Metallic Knights.

>>>Loading Package...

OK

>>>Checking Neural Connection Software...

Compromise 0%

OK

>>>Reading System Devices...

Skeleton
Hydrolics Systems
AutoRepair Systems
Sensory Array
Audio Output
Power Output Amps/Limiters
Teleporter Receiver
Communications Array
Assisted Memory Bank
Monitoring Device
Fusion Powered Pulse Repeater Buster Mark V
Buster Arm Converter
Pulse Generator
Pulse Generator Damage Output
EMP Program
EMP Wavelength Module
Support: Program
Support Unit Subroutines
Support: Bonds
Support: Converter
Support: Input
Support: General ID Scanner
Pulse Generator
Power Adapter: Shield
Power Adapter: Pack
Power Adapter: Input
Fusion Reactor
Reactor: Shielding
Reactor: Output
Reactor: Input
Reactor: Stabilizer
Reactor: Recharge

Loaded

8% Damage

(Dr. Mon: I'll need to reduce that loathsome percentage soon, but it's likely cosmetic damage, so I can't bring myself to chide you for being reckless. One can only hope your Twin is in as good condition. I know how Octave can be.)

Fusion Reactor 0% Compromise

OK

>>>User Query: Fusion Reactor Energy Output

100% MAX Capacity

Figure Capable of Climb and Restoration Despite Prone Activity, Labor, or Combat

OK

Expectation Exceeded Storing System Status for Replication

>>>User Query: Buster Status

Loading...

Replacement Advised

Irreparable Damage sustained

Buster Locked at 95% Capacity

Figure Incapable of Climb :(

(Dr. Mon: EGAD!!! I can't have PulseMan waving a broken weapon. Not with such ruthless rivals in the Great Wastes... I'll build him a more powerful one within the month. Make do and endure until then, my boy.)

Replacement Scheduled

>>>All Systems

OK

>>>Connecting Soul to Neural Network Software

OK

>>>Spinning Up Fusion Reactor "Heart"

OK

(Dr. Mon: Alright. We're good to go. Prepare to awaken, Pastoral.)

>>>Beginning Activation Protoco-

WARNING!!! Soul forcing activation! Awakening Imminent!!!

>>>PulseMan/Pastoral Online.

"AM I DONE YET?!" Pastoral opened his eyes in his repair chamber, breaking his Stasis.

Doctor Monday looked up at him, a wistful smile on his face. "Go back to sleep so I can finish. I was nearly done with the activation protocols."

"...So I should be all set then." Pastoral stretched, and admired his armor for a moment, before shoving the chamber open. "We have to get outta here, Monday! They're about to do the coronation ceremony for our new sis."

Monday looked behind him to Pastoral's "brother," Octave, who was awake and watching Pastoral. "If HE gets to go, then I should too."

Monday put his face in his palm, massaging his wrinkled forehead. "Don't you start in on me too. I've yet to BEGIN your repairs, Octave."

"Damn. Why does he always get to go first?" Octave went back into stasis.

Monday shrugged and chuckled to himself. "Force of habit."

"Can't you hurry this up?" Pastoral whined. "We'll be late, Doc!"

Monday shrugged. "I built Sonata from the ground up, and you didn't worry about being late for THAT. Her coronation doesn't REQUIRE you to be there. You'll get there when you get there." Monday went back to work, his repair programs setting to work on Octave's scratchy blue armor, as Pastoral leaned against the wall by the door, huffing through his nostrils in annoyance as Monday ignored him and worked.

"Octave's saber converter has been modified. I told you boys to stop fiddling with your subroutines."

Monday turned to Pastoral, who was visibly deflated. He immediately felt sorry for making them wait on him to finish their repairs.

Moments like this reminded him how human the Masters were.

"I SUPPOSE I could hurry up. Most of Octave's systems are nominal, and it's a rarity for one of your kind to arrive from the Forge." Monday continued skimming. "But you WILL wait patiently while I finish. This IS for your own good. Be quiet and I'll give you a pork pie when we're done."

Pastoral's interest was piqued, and he accepted the deal, patiently waiting. He activated and inspected his buster, as he strapped his shield to his back.

For the most part, an ordinary day.

A quick peek at the project me and Vale have been working on. We'll officially begin the story a little later.

;)

"My honored friends, linked by the soul."

The voice echoed through the dark theater. The speaker, elegant in every sense of the word, stood square with her audience. She seemed to glow against the darkness. A guiding light.

Lady Opera.

She gestured to the young woman sitting before her. "We are gathered to honor the induction of a new Soul into our ranks. Moreover, into our home."

The girl, knelt in reverence of the ceremony, was wearing powder blue armor, marked with patterns and symbols reminiscent of ancient human Apache warriors. Her helmet was adorned with metal feathers.

"Eccentric, for a Master." MarksMan, or Solo, as his friends knew him, was far in the back with Octave and Pastoral. He examined his arm, making sure his buster was clean as he toyed with the program files. He enjoyed his guns. A practical approach to his line of work.

"Take her into your clear eyes and full hearts. Against all odds, she separated from the hell that was our Domain. The humans gleaned her beautiful soul from their forge, and saw fit to give her to us." Opera brushed Sonata's cheek, smiling down at the young master. "May we never take her for granted."

Octave, standing beside his companion Pastoral, ground his teeth when Lady Opera said the word. "Domain." Pastoral winced as well.

"Domain" was the most frightening word they knew. Death incarnate in their language.

"She separated to join us, the Robot Masters, and to defend our home. With her aid, our fold grows stronger. May we guide her, as she may guide us." Opera pressed a hand against the girl's helmet, patting it gently. "ApacheWoman, please rise."

ApacheWoman, knowing only her combat name, stood slowly, her eyes bright with wonder and appreciation. She turned briefly towards the audience. Her youth among the others, some of whom were centuries old, made her uneasy.

She caught the eye of a brown armored Master, with a shield on his back. Pastoral. He smiled approvingly, mouthing four words.

"Yes. You belong here."

She turned away, a tear in her eye and a smile on her face. Pastoral never underestimated the power of a kind word, even when weighed against the combined might of the Robot Masters.

He knew what it felt like to not belong as well.

"Your style is all your own, like the others. Though you may be young, you hold your head high, and you feel as deeply as a wise youngling should. Though you differ, and you have questions, your potential outweighs your doubts. For this, I name you Sonata. Go in peace, child, until all are one."

There was scattered applause among the Masters. Some were annoyed to be called away from their duties as guardians, captains, and workers. Others were eager to see another of their kind born.

There were so few. The humans they served and watched over outnumbered them innumerably.

"General. You may speak."

An air of fear and calm settled over the room. Pastoral's smile faded to a stern expression. Octave, who had largely ignored the prior stage of the ritual, sat straight, observing the Master who stepped into the spotlight.

The imposing creation of metal and synthetic flesh stood at the center of the Robot Master's attention, the mightiest, and eldest, of their fold. His dark armor loomed over Sonata as he stared down with sharp, commanding eyes.

For a moment, those cold, serious eyes of his turned to the audience, as if looking for someone.

They fixed on Pastoral for an instant, then Octave.

The two of them held his gaze for but a moment. He turned to Sonata, ending the millisecond standoff.

"ApacheWoman. Or, Sonata, if you prefer. As a combat unit, you serve my will." He looked down at her as she dropped to one knee, kneeling. In truth, she was afraid to face him.

Pastoral understood her reluctance to face him.

Despite Octave's distaste for weakness, he let it slide as well. Not a Master in the room didn't fear General on some level.

"I will not ask you to harm those you wish to protect, nor will my orders shame you. You are free, save for your commitment to New Harmony's people, and my orders in War Times. Do not test me. Do not cross me." He smiled, cupping her chin with his hand and observing her fearful gaze.

"Challenge me if you believe you can put up a fight. I could use a little sport."

General stepped back, satisfied with his speech. "Welcome to the New Harmony FS Combat Unit. Welcome, Robot Master."

It's a strange life, being a new robot master. Everyone who cared in the audience knew well her given name would be Sonata. She knew only her number and her combat name until now. Sonata felt a strange, tingling comfort in having such a name. She looked around the room to her older, likely more powerful allies.

"So," Pastoral raised his eyebrow and turned to Octave, "want to be her friend? I'm sure she could use one."

Octave yawned. "Just keep her out of my way, and we might get along."

"Ah, great wastes." Octave took in a deep breath of dusty air for effect. "Such expansive, boring, dusty, disgusting tracts of land. Makes me feel alive."

"Smell's like TurtleMan's terrariums." Pastoral quietly sniffed the air, looking straight forward as the two patrolled. "I think it's kind of depressing." Pastoral turned towards an abandoned city, just across the bridge they walked. "I smell humans. And Napalm. There doesn't appear to be any fighting."

"Why's that?" Octave lifted and crushed a rock against his forehead, the dust scattering. The two of them stopped, staring into a desolate, damaged, broken city before them as they walked along the remains of a ruined old highway overpass.

"I'm pretty sure we'd hear it. It'd be faint, but Napalm is very high powered. It'd sound like dull thumps." Pastoral sniffed the air twice more, placing his hand on his chin to contemplate. "Regardless, we should go in."

Octave lifted his right hand, and in an instant, thick slots of metal consumed it, converting it into a lethal weapon. His energy torch ignited, and his saber, a weapon of vibrant blue light, flared up to greet him. His face-plate snapped into place over his mouth, and just like that, he was fully combat ready.

Pastoral gave him a wistful expression. "Put that away, man. We're not LOOKING for a fight."

Octave shrugged, preparing to slot away his weapon.

The two of them felt a dull vibration. Pastoral lifted his head, his eyes widening. The scent of Napalm grew exponentially.

"Your thermals. Use 'em. Find out where that came from!" Pastoral cocked his right arm, metal panels converting the arm into his Buster Cannon. "I'll find the humans! You locate the source of the strike!"

Octave grunted, preparing himself. "We looking for a fight now, PulseMan?"

"We sure are now, SaberMan."

