I had a burst of inspiration one day while I was playing a ROM of Megaman Zero for the GBA in the car. I'm glad I had my notepad with me at the time, because I came up with an awesome idea for a story. I am actually happy with this bit of writing, too. I started out only knowing that I wanted to have some sort of cybernetic or robotic guy, trapped somehow in a lab for many years, being freed by a computer-genius woman while she is being chased by a bunch of robots, and saving her *** after the robots kill off all of her soldier companions, thus coming out as a big hero for saving her life and proceeding to aid her in the war against the robots. It turned out quite while, since that's the only idea I had for this. The only problem is that I don't really know where I'm going to be taking it from here, so...anything goes! ^.^ Let me know what your thoughts on this are. I'm currently giving this the tentative title of Cyber.
***Introduction***
A small group of people race through a dark, pitch-black tunnel deep beneath the earth. Dim lights flicker across their faces every now and then, as they pass under a bit of lighting still barely working. In the lead is a beautiful woman, her long chestnut hair tied up into a bun so as not to be cumbersome. She wears an army-style white tank top over her large bust, the outline of a sports bra partly visible through it, and baggy green fatigues with hefty army boots.
All in the group wear the same slouching green beret, marking them as soldiers.
“They’re gaining on us!” shouts somebody from the back. “Come and get some!” He stops running and turns around, while the others keep running forward. Gunfire can be heard coming from behind the group. Not long after a cry of pain can be heard down the tunnel.
Damn it! the woman thinks to herself.
At this rate…
Another of the soldiers at the back stops running and turns around to delay their pursuers.
We must find a way to lose them. We can’t fight them off!
The dark tunnel suddenly ends and opens up into a large room. The lights high up above still work perfectly, so the room is lit as bright as day. Various machine parts lay strewn across the floor, and what were once computers lining the wall are crumbling apart. A thick layer of dust covers the floor.
The woman pauses as she races into the room.
“Where are we?” she wonders aloud. A dirt-covered insignia on one of the walls catches her eye. Her eyes widen in shock.
What…can it be? Did we find it?
“Commander, we don’t ha-” begins one of the soldiers.
“Look out!” cries out somebody from the back. The soldiers whirl around as their pursuers come out of the tunnel.
They stand as tall as a human, the entire body made of matte black metal. One of the arms ends in, instead of a hand, a thick cylinder with a hold at the end. Its one hand is fully jointed like a human hand. Its two legs are just like a human’s, albeit made of metal. Emblazoned on the chest is a silver skull and crossbones. It’s spherical head, resting on a joint that works just like a human neck, has only one feature: a large red eye, glowing cold-heartedly, taking in all of it’s surroundings.
Thirty of these humanoid robots spill out from the tunnel, pausing to glare at its prey. Each raises it’s cylinder arm and points it at the group of humans, the hand resting on the cylinder to improve aim.
The soldiers bring their guns to bear on the robots. “We’ll hold them off, ma’am, you get out of here!” The soldiers open fire, taking down many of the robots. More keep pouring out of the tunnel. The robots return fire, balls of energy flying back at the soldiers. The enemy rounds dissipate an inch before striking any of the soldiers, as their personal shields blocks all of the energy. The shields glimmer slightly, weakened greatly by the attack.
The woman stares dumbstruck at the sheer numbers of the foe.
“Get going!” shouts one of the soldiers over his back. “We can’t last long like this!”
“Let's go, Commander,” offers a male soldier at her side. “There must be an exit up ahead.” A female soldier stands beside her as well. Her two personal guards protect her until the end.
The woman nods, breaking out of her stupor. “Such a waste of life…” she mutters, as she runs away from the battle with her guards.
Every time they pass through a doorway, the woman stops to press a button on the wall, causing a heavy metal shutter to drop down, in the hopes of stalling their robotic pursuers for a bit longer.
The rooms they pass through are always full of machinery and lab equipment, all in various states of disrepair.
Nobody has been here for decades. All the machinery is far behind our current level of technology. The woman even notices an old-fashioned computer monitor, which was long ago replaced by flat panes of silicon glass, which doubles as the computer itself.
