditions, then, and I'll join you in this endeavor."

"Name them," Corbun said warily.

"The first is that you sober up, starting now." King stared at the bottle meaningfully. "If we're going to do this, you'll need to live for as long as you can, and that means not killing yourself through liver failure. You managed to leave that path once before. Do it again, and this time stay off of it."

"I'll try," Corbun murmured, deflating. "But I tried before."

"You didn't have me helping you before." King smiled grimly. "Give me permission to keep you on the straight and narrow, if it's necessary."

"Done." Corbun's eyes narrowed, suddenly decisive, and threw the bottle over his shoulder, out into the snow. "The second?"

"The second is that you stop talking like a bad Monty Python reference." King kept smiling. "You're British. Fine. I get it. I've got the concept. That doesn't mean you need to be a walking stereotype. I've known you for ten minutes, and it's already irritating. I don't intend to put up with another three decades of it."

"Ha!" Corbun laughed, relaxing the accent. "You're the only one aside from my wife who's ever had the guts to call me on that, you know. She always hated it. All right, I'll agree to that one too. And the third?"

"You said my kind's plight was part of the reason you came to me." King's smile vanished now. "Tell me the rest of it. I have... concerns, and I suspect you may as well. If so... we might have more than one responsibility awaiting us."

"Later." Corbun was no longer amused either. "In a more... private location. But yes, I will, and if we're in agreement... we'll do something about that, as well."

"Then it seems we have an arrangement." King rose from the couch and walked over to clasp Corbun's hand. "And you have yourself a partner. It was about time I came down off of this mountain anyways."

"We're a sorry pair of heroes, but we're the only ones volunteering." Corbun smiled again, and for the first time in years, he felt something almost like hope. "Let's get to work, your majesty."

June 4th, 2184, 2:00 AM

The Sacred Plains, Japan

After all the changes that had been made to it, it was almost impossible to tell that the "Holy Room" of the hidden city had once simply been an exhibit in a museum. Almost, but not quite. No matter how many times the reploid named Prince knelt before the statues present there, in silent meditation, he couldn't quite put the thought out of his mind that the silent figures had once simply been a matter of historical record, of two "families" who had, between them, changed the world forever.

"Hero guide my path," Prince murmured eventually under his breath, beginning with his own personal patron before moving on through the rest of the circle. "Creator guide my path. Watcher guide my path. Healer guide my path. Smith guide my path. Savior guide my path. Fallen guide my path. Reaper guide my path. Renegade guide my path. Warrior guide my path." He hesitated, only for a moment, before speaking to the last. One of the three still alive, and the only who he'd met, who he saw on a daily basis. "Guardian guide my path."

"He won't be happy, if he sees you doing that," another voice said, and Prince rose before turning to glance at Countess, one of the few other reploids living in the hidden city. Tall, pale and blonde, she was wearing her white armor as always, and giving him a look that bore both warning and amusement. "You know his opinions on that."

"I know." Prince nodded. "However, the other citizens believe in it, and..." He left it hanging.

"And it's important that we find as much common ground with them as possible." Countess finished. "I'm aware. I'm just reminding you to be careful."

"I always am." Prince nodded. "Speaking of his majesty..." He spoke the title without a trace of irony; to them, it was well earned. "Shall we go bring him today's news?"

"Very well." Countess nodded, and they left the room together, walking in silence through the rest of the building that had once been the Mr. X Robot Museum, Tokyo branch, until they reached the quiet, nearly unlit room at its heart.

"Prince." The last Robot Master of the "Advanced" type greeted them softly as the doors opened. "Countess." The ruler of the hidden city was sitting in the same chair he always occupied, a huge stone shape that came just short of being a throne, under the only light in the room. He spent most of his days there, his thoughts a mystery to anybody but himself. Shifting slightly, King raised his head and glanced at the two reploids. "Has there been any word from our field agents?"

"Yes, sir," Countess replied clinically, surveying her datapad as she began their report. "Needles, Joker, Grimlock and Snake have all sent reports."

"Snake?" King raised an eyebrow, nearly imperceptible within the huge orange helmet. Like all reploids and some robot masters, he had the ability to remove his armor, but none of the city's inhabitants had ever seen him without it. "I take it he's found another, then."