The two moved quickly, into the small city, Octave leading with his superior speed by leaps and bounds. Pastoral kept pace, as the two moved with precision and agility, their movements faster and more efficient than a normal human could hope to compete with.

"Energy signature! It's moving away from the Napalm source. It's a Malevolent." Octave turned towards it, Pastoral stopping in his tracks as Octave tracked it slowly, watching it move.

"Go after it!" Pastoral's mouth guard engaged as they felt another impact of explosive power. "I'll handle the humans and THAT thing."

Octave observed the source of the enemy fire. Even from far away, with buildings between them and it, its radiation readings were troubling. "You sure, Pasty? He has a LOT of firepower, and your buster is in bad shape." Octave stopped himself, genuinely worried that his brother would be destroyed without his help.

You weren't always a combat unit. You could get crippled or worse.

Pastoral drew his shield. "I'll hit it from behind. Surprise it. You take care of the runner. You ARE the faster of the two of us. I'll be fine."

Don't tell me what I can and can't fucking do. Just trust me.

"Just don't get blown up." Octave turned, tracking the escaping Malevolent. In a silent burst of dust and speed, he disappeared into the distance.

If you lose, I won't forgive you, brother.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Pastoral turned and pursued his target.

As if I'd lose on a scouting mission. Just worry about yourself.

Pastoral crouched, quietly observing. He wasn't as stealthy as his light footed brother, but he'd learned enough to stay out of sight.

He now knew who was firing Napalm. A strangely built Robot towered over a cowering group of humans as it barked orders and boasts.

Pastoral's eyes narrowed. "I wonder if he'll survive a close range pulse." He smiled, searching the area for the quickest way to engage. "My bets are on him being down in one hit." Pastoral stood, and began to quietly work his way through the ancient, desecrated shop, avoiding broken glass and fallen shelves.

"ALL OF IT!" The Malevolent waved its arms, both wide barreled cannons. Its ammunition belts led into its long, slender arms, wrapped around its bulbous, rusted body. "Every scrap of electronics. Microwaves, watches, WHATEVER. Do it fast, and I might not immolate you annoying fleshies."

"...We can't do that." An old man mumbled.

"SPEAK UP?!" The robot growled.

Pastoral, nearly in position for his pulse, stopped. He heard the urgency in the woman's voice. Something needed to be considered before he engaged. He gave the situation another look, calculating, his eyes narrow and cold.

Then he saw the girl. A young woman in a wheelchair had a strange device wrapped around her torso.

"Oh no..." Pastoral immediately abandoned his plan. An EMP would put the girl's device offline.

It was an iron lung.

The Malevolent held no such qualms with killing her. "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT HER. Take it off and give it here, or I'll BLAST it off."

The girl's father stepped forward, ready to die for his offspring.

"Fine. I'll kill the old man and the little princess in ONE SHOT! HAH HAH!"

"No you won't."

The Malevolent turned in time to see Pastoral's shadow. Pastoral launched the impulsive ambush without a second thought, leaping onto the enemy from behind.

"GET OFF ME!!!" The Malevolent felt Pastoral on his back, but Pastoral was already prepared to launch his brutal offensive. His buster blazed, and the Malevolent's arm was blown off at the shoulder. Even at limited capacity, his blaster was devastating at close range.

"BZAAAAK" flailing, the rustier robot swung its cannon, and the barrel clipped Pastoral's chin, knocking the smaller robot off. "NOW I GOT YOU!!! Pussy ass HARMONY BOT!!!" The enemy aimed at Pastoral and fired. Pastoral sidestepped the shot, sliding to his left as the cannon blast whizzed by. Returning fire with his buster, PulseMan scored a painful hit, a chunk from the robot's armor. "GODDAMN YOU!!! LITTLE HARMONY BOT! DIE!!!"

Pastoral ducked another cannon shot, aiming his buster for a swift counter-shot. The blast struck the robot in its left speaker. If nothing else, it lowered the Malevolent's volume. The angry, cursing robot was thrown backwards by the shot. "STOP IT! I'll blow you to SMITHEREENS!"

"As if." Pastoral fired his buster, doing controlled, yet painful damage to the enemy robot. "You're all talk. Big fucking robot. Picking on humans. You can't hurt me."

Pastoral leaped backwards, avoiding yet another pod of napalm, as he got in close, swinging his boot up and into the enemy's face. The Malevolant swung his undamaged arm, swatting Pastoral away. Unharmed, the Robot Master fired on the rusty robot, dealing another volley of painful damage.

The nomads were motionless, terrified by the exchange of super-powered offensives and insults.

The shots died down, as Pastoral, unscathed, held his ground. "Had enough?!" Pastoral aimed his buster. "This is your ONE chance. Flee, or I'll blow your damn head off."

Malevolent's cannon turned towards the humans.

"You Robot Master pussy. Here's a game for you..." The Malevolent, his armor badly damaged, decided to play a different angle, unable to damage Pastoral fairly. Pastoral, predictably, moved between the humans and malevolent robot's cannon. "Well how about that?! Dodge, and they DIE! Just stay still and take your medicine, shit stain!"

The Napalm wielding robot's eyes squinted with glee as it aimed. "Once you're dead, I'll spare the humans! How's that sound, little bitch?"

The crowd looked to the brown, young seeming robot for his next move. He stood at the ready.

The Malevolent loaded a round into its Napalm Launcher. "BYE BYE!!!"

The round fired, the people screamed and shielded themselves, and Pastoral made his move. In on swift motion, he swung his shield, swatting away the shot with his shield. It exploded safely away from the civilians.

"STAY BEHIND ME." Pastoral's words were heeded by the crowd. A napalm round exploded at his feet, kicking up dirt and flame. He felt the sharp heat of fire touching his body suit as he blocked the brunt of the attack with his shield. The damage wasn't severe, so he ignored it, charging forward.

"GET AWAY! DIE!" The Malevolent aimed its cannon, but Pastoral's shield proved an effective melee weapon, smashing it up and away as he moved in, tackling the robot. The struggle soon fell downhill and away from the nomads.

The nomads wondered who would rise. Their gallant, sturdy savior, or their rusted, bitter, howling tormentor.

To be continued...

Awesome! I'm not one for much Megaman, but this story is quite interesting, and might actually get me into the Megaman mentality.

I'd like to mention your thread on our Bungie.next base, where you asked for extra characters. Assuming you still want that, his Combat name isn't Onyxman like it says, mainly because that's stupid and isn't combat implied.

Instead, perhaps PummelMan or something along those lines.

Again, this is only if you are using those characters, if not, sorry to waste your time

All in all, good so far!

Octave continued his pursuit, jumping through a worn slab of a concrete wall, into an old, broken, worn parking garage. The signatures lead here, leaving the enemy cornered.

His visor sliding over his brow and masking his eyes, Octave searched for the target. He turned his head from the darker corners into the light, where he saw a flash of worn grey, swooping out of the building through another hole in the wall.

"Hey!" Octave yelled as he gave chase. The enemy was fast. Elusive. Junkyard Malevolent are usually slow and clumsy.

He dropped down onto the pavement and saw the worn grey robot's armor glint, shifting to a shade of dull, washed out purple.

"Mind your own business, Robot Master SCUM."

"Or else what, Junk Droid?" Octave crossed his arms, grinning. "Take your best sho-"

In an instant, the Malevolent shifted its stance, bracing its arm as a wide barreled cannon formed. With a grunt, the enemy let fly a burning pod. The blast whizzed by Octave. Octave watched it as it burst.

"Napalm?! What the hell?"

The Malevolent aimed for another shot, and fired, merrily sending bursts of Napalm towards Octave.

Octave dove out of the way, the blasts hitting the parking garage's support beams. The structure began to tumble, leaning over towards Octave, casting a long, imposing shadow. He began a timed, precise escape, pieces of the building smashing into the ground all around him. An old car crashed a few feet in front of him. Octave drew his saber and slashed the car in half, clearing his way.

With a final slide, Octave was clear of the parking garage's crushing path. Still running, Octave clenched his teeth, his feet pattering faster and faster as he closed the distance, chasing the fleeing enemy robot.

"Let's see how he handles the TIME SKIMMER." A risky gambit, but he wanted an absolute advantage.

Click.

Octave moved between seconds, his footing careful.

67% reactor life. Preparing recharge.

"There we go..." Octave overtook the enemy robot in an instant, who looked up in terror.

For the enemy robot, it all happened too fast.

"You can't outrun ME."

Octave swung, clipping the enemy's helmet and sending him down, falling and crashing against jagged, painful rocks. Octave grinned, as the enemy came to a stop, clattering to the ground.

Octave placed his boot on the Malevolent's back, his mouth guard retracting, revealing a white toothed grin, as he raised his blade to finish the fight. "Should have run faster, punk."

But then he saw him; not just his face, he really SAW him. The realization hit him with tremendous weight, staying his blade.

"You?" Octave asked. Memories of swirling, maddeningly fast motions collided with his brain, his blade shaking as he tried to make sense of the realization.

He knew this soul. Not the body. The SOUL.

DOMAIN.

The foe gained his bearings and made the same discovery.

"What the hell?" He wanted to give it thought, but he needed to escape Octave's blade twice as much. He swiped away Octave's foot, and brought his own heel up and into Octave's jaw, throwing him off.

"NOW." The Malevolent seized Octave's arm blade roughly, holding it tight.

"Hey! Don't touch that!" Octave said angrily, standing up and slashing his sword. The blow slid past the opponent, who deftly sidestepped the attack.

The foe's buster arm shifted in shape, transforming into a saber, his armor turned blue, and the robots viciously clashed. He kicked Octave in the chest and backed up, gaining ground. He couldn't compete with Octave's skill, but he had raw strength on his side.

Octave rushed in for the attack, slashing at his gut to no avail. Observing the movements of Octave's arm, he dodged each slash.

Octave planted his feet. Core's recharged. Time for...

Octave planted his feet, his blade at the ready. "COPY THIS, ASSHOLE!!!"

HEADHUNTER!!!