They eventually enter a room with large tanks filled with the blue-tinted healing chemical, Cholos. Most of the tanks are shattered, their contents mostly empty. One of the tanks in the far back of the room is perfectly intact, full of Cholos, and holds a person floating inside, various wires and tubes are stuck into his body and a breathing mask is strapped over his face, keeping him alive.
The woman stops by the tank, staring at the man inside.
How long has this man been in this tank? He doesn’t look a day over 21! Could that be the Cholos…or something else?
The man is wearing only a pair of loose-fitting black pants, revealing a muscular and well-toned torso and arms. Though he’s so muscular, his body build is not large; He's more compact than bulky, and he probably only comes to about 5’ 9” in height. His hair is an extraordinary shade of sapphire blue, and has grown out to his waist over the long years in the tank. His fair white skin is without a single flaw, and his features are nearly angelic in perfection.
“Is this what you’ve been searching for ma’am?” asks the female soldier.
“Yes. I’ve been looking for him for a long time,” answers the woman. She walks up to the terminal beside the tank, and checks the various readouts. “His name is Drake. And if I’m making out these readings right, he was the best of the bunch.”
“He sure looks it. I’ve never seen a more attractive guy, not even in the old action movies. I wonder what happened to all of the others…” comments the female soldier as she looks at all the empty tanks.
“Who knows?” answers the male soldier. “Let’s hurry and get this guy out of the tank, this place gives me the creeps. We need to haul *** before more of the Fletcher units show up.”
“Agreed,” nods the female soldier. She hefts her Plasmarattler rifle and points it at the metal shutter they last passed through. “If they break through, we’ll do our best to hold them off ma’am. You’d best be quick about it.”
“So, you’re the last surviving member of the Cybertitration experiment,” wonders the woman, looking up at the sleeping Drake. She taps a device covering her ear, and an arm extends forward, flipping a square of silicon glass in front of her right eye. She starts typing away at the tank’s terminal.
I’ll have to hack through the defenses. For such primitive technology, their security is better than our own. I’ll have to remember how they set this up so I can implement it on our own systems. Information scrolls across her head-mounted computer.
A few minutes of nervous sweating later, the loud banging of metal on metal can be heard from the other side of the metal shutter, as it shakes with the force of the blows.
“****! They got here earlier than I thought!” exclaims the male soldier.
“All the guys! Were they that powerless?” despairs the female soldier.
“No time to mourn them now, Chi, we’ve got to protect the commander.” He pulls a handful of small metal discs from a pocket of his combat vest and tosses them onto the ground in front of the door.
“Good thinking, Wes, those mines should thin their numbers,” mutters Chi.
“I don’t think it will be enough, though,” answers Wes, grimacing. “How’s it coming along Commander?” he asks over his shoulder.
“I’ve just about got it. The security is tougher than I thought.” Sweat beads on her skin as she focuses intently on breaking the tank’s system.
“You’re cutting it pretty close. We’ll have to make a run for it.” He cocks his Plasmarattler and aims it at the shutter.
“Almost there…” mutters the commander. “I’ve already gotten into some of the controls, but the main release is still guarded.”
Wires and tubes snap away from Drake, floating in the tube. The wounds where they plugged into his back heal nearly instantly as the Cholos repairs his body. He remains unconscious, though, as the breathing mask also supplies a steady trickle of knockout gas so that a person won’t wake up until all of his injuries are healed or somebody releases him from the tank.
The metal shutter suddenly dents in as it begins to weaken against the blows of the robotic foe.
“We’re lucky it’s only Fletcher units,” mutters Wes. “If they had just one Kami unit, we’d be dead already.” Sweat drips from his chin.
Chi nods as sweat rolls down her shoulders, staining the edges of her sleeveless shirt.
“I only need some time,” announces the commander, typing furiously away at the terminal. The Cholos begins to drain from the tank as she breaks into the drainage controls. Drake collapses onto the floor of the tank. The breathing mask pulls away from his face, and he stirs slightly as the effects of the knockout gas begin to wear off.
The metal shutter dents in even further, and slight gaps appear at the edges. The red glow of the Fletcher eyes emanates from the gap.
“Time is the one thing we don’t got!” Wes says impatiently.
The metal shutter suddenly falls inward with a loud clang, and the red-eyed robots start pouring into the room. The mines Wes laid on the floor go off, engulfing several dozen of the Fletcher units in flame.