"Bingo," Prince confirmed. "Up to sixty-five now. Just two left once he finishes excavating this one. It's too soon to tell what models are in there, but he says he thinks there's three of them. With luck, they'll all be clean, and we'll be able to bring them in."

"Good." King nodded. "What of the other three, then?"

"Needles has finished his inspection of the former location of MI9's headquarters," Countess continued. "He confirms that no traces of their presence remain. The Scion's Zenith did good work. Joker's managed to procure another shipment of vehicle parts for us; the delivery was fully automated, and he was able to make the robot's destruction look like an accident. The shipment will be written off as lost at sea."

"I can't say I'm pleased to hear about the destruction of a robot, even one as primitive as those tend to be, but needs must," King murmured. "Earl will be pleased once those come in. And what about Grimlock?"

"He's found another, sir," Prince told him quietly. "A Guts Man model. Owned and employed by humans."

"It's been quite some time since we found one in the open," King said after a moment. "I'd almost thought we never would again. You've told Grimlock not to try and liberate him by himself, I trust?"

"Immediately, as soon as he reported in," Countess assured him. Grimlock was a Junk Man, and while he was the most intelligent example of that particular model anybody in Mecha had ever seen, that still wasn't saying much. "Grimlock is good at reconnaissance, but he isn't quite... suited for performing a rescue."

"Send Viscount and Margravine," King told them. "It's been some time since they made an expedition to the outside world, and they always grow moody when they go too long without being allowed out." A faint, tolerant smile flickered on his face for a moment. "They're the best at retrievals, anyways."

"Very true," Prince agreed, sighing; he knew who was going to have to actually track them down. "In other news, we've had two more Awakenings this week. Twitter from District 3 and Marco from District 8. Both are currently being reassigned; we believe Twitter will do well working in Duke's labs, and Marco in Earl's garage."

"An Elec Man and a Pirate Man, correct?" King recalled.

"Yes, sir," Countess agreed. "Marco is the first of that model to Awaken."

"Good." King nodded slowly; and Prince remembered that the original Pirate Man had been one of his subordinates during the Ninth Robot Rebellion, nearly a century ago. "We have few of them here. Hopefully the others will follow his example." He shifted in his chair. "What other news?"

"Marquis says he'll have the plans for the new dormitory ready for you by the end of the week," Prince replied, thinking. "Duke claims to be on the verge of a breakthrough in teleportation technology; specifically, related to the 'faintwarp' phenomenon." He made sure to keep his face absolutely straight as he continued. "And Baron would like to request permission to set up a baseball league among the Awakened."

"A baseball league?" King repeated, amused. "That sounds like Baron, all right. And where does he plan to hold the games?"

"That empty cavern over by District 7 that Marquis discovered two years ago," Prince explained. "It was dangerous at the time, but he's been reinforcing the ceiling as a sort of hobby, and he claims it's safe now."

"Well, if there are enough of them who'd want to play, then by all means, tell Baron to go ahead," King conceded. "He's the expert on such matters, after all. If he thinks it will be good for them, it probably will. Is there anything else?"

"That's all for today, sir." Countess nodded, as did Prince. "If you have no further instructions for us, we'll leave you, then."

"Inform me if anything important comes up," King said by way of farewell, as he always did. He remained in his chair, staring ahead, as they left his chambers.

"That went well," Prince muttered under his breath once they were alone.

"As well as it normally does." Countess shrugged. "You weren't actually expecting him to be in a good mood, were you?"

"No, it's just..." Prince started to say, then gave up, sighing. "Never mind. I don't suppose you know where I'd be able to find Viscount and Margravine?"

"They'll be at the music hall in District 9," Countess told him, smiling slightly. "The Turbomen are performing."

"Of course." Prince shook his head, grinning ruefully as well. "I should have known. I'll give them your regards."

"Telling them off for me would be more honest," Countess said lightly as she turned to the left, towards another door. "I'll see you later."

"Until then." Waving, Prince continued on towards the front of the building, and stepped out into the streets of District 1 in the hidden city of Mecha.