Octave's blade glowed with grey, sparking accents, growing and patterning. Its tip flared out. Octave felt the heavy feeling of the attack's drain. His arm felt sluggish, but with such a large blade, and his natural skill and speed, Octave was sure he'd score a crippling blow.

Octave charged, and swung, bringing his arm around like a massive hay-maker, he guided the blade to its target. As the massive blade came around, the horizontal slash cut through cement and and re-bar and even steel beams like butter. Unable to retreat, the enemy robot blocked with his own saber. The attack sent him back like a rag-doll as the mighty blade hurled him away. He'd avoided major damage, but his own saber flickered. He was thrown face forward into a hunk of cement, his already damaged helmet nearly shattering.

Octave was forced to rotate in midair by the weight of the blow, landing lightly on his feet, as his blade returned to its normal size and hue. His reactor was drained, but he wasn't the least intimidated.

The aftermath made it clear who the more powerful swordsman was. "...I don't even know HOW to replicate that..." The enemy looked at his own blade. His reactor was at 30% and climbing very slowly. He needed to spare the energy to escape.

At least he'd found a weapon worth learning to use properly. This Robot Master's saber was a priceless find.

"You're DONE, Garbage Droid, and HERE'S THE FINISHER!" Octave prepared to attack.

Knowing he couldn't win, the enemy retreated. Before Octave could give chase, he heard Pastoral utter a war cry.

He turned, spotting Pastoral less than a mile away. He was locked in a struggle with a large, damaged Robot.

Octave looked back to the enemy robot.

"WHAT?!" Octave looked around, but the enemy robot was gone. "Did he use my Time Skimmer?! DAMMIT!" Octave seethed at the enemy's escape.

His power replication. His quality.

His resemblance. He may even be a rogue New Harmony Master that he wasn't aware of.

All reasons to give chase, and end the threat.

But his brother's welfare came first.

With a grunt and a shrug, Octave retracted his visor and began running to assist his brother.

The Malevolent landed hard on its shredded, broken shoulder, glitching and convulsing for a moment. Pastoral took the opportunity to roll away, aiming his buster.

"Not today!!!" The Malevolent activated a small layer of energy shielding, Pastoral's shots reflected, blasting slabs of concrete.

Simply destroying the violent robot was now off the table. Pastoral needed to use a Pulse, or he would risk losing the target.

The Robot Master backed away, and retreated towards an abandoned building, as the twisted metal atrocity followed, firing its cannon.

"What's the matter?!" Pastoral shouted. "Is your rust weighing you down?"

The Malevolent, losing sight of Pastoral, fired madly, intent on bringing the building down.

Pastoral hid, preparing a pulse with his shield. "Come closer..." He murmured. For him to use his trump card, he needed to be a safe distance from the humans. Most importantly, the girl in the iron lung.

"Flat footed scrap heap. You're slow, and shoddy." Pastoral watched from the shadows as the Malevolent stomped down the street, searching for him.

"NOW."

Pastoral leaped from cover and slammed his shield against the ground. A thin, barely visible sheen of sparks and warping air engulfed the robot.

"BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZAT" It remained of its feet, shaking madly, its optics scrambled as Pastoral approached.

"I am PULSEMAN!!!" Pastoral swung his fist, smashing through the Malevolent's stomach. His fist twisted as the barrel of his blaster formed. "How dare you treat the defenseless so shamefully?! RETURN TO THE DOMAIN, MONSTER!!!"

"NO! NO!!!"

Pastoral fired his blaster twice, blowing holes in the enemy from the inside. He turned, swinging his shield and scraping off the damaged robot's eye. In a smooth motion, he finished the attack, seizing its cannon and tearing it off.

The robot still lived, despite the damage. It stared up at Pastoral hatefully.

Damn you, PulseMan. It couldn't speak, but it could think. You traitor to your ki-

Pastoral's boot came down, smashing its remaining eye. One more stomp dented and smashed its core, finishing the fight. Sparks rose, and NapalMan was destroyed.

The ragged, worn nomads, faces still hot with chemical fire and fear, watched as Pastoral approached.

His right arm toted his shield and blaster. With his left, he dragged the rusted, broken remains of their tormentor. A particular young man clapped his hands in maniacal glee when he saw a spark fly from the destroyed robot's dented, broken chassis.

Pastoral regarded them carefully. He needed to win their trust.

"Your enemy is DEAD." Pastoral shouted to them, lifting the enemy with one arm.

He cleared his mind. The girl in the iron lung was guarded carefully by a grey haired man in a black coat. He held an old rifle by his leg, ready, but not threatening.

Pastoral recognized the patches on his coat. Old military insignia.

They had been out here for a long time. Some their whole lives.

Pastoral released the broken robot's arm, letting it clatter to the ground. Some flinched, but the old man took a bold step forward.

"You're high quality, for a War Droid."

Pastoral nodded. "I was built by the best."

"Are you here to kill us?" The old man held his rifle at the ready, praying for luck.

Pastoral laid his shield on his back, standing straight as his mouth piece slotted away. In a sudden, lighting fast move, he brought his hand, open and straight, to his forehead in a formal salute. No buster. No threat. He simply stood square and tall in a gesture of respect for the old man.

"General. I am PulseMan. Robot Master of New Harmony. I am at your service." Pastoral stood at attention. "If it makes you feel safer, you may go, but you have my word, I am not here to hurt you. You have my utmost respect for protecting these people." Pastoral bowed on one knee, genuflecting before the elderly man.

The old man slung on the strap of his rifle. "Drop the act, kid. I haven't been a general for a long time."

Pastoral smiled, extending his hand to shake.

"I never thought I'd see a robot that wasn't trying to burn me alive." The old man shook the Robot Master's hand. "I'm in your debt, PulseMan."

"You can call me Pastoral, if you prefer."

Pastoral could see a glimmer of hope in the old man's eyes. Hope was always his ally. It made him an iron shepherd of sorts.

He could anticipate the next question.

"New Harmony...does it still exist?"

Pastoral nodded. "I was sent here to eliminate all threats to nomadic humans, and lead them to New Harmony, if they wish."

"Dad, he could be lying." The woman in the iron lung whispered. The old man turned towards Pastoral slyly.

"A robot has NEVER lied to me. Unfortunately, all of their true statements were vile threats." The old man stepped forward, looking Pastoral in the eyes. He was searching the Harmony Robot's soul. "Robots can't tell lies, can they?"

"That's a hard question for me to answer." Pastoral grinned. "You might make me short out."

The two shared a long, loud laugh. Probably the only laughter that could be heard in the wastes.

An impact silenced the laughter. The nomads turned to Octave, who shook the ground with his arrival. He stood, dusting off his boots. "You killed the Malevolent? Right on, brother."

Octave stepped forward, looking around at the Humans. "What?"

"General, this is my brother, Octave. He can be trusted." With the old man's nod, a few children ran up to Octave and rubbed his metal plates, having never seen a fresh looking robot, save for him and his brother. Pastoral patted a small child on the head.

Octave walked through them, knocking a few children down. The children gleefully laughed, rising up and patting his shins down again. "So, are they coming, or do I just have to sit here and let them polish me like a bowling ball?"

The old man stepped forward, picking one of the children up to her feet, "If what you say is true, then we have no reason to starve ourselves anymore. We'd be grateful to come along."

Pastoral placed a hand on Octave's shoulder, leading him a safe distance away to speak in private. "Did you destroy the runner?"

Octave's expression darkened, remembering the robot's eyes. The recognition.

"...We'll talk about him later. He's still at large."

"Understood. I'm sure we won't see him again." Pastoral was always so reassuring.

This time, it just served to piss Octave off.

"The wastes might not be big enough for us and him, Pastoral. We'll talk about this LATER."

Pastoral nodded, a tad worried. "Alright, brother. Later then. You used your time skimmer. Let me recharge you to capacity."

"Lovely." He pressed his ear plate with two fingers. "Solo, it's Octave. Let command know we've finished our outing. Got a few nomads wanting to come in. Make sure the others don't blow our heads off when we're in range."

Communications Log

P: Ah, humans.

O: What about 'em? Biological organisms of varying intelligence.

P: Don't "what about 'em" me, dude. You remember how grateful we were when they found us. They fished us out of that...that darkness. That cold, wet, clawing madness. It was all we could to to hang onto sanity, let alone each-other.

O: We made it because we're a team. We always were. The humans could never change that. But still...they helped us when we couldn't help ourselves. And what do you mean, "wet?" It was...spinning. And painful. Smashing into each-other and everything.

P: You remember it weird...but we never talk about it, do we? Too raw. Too painful. You alright, Octave? You winced.

O: Even the word is pain. Anyway, they fished us out of...there, to help them out. That's about it, Pasty.

P: If it was that simple, they'd just build drones.They helped us out of...maybe love, man. Maybe they think we're like kids.

O: Funny.

P: No, really. Drones can't turn on their masters. They can't choose. WE CAN. They know the dangers of outfitting us with weapons. If we change our minds, or turn on them, it could be the end for a lot of people.

O: That so?

P: Yup. We have the power of choice. We can shape their futures, and our own.

O: Can we?

P: Yessir we can.

O: I don't recall General giving you a choice.

P: ...Alright. Whatever.

O: ...Sorry. I won't bring it up again.

P: I did choose. That's why I'm not...I'm not the person I was anymore. I'm stronger now. But, anyway, we can choose. The Malevolents choose violence. That's why we send them away. They aren't fit to live in New Harmony. They think might makes right, and they can abuse who they want.

O: That doesn't stop them from popping up.

P: Something on your mind? That escaped Malevolent is really eating at you.

O: Yeah...I just wonder. Can we ever win? They keep...showing up. The...other, he was high quality. Like us.

P: Doesn't matter. We'll win.

O: Pray-tell, how? As long as monsters keep being made, it's hopeless.

P: We're Harmony Robots. Built for a brighter future. We protect people who just want to live in peace. Even if we can never win, we'll make every day better than the last one. Helping the world be the best of itself.

O: I can dig that. After all, we've been doing it for a while now.