“Are there any left?” asks Wes, peering through the smoke.
“Count on it,” mutters Chi.
Red light pierces through the smoke as it disperses, and a large group of Fletcher units stand among the remains of their fallen brethren.
“Let ‘em have it!” shouts out Wes, opening fire with his Plasmarattler. Chi follows suit, and together they take out several dozen of the robots before they can get off one shot.
“Commander, we have to leave now!” Chi shouts over her shoulder.
“Just hold them off a bit longer!” the woman shouts back.
These scientists knew what they were doing! Such a tough security grid is years ahead of our own technology, so many decades ago. If this is any indication, this ‘Drake’ must be a hellish fighter.
More Fletcher units poor in through the door, firing their energy weapons. A few of the shots hit, but Wes and Chi’s personal shields dissipate the blows. They keep firing their Plasmarattlers, mowing down the Fletcher units as they walk into the room.
An energy blast hits Chi directly in the face, causing her to step back in surprise. Her personal shield glimmers in front of her for a few seconds, and then falls apart, leaving her vulnerable.
“Oh ****!” she exclaims, before another energy blast catches her in the chest and sends her to the ground. A gaping wound, instantly cauterized, mars her chest, and she is instantly dead.
“Chi!” Wes exclaims. He continues to fire his Plasmarattler at the robots as energy blasts eat away at his personal shield. His shield finally glimmers and falls apart.
“Crap!” he curses. Then he notices an energy blast that will just barely miss him, but is flying right at the woman, working furiously at the terminal.
“Commander!” he shouts out, jumping in the path of the blast. It hits him in the back, leaving a deep wound. The woman stares in shock at her fallen guardian and life-long friend as he falls into her arms.
“Wes…no!” she exclaims.
“I’m glad…I could protect you, Katy, my friend,” he groans, “Give those bastards-” he coughs up some blood. “Give ‘em hell…for me. And for Chi.” He falls from her arms to the ground, dead.
Looking up, she sees the Fletcher units cease fire and advance on her.
They’re trying to capture me? She turns back to the terminal and continues to type at the keyboard, hoping to release Drake before it’s too late.
He is just now pushing himself up and getting a look out of the tank, wondering why he is still inside it. His eyes open wide in shock as he sees the situation that is unfolding.
The robots get closer and closer to Katy, who keeps trying to break through the security of the terminal.
Flawless. This security is flawless! There’s no way to open the tank! Katy realizes as she types, her head-mounted computer scrolling ceaseless information in front of her.
Drake, noticing the Fletcher units get closer to this unknown woman, obviously trying to save him from those who pursue her, comes to a decision then and there. Clenching his hand into a fist, he charges against the wall of the tank, smashing through it with inhuman strength. Reinforced glass shatters everywhere as Katy whirls around to stare at this man.
So strong! The Cybertitration experiment was indeed a success!
He keeps moving forward, smashing his fist right into the eye of a Fletcher unit about to grab Katy. The robot collapses to the ground in a heap of metal behind Drake as he halts his forward motion.
Drake looks over his shoulder at Katy, his deep blue eyes full of kindness.
Strange eyes…for somebody like him…
“Looks like you could use some help, miss,” he says in a quiet voice.
Turning his attention to the Fletcher units still advancing on them, he runs forward at an inhuman speed to the nearest robot. He smashes his fist into its head, and then races forward to the next one before it even collapses to the ground.
He darts through the swarm of robots like a knife through butter, not even stopping when one manages to fire off an energy blast at him at close range. He twists around the energy blast at the last second with inhuman reflexes, turning it into a spinning back kick, and knocks the robot’s head clean off. He darts off to the next one without so much as blinking.
At one point he’s surrounded by several of the Fletcher units, and they fire at the same moment. He jumps up into the air, twice his own height, executing a backflip. The energy blasts knock into the robots, dissipating against their exoskeleton. Drake lands on the ground, spinning around with a kick as he does so. He takes out most of the robots with that single kick, then whirls around, swinging his arm, smashing the heads of the remaining robots with the back of his fist.
As the dust settles to the ground once more, Drake stands in the midst of dozens of wrecked Fletcher units, a head or two still rolling across the ground and some limbs still twitching. He doesn’t have a single scratch on him.
***
I hope you like it as much as I do.