Constructed entirely underground, built into and out of the ruins of old Tokyo that had been buried in the Mt. Fuji eruption of 2087, Mecha was the only city in the world that had never once known a human presence. Without a sky overhead, there was no day or night, simply twenty-four-hour periods in which the inhabitants went about their schedules. Schedules were very important to the citizens of Mecha, for with a few reploid exceptions, they were Robot Masters, both those who had Awakened and those had not.

The most numerous models present were those who had been mass-produced commercially, particularly the Lighttech brands, although Sennet Robotics and U.S. Robotics models both had strong presences as well. Wilybots and independent models were far less numerous, but there were a few sprinkled here and there, going about their business on foot for the most part, with only an occasional public hoverbus blasting past. Though it was mostly urban, there were gardens and parks, plantborgs grown by artificial light; robot masters enjoyed such things as much as humans did.

As he always did, Prince watched the citizens as he walked through the streets, a tall reploid in purple and gold armor with fiery orange hair and dark, searching eyes. Outside a dormitory, sitting at a table, two Cut Men played poker with a Gravity Man and a Flash Man. On a street corner, a Spark Man and a Sword Man lounged, chatting about news from the world above. One wall of a building was undergoing repairs, with a team of Guts Men, Hard Men and Stone Men working on it, each similar but not identical to their series mates, subtle differences chosen by them since coming to Mecha.

How would the people of the world above react if they learned of Mecha's existence, Prince mused, as he watched a Gyro Man and a Tengu Man blast past overhead, calling cheerful insults to each other as they raced through the air above their home. From what he knew of the way reploids like himself were usually treated, he didn't feel much confidence. The best result possible would probably have been invasion and conquest, authority installed to "monitor" them and "ensure they caused no harm." No, secrecy was Mecha's greatest shield, and it always would be.

His destination was in District 9, northeast of District 1 at the center of Mecha. Margravine's territory. Though it was largely unconscious, each of the districts had gradually taken on something of the character of their overseer. As he passed into it, the buildings began to spread out further, slightly more open. There was a greater amount of greenery, and the buildings had more windows and skylights, along with brighter colors of paint. There were more lights, and a greater sense of creativity in general. Prince had always rather liked it, although he'd never actually admit that to her. Encouragement was the last thing Margravine needed.

He located the music hall without any trouble; after his many decades in Mecha, he knew the city's layout by heart. Stepping inside, he was surrounded by a blast of sound immediately. Despite its name, the building's interior resembled a modern human nightclub more than anything, aside from the lack of food or drink; robot masters had no use for such things. Dozens of them filled the hall, some of them lounging in chairs or couches, while others danced to the music.

Four robot masters were onstage, all of them Wilybots from the seventh Robot Rebellion. The Turbomen, as they had aptly named their band, were some of Mecha's best examples of what the citizenry aspired to. Each of them had not only a name by now, but a distinctive personality reflected in how they'd modified their individual appearances. Watching the drummer launch into a blistering solo, Prince smiled to himself; he could see why Viscount and Margravine spent so much time at these concerts, even if he preferred classical music to robot rock.

The two reploids he'd come to the music hall in search for were the only ones of their kind present aside from himself. They lounged in a shady corner at the back of the hall, sharing a couch, arms draped around each others' shoulders as they bobbed their heads in unison, enjoying the music. Walking over, Prince stood before them, raised an eyebrow and waited for them to respond to his presence.

"I hadn't thought this particular scene was to your tastes," Viscount murmured eventually, glancing up at him. Pale and lean, with spiked-up blue hair, he wore casual black clothes instead of his armor, along with a perpetual smile on his sharp features. "I suppose we should congratulate you on expanding your horizons."

"Unless you're only here because you're looking for us," Margravine added, sliding closet to Viscount. As short as her partner was tall, she was dark and cute, with a bob of red hair the same shade as her eyes. Like Viscount, she was grinning as a matter of habit; it was the only physical similarity between the two aside from their preference for jeans and t-shirts, white in her case instead of black. "If that was the case, that would probably mean you had a job for us, and that... would probably suck."

"Lazy." Prince kept his own face stern. "You two are lazy. Not to mention reckless, selfish, flighty and disobedient."

"Excuse me?" Viscount affected an offended expression. "I'll gladly plead guilty to the rest of that, but disobedient? I think not!"
"Yes, be fair, that's my problem, not his," Margravine agreed, pouting. "And I'm not lazy. He is, but not me."