P: We may never win, and we may not win every battle, bro, but we'll try anyway. So don't sweat losing that guy. We'll run him down somehow, Octave.

O: I sure hope so, Pasty.

The walls of New Harmony's outskirts, imposing, formidable, were all that stood between the Nomads and their new home. Pastoral stepped forward, his boot brushing aside a plastic bag as he raised his hand, two fingers up, in a signal to the Sentinel above.

Solo looked down the massive, grey wall, his buster trained on Pastoral and Octave as he scanned the crowd. "Everything seems on the up and up." Solo retracted the barrel of his buster, his hand reforming in a matter of seconds as he looked down at the crowd. He gently pressed the side of his helmet, making contact with Pastoral and Octave.

"Any of them got electronics? Energy signatures?"

Octave, his arms crossed, responded. "An iron lung, a microwave, a few pacemakers, and some spare parts. That's it."

"How about the thing in the cart?" Solo zoomed his optics in on a strange, sparking pile of twisted metal. He raised his eyebrow, noting some humanoid traits. "That thing dead?"

"It WAS a Malevolent. Pastoral destroyed it."

Pastoral took a bow, satisfied with his work. "We're taking it back to the Professor to be stripped down for components."

"Monday?" Solo shuddered. "That friggin' guy. Alright, step on through. I'll disable the EMP sheet so the girl's lung doesn't get fried." Solo looked over the massive wall, holding up a loudspeaker. "WELCOME TO NEW HARMONY! Say goodbye to the crapsack world behind you!"

Opera was always happy to see a fellow Forge Soul, and Pastoral was no exception. If anything, the younger robot was one of her personal favorites.

With his chin up, and his shoulders back, Pastoral walked casually and proudly toward her, down the hall. He had an air of ease and confidence about him, contrary to his typical unassuming, somewhat introverted stature. "Evening, Lady Opera."

Opera nodded to him, stepping out of his way. He was lugging the rusted remains of his enemy on his shoulder. Opera regarded the broken robot, as Pastoral stopped, feeling the need to say something.

"I ended it as mercifully as I could. This one was threatening Nomads. I rescued them, but this one couldn't be allowed to live."

"Troubling." Opera brought the slender fingers to her mouth, wrapping them around her chin as she examined the damage done to the robot.

"What? He left me no choice."

"The enemy's technology grows in potency."

"Ain't that the truth." Pastoral snickered, part amused and part annoyed. "I'm still buffing burn marks out of my armor."

"Not just that. The enemy is exceptionally...resilient."

Pastoral gave a slight chuckle, then silenced himself, realizing that mocking the destroyed foe was cruel. "He was disposed of rather...easily, Opera. I blew his arm off with one charged shot. He was no Octave, or Hymn."

"Well, I'm inclined to believe he is quite hardy, Pastoral, considering that after the beating you gave him, the Soul inside that machine is still alive."

Pastoral dropped the robot on the floor, and took a step back, cocking and readying his buster, his mouth-plate snapping into place.

The hallway was deadly quiet for a moment, as Pastoral aimed at the robot, expecting some trap, or for the twisted metal humanoid to rise once more.

"He isn't alive in THAT sense, my friend." Opera placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stand down, PulseMan. You did a wonderful job of crippling and disabling him."

"...But before now, robots I've destroyed have had their Souls disperse. Why does this one still function?!" Pastoral kept his buster ready, and his eyes on the robot.

"It's locked there. A cruel technology, but admittedly, the same technology that the humans impose on OUR souls. He can be repaired, but for now, he is in a state of near death stasis, until his Soul has enough room to occupy this vessel."

"Are you...sure?"

"I know. He may not speak, or rise, but I feel him. The angry ones are quite loud." Opera moved to examine it, but Pastoral stepped in front of her, protective. She rubbed his shoulder to reassure him, but he gave no ground.

"...How can I kill it permanently?" Pastoral lowered his blaster, still at the ready to strike the robot down should it attempt to stand.

"Incinerate it, or scatter each of its working digital parts, or wait for its Soul to disperse naturally." Opera gave Pastoral a light kiss on the helmet just before lifting the almost robot onto her own shoulder. Her femininity and grace was contradictory to a trait she shared with all Robot Masters; her Herculean strength. "I will take the robot to Doctor Monday. Then, I will lay it to rest myself. You get some rest, and some SANCTIONED repairs. Doing it yourself isn't enough. Have Monday see to your repairs as well, Pastoral."

"On your word, Lady Opera." Pastoral saluted her as she continued down the hallway.

"And PulseMan, in regard to your victory, I'm glad you weren't hurt. As you were." Opera smiled and saluted back, laughing as she walked away. She always gave him a hard time for being so formal with her.

Pastoral smiled back, worried.

The enemy...they're growing, somehow.

"KIAAAAAA!!!"

Octave jumped over an attack from Sonata. As he came back down, he slashed at her head. The smaller Robot Master jumped to the side to counter.

Though larger, SaberMan was built for speed, ApacheWoman’s attack easily swatted away, followed by a swift kick to the head.

On the floor, ApacheWoman attempted to stand. SaberMan placed his boot on her chest, slamming her back down, saber right at her head.

“You lose. Again.”

Octave’s face-plate retracted as he walked out of the practice room. ApacheWoman, or Sonata, followed him outside.
The streets bustled with people, children, and other Industrial Souls working at their jobs. One drone, obviously part of a new series of Artificial Intelligence (the humans were so clever, but they couldn't replicate a Soul) cheered as Octave and Sonata walked down the street.

“Why do they do that?” Sonata asked.

“You were born to fight, a glorious task.” Octave pointed at some Guts Souls, who worked on building a house. “They were built, given a hammer and nail, and were told to build. We’re their heroes. Souls with enough courage and power may be allowed to become a Robot Master, but it is very rare. Oftentimes we're born to lead the Drones as Industrial Robots, or research.”

“Where are we going?”

Octave gave Sonata an annoyed stare. “Look. I know I’m supposed to train you in speed, tact, and all that, but leave me alone. Go converse with your partner.”

Sonata stopped in place, “Who’s that?”

As he continued towards the gate, Octave didn’t answer until Sonata repeated herself. “Ask General.”

“How’s the lady?” Octave sat on a wall behind his brother, looking over the Nomads who they led in.

“Good, positive as ever. I’m sure she’d like a visit from you.”

Octave dropped from the wall about 15 feet. “Eh. I’m positive I’m her least favorite. She always tries to get me to be nicer to other Souls. She knows how I feel about all that.”

“Eh. In the human sense, she’s like our mother. She tells me to get repaired by Monday after every fight.” Pastoral chuckled.

“Do you?”

“Nope. Monday has been really nosy lately.”

“I know the feeling.” Pastoral and Octave bumped fists, a gesture they learned from ancient history lessons.

The few dozen people they saved from The Wastes signed in at the closest thing to a border that Earth had. Solo, or MarksMan, oversaw the weapons scans. Firearms were kind of his thing.

“She’s clean.”

“Hey Solo, how’s the working?” Pastoral asked, hand on Solo’s shoulder.

“Normal. None of them had any REAL weapons. Just a rifle, an iron lung and some microwaves. What’s up with you guys?”

Solo, now done with his work of the day, retracted his buster arm.

“Trained newbie a bit, finally told her to pair up. Maybe then she’ll get some assignments.” Octave had his arms crossed. Aside from Pastoral, he liked Solo over any other Soul.

“She’ll probably end up with me. Higher-ups like that ‘Sword/Shield, Knife/Gun’ thing.” Solo started walking to his target range. "It'll be nice to have a partner again."

"How are QuakeMan's repairs going?" Pastoral, concerned, posed the question carefully.

"Building a new body isn't a speedy process. He'll be up and running in...maybe another couple months."

Octave lowered his head. Solo and Pastoral did the same. "Well," Solo straightened himself, "I'm going to head to the target range. Maybe I'll run into Sonata on the way."

"She's all over the place." Octave grumbled. "Hyperactive. You'll probably see her vaulting over something. Later Solo."

Solo hit the road, his buster rifle on his shoulders. He whistled a forlorn tune as he left.

“Hey, Pasty, wanna spar a few rounds?” Octave offered

“Why not. Not doing anything else. Need a handicap?”

"Very funny."

Metal fists clanged off of each-other, as PulseMan and SaberMan sparred, their weapons retracted. Pastoral moved for a throw, wrapping Octave's arm. Octave recognized the old trick, snaking his wrist free and swinging his boot up.

His base leg balancing him with surgical, gyroscopic precision, he fired a volley of kicks at Pastoral. Pastoral leaned back, avoiding the first. His arms moved with liquid fluidity, and stopped Octave's assault like a brick wall. Pastoral backed up, but Octave was at him again, his fists blurring this time.

Pastoral avoided the torrent of blows, cocking his own arm to strike. The two clashed, neither taking any damage, as Pastoral, on defense, blocked Octave's strike, and Octave avoided his.

"It always ends like this, huh?" Pastoral smiled, sensing the fight's natural end. "You're fast, I'm strong. We can't really trump each-other."

"You were slower than usual. You alright?"

Pastoral's expression darkened. "I took a hit or two in my fight with that rogue robot. It's nothing that I can't repair."

"PASTY." Octave slapped Pastoral on the shoulder. "STOP SELF REPAIRING. Your self repair subroutines are for MINOR damage." Octave rarely lectured Pastoral, but this time, it felt needed. "Go to Monday, and get repaired by a professional." Octave growled.

"Or what?" Pastoral put his hands on his hips, his brow raised. "Tell me you're not planning to force me to go."

Octave grinned. "Usually YOU'RE the sensible one. Fine, if you wanna play it that way..."

Pastoral noticed a glint in Octave's eye that worried him, his posture relaxing a bit as he awaited Octave's threat.

"Or I'll have Lady Opera give you some REAL damage."
Pastoral's eyes dilated for a moment, in fear of his monarch's wrath.

"FINE. I'll go!" Pastoral turned and legged it as fast as he could down the road towards Main Street.

Pastoral sat quietly as the old human before him rustled around the dirty room for tools.
His clothing was dirty, and his hair was puffy and white, spotted with light burn marks. Oddly to the uneducated eye, his sleeves were pristine, as if an untouched canvas, the rest of his lab coat covered in stains and burns.

Dr. Monday was very skilled with his hands. Almost machine-like in the precision with which he plucked tools and objects, holding them between his fingertips. He didn't like to hold things with his palms, preferring to pinch them with his thumb and middle finger, his digits like long, twitching spider legs.

"Ah, perfect." Monday stood, the good doctor grinning widely as he found what he was looking for. Program files on Pastoral's body. "Your processors are running fine, so hurry up! Link to my main console so we can run a diagnostic."

Pastoral groaned, looking to the strange, curved modem in the corner. With little to no effort, barely even giving it a thought, he activated the modem and linked his system's to it. In a flash, a skeletal image of his structure, systems, neural network, artificial muscle and skin, were displayed with tiny lettering dotting each and every piece.

Monday entered his slide on Pastoral, and gasped in terror.

"WHAT?!" Pastoral jumped back, startled by Monday's reaction. "Am I going nuclear?! Is my core burning out?! What's wrong!!!"

"You have a slight stress fracture in your cannon. It's been knocked down to 85%. Likely from a YEAR of disrepair. You always worry about your core. It's a sturdy fusion reactor." Monday thumped Pastoral on the back, Pastoral's facial muscles twitching in annoyance. "GREAT response time, so no damage to the neural network. Let me see your buster."

Pastoral grunted, wanting to refuse outright.

"WALTZ! Our patient is being impatient!!!"

Pastoral's interest piqued, as the door to the office drifted open slowly.

A long legged, casually dressed (for a robot master) female entered, her skin golden brown, her eyes slowly and quietly scanning the room. She was beautiful by both human and robot master standards.

And not just beautiful. HOT. The curves and swells of her body, artificially and painstakingly crafted by Monday and his associates, held Pastoral's attention surprisingly well.

"I believe you two are well acquainted." Monday grinned. Calling Waltz was a dirty trick. He knew Pastoral had a soft spot for women.

And nobody knew how to press soft spots like Waltz. She brushed past him from behind, observing.

"Go on, then. We'd both like to see the buster that put that Malevolent down." Her voice was a breathy whisper. Pastoral looked away from her, not wanting to seem odd for staring. Waltz took it as an invitation to observe him with casual comfort.

She lifted his hand, and he transformed his arm into his cannon. She brushed it, as she watched Dr. Monday observe the weapon. It was scratched up, but no dents. The fracture was internal.

"Well, time to replace it." Monday smiled, moving to his cabinet. "Took me a month, as I noted before during your last systems check-up, but your new arm, and subsequently, your new BUSTER, is finished!

"WHAT?!" Pastoral jerked his arm away, to Waltz's disappointment. "NO! You can't just take my arm!"

"I knew that I HAD to take your arm before you even arrived. You keep using it to contact fire! If you barrel stuff all of your enemies, you'll break it down even worse than it already is." Monday lifted a knew arm, already colored to match the rest of Pastoral's armor. He flopped it to and fro, causing it to imitate a waving motion. "Yoo hooooo. New buster. Fresh."
"...A new buster won't match my armor. I'm all scratched up, with a new buster? It'd take weeks to break in." Pastoral sulked, as Waltz rubbed his shoulders.

Monday observed just how human the New Harmony Robot Masters were in that moment, as Pastoral immediately felt more at ease.

"We'll polish the rest of your armor. Good as new. It'll match."

"...That'll take hours." Pastoral noted the fact plainly.

"All the more time to chat." Monday beamed as he pressed a button on a small device, converting the arm into buster form.

"Installation is taking a bugger to complete." Monday grumbled as he worked, his fingers moving nonstop as he plucked each tool, small sparks trailing up and into the air, fading.

"So, I asked to chat, let's chat."

"Where'd Waltz go?" Pastoral seemed quite annoyed with the bait and switch.

"Quit whining. Here. Have some Toblerone." Monday plucked some chocolate from his utility belt and tossed it. Pastoral caught it in his free hand and started chewing it.

Sonata tossed one of her metal feathers in the air, catching it. "...Doctor, shouldn't Robot Masters not eat? It'll gum up our stuff, and we require no nourishment to survive. Unlike humans."

Sonata stood behind the doctor, who stopped, annoyed to give this explanation again. "Drones CAN'T eat because it will gum up their working parts. They run on batteries. YOU, my dear, run on a unique reactor. The food will be deposited inside the reactor, and will be crushed and burned at a rate that precludes any possibility of being...'gummed up.'" Monday turned to Sonata.

After a moment of staring, Monday waved his hands. "OUT OUT! When did you even get in here? Go get Octave or something, young one!"

Sonata smiled. "I move on silent feet." She wiggled her toes and jumped up and down, in a hyperactive motion. Pastoral giggled, covering his mouth. Sonata had not yet learned 'normal' behavior. It was an endearing trait to some.

"Your gyroscopic sensors make it impossible for your gait to be any louder than that of a church mouse, as long as your aim is to be quiet." Monday returned to work, and Sonata walked out of the room, the metal feathers on her headpiece bobbing.

"...Wasn't she with Octave in the first place? How'd she get here?" Pastoral scratched his head.

Monday shrugged. "Her speed nearly matches Octaves. Octave sent her here to check on you. As a test, likely." Monday smiled. "With some hard work on her part, her muscle output, movement algorithms, and concordantly, her running speed, will go from remarkable to astounding."

"Heh. So she's got to learn as she goes." Pastoral smiled.

"So did you. And you had a lot steeper of a hill to climb." Monday winked at Pastoral. "Isn't that right, PulseMan?"

Pastoral nodded.

"So, is SaintMan still giving you grief after your last bout?"

Pastoral sat up, as Monday flawlessly continued working on his buster from a different angle.

"You mean the fight I lost ninty years ago?"

"No. I mean the fight you won fifty years ago. The reason he's bitter, yet still doesn't face you even now.

"I didn't tell anyone about our duel. How do YOU know?"

Monday shrugged. "Despite my distaste for him, I repaired him a day later. The damage to his armor was done by YOUR old repeater. The burns matched. And his body language suggested defeat. Depression. Disappointment. But he didn't mention it. Nobody did. You won your fight with him, but didn't tell anyone."

"Quite a duel, you two must have had! And yet, your damage that day was minimal. Just a dent on your cuffs, and a scratch in your shield that I still can't buff out. He genuinely tried to kill you." Monday patted Pastoral on the back. "But you won without delivering a killing blow."

Pastoral nodded.

"Have you nothing to say?" Monday rubbed his helmet, as he finished the modifications to Pastoral's Pulse Repeater single-handed.

"Who'd have thought a Support Unit would come so far?" Pastoral had a look of grim amusement on his face, as Monday's expression hardened.

"Don't take any flak from SaintMan, or General, or any of those small minds. You wanted to be a combat unit. You beat a combat unit in a fair fight, even when he intended to cheat and bully you. You are a great warrior. TWICE the warrior he is. Greater than the sum of your parts." Monday patted him on the shoulder. "But never forget what you are. What you once were. Support Unit, Combat Unit, you're still YOU. Wear what you are like the armor on your hide, and they can't hurt you with their words."

Pastoral nodded, a more confident, if not a little depressed, look on his face.

"And if any of those small minds want to pick on you, my boy, they'll have to face your new Fusion Powered Pulse Repeater Buster Mark VI! Let them come, I say!"

Pastoral smiled, his sadness sinking away.

Thanks...I love you, ya crazy bastard.

"Now, go practice with it. It has a semi automatic, three round burst, and charge mechanism, and a harder chassis. It may feel heavier, but comfortably so." Monday slapped Pastoral on the back yet again, the boisterous old man laughing out loud as he spun in his chair madly.

Pastoral cocked his new Pulse Repeater, converting it from a buster to a normal arm, over and over. It moved faster than the previous one by a slim margin. A factor that could save his life one day.

"...Waltz still never buffed my armor." Pastoral glared at Monday in a mock expression of wrath, slowly lifting his buster.

The mock threat elicited another burst of the doctor's howling laughter. "I'll call her in right now!"

"How'd it go?" Solo asked, polishing his gun as Octave stood next to him.

"Two Malevolent, but one got away. It was... Nothing. Son of a bitch ran when I had him cornered. So I went to support Pasty." Octave chose not to share his experience with the slightly younger Master. "How's Sonata?" Octave laughed.

"As a combat unit? She still needs to learn the ropes. As a Master; very sure of herself. Who's training her?" Solo asked.

"Me." Octave laughed, Solo soon joining in as they waited for Pastoral to return from Doctor Monday. As Pastoral approached, Octave turned to Solo, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man, I gotta talk to Pastoral in private. Do you mind rolling out?"

"No problem. Y'all do your brother shit." Solo walked away, stretching. "I'm gonna shut down in my dorm for a while."

"Hey, Pasty!" Octave ran up behind his brother, who turned, grinning. His armor was shiny, almost to the point of being reflective. "How'd the repairs go? Don't tell me; you pouted about something, and Dr. Monday got Waltz to give you a full armor rub-down."

"AAAAAAAAH..." Pastoral sighed, smiling. "It was wonderful. AND, I got a new buster." Pastoral continued walking through the streets of New Harmony, Octave now beside him.

"I need to talk to you about what happened in the Wasteland." Octave's voice was hushed now, as he stopped Pastoral. "I... Recognized that Malevolent. The one I chased."

"Some Malevolent were near us in The Domain. It happens all the time." Pastoral shrugged Octave off.

"No. I mean... I think he was the other. Inside. When it was just us three." Octave said even quieter, Pastoral's eyes widened.

"We have to talk to Opera. Tell General NOTHING. Come with me tomorrow, noon." Pastoral walked off, obviously as troubled by the news as Octave was.

Whenever I think of Megaman I think of cartoons.
When I read this I picture a Megaman with Halo 4 graphics and rated M.
It's quite interesting.