"You're rubbing off on each other, is what you are." Prince shook his head mournfully, still playing along. "You were both bad enough already, without being an influence on each other. As you wish, though. If you don't want this one, fine. I'll go have Earl do it, or perhaps Baron. Both of them, maybe." He started to turn away.

"Wait, wait, wait," Margravine said quickly. "We appreciate the sentiment, but you never told us just what it is."

"Oh?" Prince glanced back at them. "I thought it would probably suck."

"Probably, but not definitively, o Prince," Viscount told him. "And certainly not from the way you're acting."

"We've found another Robot Master on the surface," Prince said, relenting. "One of our scouts spotted him. He's going to need somebody else to handle the retrieval."

"All right!" Margravine's eyes lit up. "We're going up top!"

"It certainly seems so," Viscount agreed. "Most excellent."

"Don't get too excited, now," Prince reminded them. "This is business, not a license to go on a field trip."

"Yes, yes." Margravine flapped a hand dismissively. "It's still going up top, isn't it? That's good enough for us." She leaned forward, eyes bright. "So tell us the details. What's the story behind this one?"

"According to Grimlock, it's a Guts Man model owned by a rich eccentric." Prince handed her the datapad he'd brought to the music hall with him. "Which explains why we never found him until now. They're out in the wilderness, north of St. Berlin."

"Grimlock was the scout who located this one?" Viscount blinked. "Well. That explains why we're being sent out."

"Berlin." Margravine drummed her fingers on her arm. "That's fairly close to where Pharaoh Man used to run around, isn't it? He's not going to mind, is he?"

"Your grasp of geography is a little off," Prince told her flatly. "And besides, he never has before. At any rate, your methods are up to you, of course, but I'd suggest trying to pretend to be semi-legal as a Plan A. Use your cover identities and attempt to purchase the Guts Man. If that fails..."

"We can do things a more... subtle way," Viscount finished for him. "Or, if necessary, more direct, though that's a last resort."

"We've done this a hundred times before," Margravine reminded him. "We're the best at it. We know what we're doing."

"I never doubted that you did," Prince assured them. "Just remember, absolute secrecy. No hint or trace of Mecha's existence can ever be allowed to leak to the world outside, until the day we dread finally comes."

"'Leave a whisper, and nothing more,'" Viscount recited their motto. "We know."

"I know." Prince smiled. "Have fun."

"You see? I told you he was a likable guy once he takes the stick out." Margravine nudged Viscount in the side. "You need to listen to me more often."

"I never claimed otherwise," Viscount protested mildly. "Besides, if I did that, I'd be making it too easy for you. And you don't want that, now do you?"

"A valid point," Margravine agreed. "Now that would just be boring. And we certainly don't want that."

"Certainly not."

"Disgusting." Prince shook his head jokingly again. "You realize that by the way our citizens reckon things, you two would be brother and sister, right?"

"That's robot masters." Margravine argued lightly. "We're reploids. It's different for us. Besides, even then it's just a figure of speech. There's no genetics involved at all, shared between us or otherwise."

"And it's not as if there are any other options available for a more... personal companionship, are there?" Viscount asked slyly.

"Enough." Prince turned away, raising his hands. "I don't need to hear the details. I'm getting back to work. I suggest you do the same."

"If 'work' involves heading up top, by all means," Margravine assured him. "We'll head out as soon as the concert's over and be back before you know it with our new citizen."

"Then I will see you upon your return." Prince nodded to them, then turned away and went back out into the hidden city of the robot masters.

There were only so many hours in the day, even without a sun to rise or fall, and he still had much to do.

Time Unknown

Place Unseen

It had often been said that to look down at the world from space was an experience like no other. That the sight of the planet Earth, great and bright and colorful, as seen in its entirety, was one of the most awe-inspiring experiences any man could possibly hope for. And this was true. It was, indeed, a sight that defied description.

It was also said that, unfortunately, this was an experience that all too few could ever enjoy. Even in the twilight of the 22nd century, less than a handful of men, both reploid and human, were ever given the opportunity to journey into the stars above and see the world from there. And while this was true, it was also false, for there was another way, another place from which one could take in that most humbling of views.

The trick was, you had to die first.