Oh and Octave's blue text is kinda hard to read... Not sure if that's just me.

"...You're tall..."

Sonata stared up at the massive robot. It was clearly built for combat. It looked down at her, its face marked only with a single eye.

Its only sound was a low, mechanical hum.

IT, or HIM? Sonata pondered the question with her hand on her chin. She looked around for some sort of operator. This massive, metal, purple automaton may not even be a drone. It could be a piece of mechanical equipment.

Sonata flinched as it clenched and unclenched its ham sized hand, in a sign of life.

"...Hi."

The robot lookad down at Sonata, kneeling to her level.

...Vmmmm... The robot's mechanical hum grew louder.

"Hello, Duet!"

Sonata turned as the tension broke, Pastoral walking forward to greet Sonata and the immense metal man.

"Duet?" Sonata turned back to the robot, who straightened up, standing easily four feet taller than Sonata and Pastoral.

"Yep. That's his name." Pastoral smiled. "He's probably intrigued to meet you." Pastoral looked around, confused. "Speaking of Duet...where's your other half?"

Sonata looked around. "There's ANOTHER HALF of him? How tall is he? eighteen feet?"

Duet silently looked around.

Vmmmmmmmmm...MMMMM!!

Duet lifted his immense boot, and brought it down.

BRAM BRAM BRAM. BRAM BRAM BRAM.

Sonata screamed in terror and backed off, as Pastoral took a step back, looking around.

"What's he doing?!" Sonata whimpered, falling back against Pastoral, who chuckled, helping her steady herself.

"Calling Duet! Well...Little Duet. You'll see."

All was still for a moment, as Duet stood above the others, his long shadow cast over Sonata and Pastoral.

"COMING!"

Sonata turned towards the source of the word.

A boy, only a few inches taller than Pastoral's waist, approached quickly from a nearby building. He wore a white cloak, and his hair was messy and dark.

"Heya, little Duet." Pastoral waved, and the boy bowed formally.

"Master Pastoral. I'm glad to see you. I heard you tustled with a Malevolent in the Great Wastes!" Little Duet looked up at Pastoral with admiration.

He never saw Sonata silently approach him from behind.

"ADORABLE."

Sonata wrapped her arms around little Duet, who shrieked in terror as Sonata yanked him to and fro. "What a cute little human!" Sonata gently squeezed Little Duet, who was only a moment from crying out for help.

CLANK.

The Bigger Duet took a single step forward, looming over Sonata.

VMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

"...Big brother says to let me go." Little Duet squirmed free, as Sonata backed away.

"...He's your brother?" Sonata, in Duet's mighty shadow, observed the two.

Pastoral put his hands on his hips, interested to watch Sonata learn about her siblings. "YUUUUUUP. Meet Big Duet and Little Duet. They're twins. Came out of the Domain as a two-for-one."

Sonata silently reflected on their clear differences. "...So Little Duet is a robot master too?"

Little Duet smiled and bowed. "Charmed to meet you, Master Sonata. Sorry Big Brother is so protective."

Pastoral shrugged. "Hey, it's what brothers are for."

Vmmmmmm...

"What?" Little Duet looked up at Big Duet, regarding his low din of electronic static as speech. "...Oh. Ok."

Vm. Big Duet scooped Little Duet onto his shoulder. "I've got to go now, but Big Brother has a message for Pastoral."

"Yeah?" Pastoral raised his eyebrow. "What's that?"

"He says congrats on beating SaintMan!"

Pastoral's face twitched for a moment. "...What?"

"Word is spreading that you fought SaintMan and won, but kept it secret. Big Brother heard about it!"

Sonata raised her eyebrow. "Who's SaintMan?"

"Oh no." Pastoral put his hand over his face, mumbling the words.

Big Duet, with Little Duet on his shoulders, bent his thick, metal knees, and saluted the two, and in an instant, propelled himself into the air with a massive jump.

SHAKOOOOOOOOOM. The Duet was up and away in a single leap, in a display of Big Duet's raw hydrolic power.

"They were interesting. So, who's this SaintMan you beat up?"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT." Pastoral, his face lined with fear, turned away. "I need to nip the rumor in the bud. NOW. You...have fun. I need to do damage control on this." Pastoral walked away, his face in his hand.

"...Huh. He seems bent out of shape." Sonata silently worried for his brother.

"I wonder if I ask nice, Big Duet will let me keep Little Duet." Sonata smiled and sprinted after The Duet. "Never hurts to ask!"

Bad John wrote:
"I wonder if I ask nice, Big Duet will let me keep Little Duet." Sonata smiled and sprinted after The Duet. "Never hurts to ask!"

Lawl.

Pastoral stepped quickly through the halls of the Cathedral.

This was a place for the Robot Masters. A sanctuary for them, and only those who they allowed enter.

So many places excluded them, for fear of their power. This was the only place where they had complete control. For all their abilities, they were, in many ways, the subservient race. Humans created them, and in some way, they were all made useful.

For Pastoral, it was a mixed bag. His brother's combat prowess was made clear the moment he arrived in the world. He was the meeker of the brothers, but General saw use for him.

A darker use. Not a worker, not a warrior. A utility.

The psychological scars of those days still hung with him. They effected the choices he made. They made him afraid, even if he refused to show it.

"Pastoral."

Pastoral raised his eyebrow. He turned to see an old friend.

Deep red armor, smooth and dark. A strikingly handsome, tan robot master.

"Cavatino." Pastoral smiled and nodded, tipping his helmet.

"...You seem troubled." Cavatino mused.

Pastoral leaned in, whispering. "Have you heard anything lately? Anything regarding me? Anything at all?"

"Slow down. Yes. I did hear. And unlike the idiots spreading the rumor, I know the ramifications it could have." Cavatino looked around, before speaking at normal volume. He always had a calm, quiet voice. Now he seemed relatively concerned. "I don't know what you were thinking. Private combat is FORBIDDEN between masters. No matter how long ago it was, there may be consequences."

Pastoral's brow furrowed in anger. "Do you think it was my choice?"

"No. But I think you need to make a few better ones. For starters, what are you doing HERE? General will be looking for you."

"...I needed to see Lady Opera. It's important."

Cavatino motioned to the stairway. "She's in the grand theater. I'm on security detail, as usual."

Cavatino's power was one to be feared. One of the deadliest, most unsettling of powers, he was a loner. A thinker. A reader. His natural calm was something Pastoral admired.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you won the duel. SaintMan is a bad person. He always was. The way he treated you as a Support Unit was despicable, and if I were in the know, I would have stepped in." Cavatino had a rare loss of cool, his final words exiting his mouth in a low, wrathful tone.

Hymn, designated SaintMan, rubbed everyone the wrong way.

"You're clear. It goes without saying that I'll let you see Opera. Get in, and get out. Go on a LONG assignment in the wastes. I have no idea how General will react, but you'll want to let the news die down."

"How I will react to what?"

Pastoral's eyes widened. Neither heard him coming. Cavatino turned, his metal mouth guard activating. He saluted General briskly. "General. We were just sharing words regarding your combat reflexes." Cavatino shot Pastoral a look.

I'm sorry, friend.

Pastoral nodded silently. It's the thought that counts.

"Indeed." General nodded to him, giving him a knowing stare. He knew. He always knows the truth somehow, by hook or by crook. Nothing fooled him. He simply allowed people to back down from lies when it suited him, or bored him. "Pastoral, I want to speak with you in private."

Pastoral nodded.

General placed one hand on his shoulder. He stood a foot taller than both Cavatino and Pastoral. A hand on the shoulder from him, the most powerful New Harmony robot, could be as much of a comfort as a death threat. Pastoral felt his skin chill against the slight gesture. He followed as General led, leaving Cavatino alone.

"...Perdóname, friend." Cavatino leaned back against the wall, watching the two leave.

"Let me lay one idea to rest immediately, PulseMan." General looked down at his smaller comrade. "I am not upset with you. I merely wish I'd know your combat abilities were potent enough to best my lieutenant. Your potential impresses me every day, despite your numerous failings."

"Failings?" Pastoral asked calmly. The two walked between immense columns of marble and metal. Functional, yet epic. Shining in the filtered, blue sunlight.

"You show mercy to rivals." General noted. "I hesitate to call it a 'failing,' but to not fear reprisal from SaintMan is foolish." General turned his head away from Pastoral, leading as the younger robot followed. "You feel too much for your enemies. You allow emotion to cloud your judgement. That's what makes Robot Masters turn from their tasks."

General turned and looked Pastoral in the eye. "Don't let yourself become too human, Pastoral. It may be the end of you."

Pastoral nodded at first, then countered the statement. "The humans are more comfortable with us when we level with them. We have the capacity to feel in every way they do. We CHOOSE what's right, we're not designed for it."

"Dangerous thinking." General flatly stated. "...But, your softness grants you perspective lost on SaintMan. You are useful. He, in many ways, is the weaker of the two of you."

"Don't let HIM hear you say that." Pastoral chuckled. General turned and gave him a glare. "...Sorry. I was joking."

General rolled his eyes flippantly. "In any case, I need someone at my side with a different perspective. Not like SaintMan, who agrees with me as a matter of course. Not like Lady Opera, an equal who fights me on every decision I make. Someone who knows their place. Someone who will challenge my opinion with respect, and logic, however tainted with human ideology."

"...I'm not being a Support Unit again."

"That isn't for you to decide." General looked down at Pastoral, who clenched his right hand tightly. "...But I have no use for your service in that area. Not now. I merely need a consultant. Come when I call, and speak to me on issues when I see fit. Tell NO-ONE what we discuss. If you do this for me, I'll see to it that you're not punished for your 'duel.' Victory should never face punishment anyway."

"Yes, sir." Pastoral eased up, nodding.

Why me? Pastoral racked his brain for an answer. EVERYONE fears him. Why must I stand in his shadow? WHY?!

General placed one hand on the top of Pastoral's helmet. "Your armor has been polished. Doctor Monday favors you." General smiled. "It seems everyone does. You're dismissed."

General walked off, alone.

...I suppose it isn't so bad. He just wants my opinion. I should tell Cavatino, but Lady Opera comes first. Pastoral smiled, and walked away. Things were looking up.

"The Invasion Forces are ready, doctor."

Wrapped in the dark, a white armored robot master, his face cloaked in shadow and brown, tattered robes, smiled as he looked down on their sizable, yet low quality forces. He laughed in a scratchy, low tone, the voice of a sick man.

Each had a single, glowing red eye. Some were armed with simple hammers, their armour smelted thick. Others were more reasonably proportioned, armed with simple busters.

"Very good, Skull." SkullMan's communicator spoke to him, the voice of an elderly man coming through. "In additon to your personal pet, Encore, I'm sending you four subordinate Masters. Commando, Slash, Cloud, and Shade. They know the plan."

As far as Malevolent went, these were of a high pedigree.
CommandoMan was a direct upgrade of NapalmMan. Each were built using only the finest parts and most cooperative souls. Save for Coil. Skull chortled at the sound of his name.

"CoilMan? That gross weakling? He'll either be useful, or he will die! It's a win-win!" Skull grinned, his face catching the light. His skin was a sickly, pale white. Half of the artificial skin was torn and unhealing, leaving the servos of his cheek and orbital "bones" exposed. "I cannot lose! HAH!"

"I trust you to follow the plan entirely. Do not retreat until the extraction is complete."

"Believe me, I wouldn't miss a second of this for the world. Today, we take the fight to NEW HARMONY." Skull cackled.

Invasion forces? This should be good.

Oh, it should be.

I've yet to utilize all of our stories assets yet. Expect to see more than just Pastoral and Octave solving the problem. Every Robot Master will mobilize, and some will be focused on more than others, but you should get a good scope of their abilities.

I haven't had much of a chance to socialize some of the characters, though, so this will be a crash course in them showin' up.

QuakeMan'll be making his debut in the battle, I know that much, along with a few other concepted characters that haven't been set in stone as of yet. All in all, I'm happy to be back on this project.

Hammer met steel, hard and loud outside of a small metal house. A woman, drenched in sweat as she brought down her steel hammer over a short bar of red hot metal, grunted with effort. "A few more bars, and I'll have all I need." She smiled in satisfaction with her work. It had taken her a week to build all these parts, and she was in the home stretch.

She recoiled as a lock of her jet black hair fell onto her furnace, beginning to smoke. "CRIPES!!!" She jerked her head back, blowing on the lock of hair. Can't believe I forgot to tie back my hair. I'm an idiot sometimes.

"Aviva, come inside."

Her younger sister poked her head out of their door. Her short, pink hair was slightly blinding as Aviva removed her goggles. "Alright, I'm coming. Hold your horses, Nana."

Abandoning her outdoor furnace, she tossed her hammer over her shoulder. She walked from her small, covered work gazebo and into the house.

It was another ordinary day in the New Harmony projects. The outskirts were barren and quiet, blades of grass as far as the eye could see.

Most on the outskirts were pilgrims. Having spent their entire life in the Great Wastes, fighting vicious animals and, on the worst days, Malevolent scouts, they now relaxed, their needs cared for. Food delivered. Rain, sun, and plentiful water. Cool days and warm nights, under blankets that they washed in this Utopia. On the horizon, a bustling city with lights like grounded stars.

It was paradise for many, but not for Aviva.

She wanted to create. To build. She collected scrap metal. Means to an end to forge devices. For what, she was unsure nowadays.

Once, her devices brought change. Protected her and her adopted sisters. They ensured freedom. But now, with no malevolent to fight, she could just...build. She could accumulate devices almost haphazardly.

Some of the devices she was sure were original concept. Brilliant designs. Things that human scientists with money and grants and unlimited tools hadn't the depth of creativity required to build. Personal heat shielding. High output laser cannons.

Her personal favorite, Sakugarne.

But there was one hope she clung to. One pair of people she couldn't find, regardless of how she tried. Two men to thank, for the long, happy lives of her little sisters.

Aviva smiled, and spoke her mantra quietly as she looked at her workbench.

"Thank you, Octavio. Thank you, Pastoran. I'll make YOU thank ME sometime." She smiled, and shut the door, letting her hair down, and taking off her work jacket.

Those two had saved her from an unwinnable battle without even blinking. They didn't ask for her thanks, and they pulled her and her sisters from the dirt of the Wastes and showed her a place where, no matter how boring and without conflict, she could keep her family safe. She resented the lack of challenge, but she resolved to hone her craft, until the robot masters were forced to acknowledge her.

To acknowledge that genius and heroism could come from the wastes, and that they weren't the only "good guys."

"...I really hope I heard your names right. That'll be an awkward conversation one day."

Pastoral felt a strange shiver down his spine, jerking his head around. For a moment, he thought someone had ran a finger down his back.

Cavatino, also present, turned to him, raising an eyebrow in confusion and interest. "Something wrong?"

"...Huh. I guess a goose walked over my grave or something." Pastoral smiled. "That, or someone mentioned my name."

"Doctor Monday's superstitions rub off on you." Cavatino gave his friend a cautious look.

"I'd like to think someone out there thinks of ME the way they think of YOU. Handsome jerkwad." Pastoral poked at Cavatino's face, and withdrew when he lifted his hand. He seemed in good spirits.

Cavatino, as per usual, wasn't. He glowered at Pastoral with cold anger. "I did not choose my facial structure. And there is no need for name calling."

Are those humans going to play a big role in the invasion? I have a feeling they might.

Maybe.

"TAKE THIS!!!" A metallic clash sounded through the small courtyard, as Octave's feet slid against the ground, driven back by Sonata's slash.

I'm impressed. She's getting better. Learning. Octave shifted his weight backwards, readying his left hand. She has a bit to learn though.

Octave grabbed Sonata's tomahawk by the shaft, pulling it and her to the 
side. The smaller master fell, attempting to regain her footing as she looked up to see her teacher's energy saber micrometers from her head.

"You lose." Octave said with an annoyed sigh. He lifted his blade up and away from her neck.

"Again." Sonata followed suit. "I'm only a year old. Cut me some slack."

"You're a little better, kid, but not enough to take me. I'd try and make 
improvements before General makes you a into a crowbar." Octave said as he stood down, retracting his visor, saber, mouth guard, and combat matrix inside of his vision that worked as a HUD.

"What's a crowbar?" Sonata asked.

She knows so little. She could use less combat training and more basic 
education.

"Nevermind. I have to be somewhere anyways." Octave lifted his hand as 
he walked out of the practice courtyard. Not far from the Cathedral, these wide courts could adapt to generate hills, pits, soil, or concrete. Today, Octave focused on making Sonata worry about her footing on soft, wet grass, but said terrain faded as Octave stepped away.

"Ooh! Can I come?!"

"No. Practice, or read, or whatever. Just go entertain yourself." Octave 
walked through the door as the lights powered off, leaving Sonata almost 
completely Alone in the room.

"Can I go now?" Little Duet, in the corner of the room, had been sitting 
patiently. "Combat is scary without Big Brother..."

Sonata rolled her eyes, her tomahawk slotting away. "You PROMISED to hang out with me."

"...I didn't see much alternative." Little Duet looked away, a grim look on his childlike face. She could probably kill me without Big Brother around. Best to do what she says...

"I KNOW! We'll go to the streets!" Sonata placed her foot on Little Duet's shoulder, in a brave, captain-like pose. "If I'm going to learn, I should do so by experience. Meet humans, eat things like Pastoral, run around like Octave! It'll be fun!"

Little Duet rubbed his chin with his hand. "Big Brother encourages me to see things, cause he can't."

Sonata knelt. "Why's that?"

"Because I look 'normal,' like a little kid. He's afraid that he scares people, so he stays near the Cathedral, or near military bases." 

Little Duet looked down at the floor. 
"He thinks I don't know how scared he is of how he looks. It's really sad."

Little Duet looked up, and passionate tears ran down Sonata's face. 

"...That's...beautiful. So sad. My face is leaking."

...She is a woman of extremes. Such people should be feared. Little Duet looked away, his grim look of contemplation washing over his features. 

But, she's nice, so I'll stay with her until Big Brother asks me to come back.

Octave walked down the street, watching the sun glare through in field surrounding New Harmony, a lovely sight, even for a pair of robotic lenses they called eyes. But he was on a mission, a goal to achieve. A point that needed to be made. 

After about an hour of waiting, the time had finally arrived. The knight armored Robot Master stopped at the sight of the blue armor in the corner of his eye. 

"Word really gets out." Hymn commented, his eyes closed to imply his calmness. He looked at the sun with a somber look. "You like the sun?"

"Maybe I do." Octave was flippant in his response. "Maybe it's pretty."

"...Today's the anniversary of that day, and the sun does nothing but burn my eyes. Do you know how the truth got out?"

Octave looked at him with eyes wide and mouth bent up. "I've known what 
happened for a while, ironclad. But I don't know who spilled the beans. Whoever did caused my brother a lot of trouble."

"I did." Hymn turned his back on Octave.

Octave chortled. "The fuck? You spread the rumor? I figured it was Monday! Why?"

"It was fifty years ago, Octave. I've still not forgotten the sting of that defeat." Hymn growled, turning to face Octave.

 "Since then, he's been taking more and more combat assignments. Trying to catch General's eye."

What? Pasty is scared shitless of the General. You're such a moron, SaintMan. Octave rolled his eyes. Just because YOU'RE on General's jock, and Pasty is decent fighter now, you think he's trying to take your place?

"I know you know. And PASTORAL knew. And that smug scientist MONDAY knew." Hymn's fist clenched so hard that it shook. "I lived with that shame. Now, I don't care who knows, because I intend to reconcile the MISTAKE of my defeat."

"How's that?" Octave asked, now interested.

"I want a rematch, of course. I'm going to fight Pastoral again, and I'll win. Simple as that."

Octave felt a cold heat of anger. "...No." Octave shook his head, pacing around Hymn.

A physical confrontation was now inevitable. The two stood on a wide, thick, metal bridge. For a quarter mile, there was nothing but metal and floating street lights. A perfect, fair battlefield.