It was a place of white mists and black earth, the latter obscured by the former. Even with the ever-present fog, though, one could never fail to see the edge; it was a curved, right-angle, absolute line of demarcation stretching off into infinity to both left and right. It was beyond this fearsome precipice that one could look and see the world they had left behind, glowing not with the light of the sun, but with the unquantifiable amount of life present upon it.

Every so often, a gray-cloaked walker would emerge from the mists to stand at the edge. There, they would stare down as if seeking something before hurling themselves from the precipice and into the world. After some time, they would return, bearing others with them; men and women, young and old, human and reploid. The gray walkers were always accompanied when they came back, but they always left alone. Most of them were human, but a few were reploid, and one of them was neither.

None took notice of the two men who always stayed at the edge. One was human, ancient and battered and broken inside; his hair was a wild mess around a central bald spot, the same gray as his mustache, and he wore a labcoat over a dress shirt and slacks, all torn and tattered. Tall and lanky, he never looked at the world below, too busy staring at his own hands, dead eyes filled with a miserable self-loathing.

His companion was a reploid, and this one did watch the world, bright green eyes burning with unresolved tension and adrenaline, coupled with the endless frustration of being forced to watch, and do nothing more. His armor was red and white, all sharp edges and straight lines, and a long blonde ponytail hung from the back of his head. Though one was human and one reploid, when seen together, a vague similarity in their facial features almost made them appear as if they were father and son.

They had been there since they had died, one for the first time and one for the second and neither for the last, though in two entirely separate ways. One had died and lived again and died again, and was fated to live and die once more, while the other had only died partially, and the rest of him still remained in the world of the living.

Sometimes they had company; other reploids would join them briefly before returning to the world below, or those who had known them in life would come out from the mists to visit, while glancing at the world themselves. But they were the only two who remained, on the edge between life and death, and none of the gray walkers ever glanced their way but for one. The one who had brought them both there, and who was the only one of the gray walkers to be neither human nor reploid.

"Out from the night and the mists steps a figure," he sang, badly, as he approached the two from behind, his voice an unpleasant screech. "No-one really knows his name for sure. He stands at six foot six, head and shoulders. Pray he never comes knocking at your door."

At five feet even, he was tall for a robot master, and a robot master he was, one of the few who had never been mass-produced. Hunched and top-heavy, with a bulky black and red torso atop spindly legs, one arm ended in a permanent cannon, the other in an oversized hand with fingers as thick as sausages. His head was a bald, synthflesh-covered skull, and his eyes a startling blue, sharply at odds with the rest of his appearance.

"I see your taste in movies is the same as your taste in wardrobe," the reploid said, glancing over his shoulder with an amused smirk. "Shitty."

"It's called a uniform," the robot master replied, rolling his eyes. "Just be glad I talked 'em into making the scythe ornamental. Never would have managed to convince anybody else to hire on if I had to lug one of those around all day."

"Can't argue that one," the reploid admitted, turning his gaze back to the world below as the gray walker sat down next to them. "So how is the office doing?"

"Eh, you know how it goes." The robot master shrugged. "We've finally got all the paperwork from the Eurasia crash taken care of, so there's that at least, but most of 'em are just punch-clock reapers. Lee and Morrigan are doing pretty well, though. You remember them, right? Used to be a couple of yours, before they signed on with mine."

"You sound like a tired old man, big bro," the reploid joked. "Maybe you're about ready to retire."

"No." The robot master shook his head slowly, apparently not seeing any humor in the words. "Not just yet. Not until I watch it end, with my own eyes." They were both silent then, for a while, before he spoke again. "How's dad?"

"Same as ever." The reploid shrugged. "He's stopped trying to mutilate himself, at least. Now he just sits there." They both turned their heads to look at the human, who showed no sign of acknowledging their presence. "You know, I used to think I'd never stop hating him, after you told me the whole story. But seeing him here, like this, seeing what he thinks about it, how much he hates himself without anybody else's help..." He trailed off.

"How do you think I felt when I stopped hating him?" The robot master replied, voice sober despite the ever-present grin etched permanently upon his features, as he jerked a thumb towards the human. "How long do you think I was in denial about not hating him any more, after how long I did? But when you get right down to it, all he is, right here, is everything he was before his madness. The man who joined hands with Dr. Thomas Light to save the world. It's not so bad, having a father like that."