"I won't let you waste my brother's time with this, Hymn. He's a clean living, peaceful guy." Octave spaced his feet apart, ready for a fight.

"If you want him to concede, I'd suggest you talk to your brother." Hymn shot a look to Octave, smiling now. His metal visor came down, shielding his maroon eyes. "You won't have much more time with him."

"Why?"

"Because I won't just defeat him. I'll make sure he never stands up again." Hymn grinned, his energium mace forming. His left hand formed a wide, forward facing knight shield, bearing the New Harmony coat of arms, an olive branch wrapped around a planet.

Octave's combat matrix flared, activated by rage. his visor and mouth-guard slotting in place as he drew his saber.

"Like I said. Pasty is a clean living, peaceful guy..." Octave paused. "BUT I'M NOT! YOU WANT HIM, YOU'LL HAVE TO THROUGH ME!"

"If you think I can't go through YOU, SABERMAN, you're mistaken."

"Ice cream?" Sonata read the words, searching her memory for other times the words had been nearby each-other. She drew a blank, but the ice cream stand seemed to beckon her. It seemed...RIGHT.

"It's a human treat." Little Duet led Sonata by the hand. He seemed overly conscious of the looks that Sonata was receiving. Her armor, ice blue with ancient, native american decorations, stuck out like a sore thumb, to say nothing of the metal feathers on the left side of her helmet. "I've never tried it. It might not be good."

Sonata smiled, and stepped forward.

"Hello. I'm ApacheWoman. I'm a super fighting robot. Not very good at the 'fighting' part yet." Sonata bowed to the ice cream stand attendant.

A corpulent man, his stomach bulged against his apron. His thick mustache punctuated a pair of rough lips, pressed together in a thin line of confusion. His eyes widened, as Sonata leaned forward, waiting and expecting.

"...Ok." He murmured. He'd NEVER seen a robot master up close. Many people hadn't.

"Well?" Sonata folded her arms.

"Well what?" The stand attendant's mustache bobbed with each word.

"...When I see an evil robot, I kill it, because it's my primary design function.." Sonata stared at the sign. "You work here, right? So your function is to give me ice-cream. So...give me some please."

"You need to give him money first." Little Duet pulled her hand. "C'mon. We don't have any money, so we should go..."

"Actually, sure. Why not." The gentleman took his scoop, and rolled up his sleeve. "What flavor?"

Sonata scratched her helmet. "What's a flavor?"

"Too slow, creep!" Octave rolled under the horizontal bludgeon attempt made by Hymn.

"I'm not done yet, ingrate." Hymn planted his feet as Octave landed. The lighter, faster fighter, Octave had the advantage of his raw speed. He paced back and forth, ready for Hymn's next attack.

Hymn had force and range on his side. With Octave at a distance, he fired his mace, attached to a long, thick chain. Octave dodged the attack with ease; closing the distance in a split second to get what seemed an easy kill. As quickly as he attacked, Hymn put his shield up and swatted Octave's saber away and leaped back to a safe distance while Octave recovered.  

Bastard's heavy AND fast? Octave growled in annoyance as he swung his saber again. Hymn backed away, the tip of the energy blade nearly clipping his chin. Hymn pulled at his mace, and the chain began to retract. Octave ducked the ball as Hymn spun it in the air like a morning star. Hymn brought it back to his arm, the metal ball locking into place.

The combatants clashed hard, their weapons sparking. Octave gritted his teeth, pushing against Hymn. I've fought him to a standstill before. I'll can take him out this time! He can't dodge forever...

"Be careful, Octave. I might get the wrong idea." Hymn grinned. "General wouldn't take kindly to my murder, now would he?"

"Don't hide behind your boss you cocky son-of-a-bitch. This is between YOU and ME." Octave growled, his blade shifting. The two of them moved in a slow circle, their footwork matching, the constant pressure of their weapons keeping them deathly still. "Nobody threatens my brother!"

"Isn't GENERAL your boss as well?" Hymn grinned, pushing harder against Octave. "Am I not your brother?"

"You mean jack shit to me, Hymn." Octave growled, as Hymn overtook him in the contest of strength. With a mighty grunt and a swing of his arm, Hymn sent Octave flying backwards, forcing him away. "Hah. The advantage is MINE."

"Is it?" Octave grinned.

Hymn looked down at his chest. There was a long, smoking cut in Hymn's armor. A shallow strike. A warning.

"You may be strong, but I'm faster than you can HOPE to be." Octave cut the concrete beneath his feet. "Last chance to back down."

Hymn patted his mace into his shield hand. "Come. I'll crush you in ONE HIT."

"...This...is...delicious." Sonata crammed another whole ice-cream cone into her mouth. She chewed it, the cone crunching and the ice cream melting in her mouth. After trying every flavor, she settled on vanilla, eating cone after cone merrily.

Little Duet looked up at her, smiling. He had a strange admiration for Sonata's strange, naive behavior.

"You'll get brain-freeze eating like that." The stand owner, amazed at Sonata's capacity for ice cream consumption, made her another cone.

"Our internal processors can handle temperature variants up to the degree of harshness offered by deep space. Only an Absolute Zero temperature could harm my thinking capacity." Sonata blurted, snatching the next cone. "More! Thanks!" She crammed it in her mouth bite by bite.

She looked down, noticing a spark in Little Duet's eye. It quickly died down, consumed by a look of wistful depression.

"What's wrong, little guy?" The stand owner's bushy brows and mustache raised in concern. Sonata nodded, licking her fingers.

"...I thought it'd be nice to bring my Big Brother here, but he...he doesn't want to scare anyone."

Sonata took another cone. "Stand Owner excepted ME well enough. Your brother seems nice."

The stand owner shrugged. "Sure. I'll make a sign. 'FREE ICE CREAM FOR ROBOTS.' It'll be good for business. My name's Giseppe by the way."

Sonata nodded, licking her lips, remembering Giseppe's name.

"...But he's afraid that the way he looks will scare people. He doesn't want to startle anyone." Little Duet looked up at Sonata. "Do you think people will like him?"

"I like him. He's BIG. They'll probably just be impressed." Sonata crammed more ice cream into her mouth. "If people don't see what makes him special and good, you have to teach him how to show people. And if he can't, MAKE people know how nice he is."

Little Duet felt the words sink in, pondering them.

Giseppe scratched his head. "Those words have a lot of weight, kid. For someone dressed funny and eating ice cream, you're pretty wise."

"And I'm only a year old."

Giseppe shrugged. "Neat."

Then, the alarms went off.

Sirens louder than any of the trio had ever heard. Giseppe felt his eardrums burst, as he clapped his hands over his ears. "WHAT THE HELL'S GOIN' ON?!"

This is an alert. New Harmony is under Malevolant Attack. Please lock down your homes, or advance towards shelters. This is NOT a drill.

OH SHIT

"Listen and listen GOOD. I'm your leader for a single reason: I know how to keep up with those new Harmony punks." Skull spoke into his communicator, standing alone in the dark. His team needed to be told the deal. He was, in fact, the most experienced of the group.

The Doctor trusted him above all of his other creations. They were BUILT with loyalty in mind. Skull had EARNED trust through tact, tactical knowledge, cunning, and raw power.

"What we need to do is sprawl them, spread them out so they don't have one unified threat to shit-stomp. In other words, most of us are a distraction." Skull decided to address his most important asset first.

A jet black, batlike figure. It stepped from the shadows and onto the teleportation pad. A rusted "Sniper Joe" drone keyed in the coordinates to Shade's drop off point.

"Shade, you're on thief duty. You know what your objective is. Do NOT fail. Make the grab, upload it, and then go after Lady Opera. Do NOT engage anyone. If they see you, blend in and avoid capture. Once you've given them the slip long enough, they'll run off to do more important things."

Shade nodded, as Skull stared at him with his lime green eyes. "Do not fuck up. This whole attack is so you can get your job done. You're our damn quarter-back. And remember, our teleporter won't work long, so once you've made the upload and killed Opera, it's on you to escape."

Shade nodded, and the teleporter whirred to life. In an instant, Shade was sent away on a beam of light.

"Slash and 94. Run interference. Cut down any Robot Master you come across. If you see a brown one..." Skull man sighed "Try to kill 'em He's nothing but trouble."

Two Malevolents, one armed with long, knuckle mounted blades and wild hair, and the other, an uncaring individual with dull grey armor, stepped  into the portal, and were sent off.

"Cloud- I was you to stir up some atmospheric disturbance above their Precious Little Cathedral. Throw some lightning around. Do some THOR shit. To be honest, I don't have the slightest idea what your powers are."

A thick, heavy set robot with whisps of thick, opaque smoke rather than legs, drifted into the portal. "I will show them no mercy! My thunderous atmospheric powers will topple their Cathedral, along with their hopes!"

"...Whatever, ya fuggin' idiot." Skull dismissively waved him away. "Commando- are the troops in position?"

Miles away, and underground, two Malevolents stood amongst thousands of Sniper Joe troops. The larger, more heavily armed, nodded. "They are ready and willing to fight on my demand. My advance forces have burrowed through their barrier and are taking to the streets." 

"We're in Flynn, Skull!" Coil shouted out-of-turn from the small crowd of Sniper Joe troops. "We'll hit 'em where it hurts!"

Skull put his face in his palm. "...Shut up. Don't talk to me, Coil. You're aware that I hate you. Just stay with Commando and watch his back." Skull genuinely DID hate Coil. Few of the Malevolents actually got along on a personal basis, but their common goal was great enough to keep them from infighting during such a monumental occasion. 

"Begin the assault when ready Commando." Skull watched the Teleporter, and turned on the lights in the room. Behind him, there stood an immense, red painted robot with profoundly hideous, yet humanoid features. It stood, inactive and looming, waiting for Skull's command.

"I'll bring in Encore when we're ready." Skull said with a sick, twisted smile. "New Harmony is soooooo fucked."

Oh, Encore sounds nasty.

Wonder what his combat name is.