"I guess not," the reploid admitted. "You know, when you think about the way we all turned out, you have to wonder if maybe there was a little bit left of that part of him, even at the end. Not enough to actually change anything, but enough to give us the chance to."

"'All?'" The robot master raised a nonexistent eyebrow, and the reploid scowled.

"Fine," he conceded. "Almost all of us." Once more, they sat there in silence for a time before he spoke again. "All right, that's enough small talk. Why are you really here? You wouldn't drop by just to shoot the shit with me."

"Sharp as ever," the robot master said, shrugging. "Yeah, okay. It's almost time for you to go back, little bro. Not just yet, but almost. Thought I'd drop by and give you a heads-up."

"You don't say." The reploid grinned, slowly, dangerously. "Hell, it's about time. I'm not suited to sitting on my keister watching the show from backstage, you know? Give me a piece of the action any day."

"That's our side of the family talking." The robot master chuckled. "The Light boys never actually enjoy it. Oh, they'll fight when it's necessary, but when it's done, they'll hang their busters up with no regrets. But us... even when we switch sides, and we always do, there's something about the thrill of the fight, the blood and the glory, that gets the ol' microfusion generator racing."

"Always?" The reploid retorted.

"Well." The robot master's grin remained, fixed on his face, but his eyes darkened. "Almost always."

"Yeah." The reploid's smile faded, as quickly as it had appeared. "About that. Since we're talking about family, and all. If it's about time for me to go back... that means he's almost ready to rise out of the sea, isn't he?"

"Bingo." The robot master nodded. "And she'll be there too. Not to mention that asshole." He gave the reploid a direct glance. "That's the one that's going to be your responsibility, you know."

"That one's personal, is what it is." The reploid tightened his fists, clenching his teeth. "Problem is... you said I'll forget all this, right? When I go back. That I won't remember anything that happened on this side."

"Yeah, you won't remember," the robot master admitted. "It's the rules and all. You'll forget, but not for long." His smile turned cryptic, and his eyes glinted. "I'm not the only big brother you've got, after all."

"Yeah, okay." The reploid nodded. "I can work with that. So, how long are we talking here, anyways?"

"Not long at all." The robot master looked over his shoulder, as the mists began to part. "Perhaps even less time than I thought."

Some were robot masters, and one was a reploid, yellow and black with a cheerful smile and innocent eyes. One wore red and gray with his old-fashioned shades, and by his side was a human woman of staggering beauty; when he was with her, he seemed to have somehow achieved the adulthood denied to him in life despite his adolescent design.

Another girl was a robot master herself, in a dress of red, and she kept pace with a boy in black, staying in line with each other but carefully not moving too close. A robotic purple wolf followed at their heels, following evenly between them. And their leader was all in blue, with a red dog at his right and a walking suitcase at his left and a blue bird flying above, and his eyes were filled with regret.

The others were human, the men mostly aged, for it was in their twilight years that they had felt most alive, that they had changed the world the most. Two were exceptions to that rule, one tall and handsome, with fiery orange hair and a bristling beard. The other was dark of hair and mustache, and unlike most of the others he wore a satisfied smile upon his face, as if he knew what had happened and what would happen, and was content with his part in it.

Another appeared to be in his late middle age, short and stout and balding, and he was different from all the rest in that he was wrapped in chains and locks, clinking and rattling as they trailed behind him into the mists; and yet, he still trudged onward, and none of the others objected. The last three men all wore snow-white beards, and two of those three walked with canes, one bald as an egg and clad in a blue kimono, the other wearing sunglasses and a dramatic black cloak.

Only their leader walked unaided, in his brown slacks and white labcoat, dark eyebrows offsetting his bright white hair and beard, puffing on his pipe as if it could vanish at any moment. He, and the other two, were all accompanied by women who looked to be half their age, for they had all died long before their partners. Still, they came along with everybody else, for though they had had no direct hand in events, their influence had remained.

One by one, together or alone, the ghosts of the past, of friends and family began to come together. They gathered at the edge between life and death, to wait and watch, as the end of an era drew near once more.

And the gray walker smiled, as he always had, and said nothing more.