Self-Help

They hear Bass long before he arrives in their little corner of the fortress, as anyone with ears is wont to do. The last thing anyone would call the ruby-eyed robot is quiet, an attribute Quint is grateful for, because the last thing he would ever want to do at any given moment is have a run-in with his other self’s most dedicated rival.

Therefore, when it becomes clear that the sounds are headed towards them, the Mega Man Killers all look up from what they’re doing and Ballade sends him a sympathetic glance. Quint can’t really reciprocate, with an opaque visor, but his mouth twists into a frown.

They’re all being interrupted, really, which is a shame, because they’d been having a pretty peaceful afternoon. No training exercises since this morning, no fires (literal or otherwise) to put out around the fortress, and Quint has been enjoying some quality time with his beat-up salvaged console and a copy of Boulevard Brawler II. Ballade, who doesn’t share his passion for fighting games, quickly sheafs a bookmark into the novel he’s been working at. Enker, who’d been playing cards with Punk and losing badly, is the only one who doesn’t seem annoyed at the prospect of an interruption.

He should really know better than to play a betting game against someone without a proper face, Quint finds time to think, before the hurricane blows in.

The door to their room, which is really just a storage room that they as a group have laid claim on, swings open with a slam. Quint flinches as Bass flies into the room in a blur, and then finds himself very abruptly picked up by the throat and slammed into the nearest metal crate.

He’s right up against the other robot’s face, vision practically swimming with the single-minded red-eyed malice that’s drilling into him. Man, he thinks weakly, if eyes could punch.

“You little scrap-heap knockoff piece of garbage- !” Bass snarls, tightening his hold even as the other three Mega Man Killers stand and pull their weapons on him.

“Okay, you’re mad,” Quint squeaks. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to speak right now, which would be a blessing because Bass’ eyes flash at what was obviously the wrong thing to say.

“Put him down, Bass,” Enker says, voice as authoritative and calm as ever. “We’re not looking for a fight.”

“Fuck off!” Bass says, turning his head to speak to the others. One of the fins on his helmet scrapes unpleasantly against Quint’s visor. “You idiots call yourselves Mega Man Killers?”

There’s a beat as everyone resists pointing out the obvious -

“That’s rich coming from you,” Punk huffs.

Almost everyone. Darn it, Punk, Quint thinks, squirming as they all hear the telltale low growl of Bass’ pet wolf from the doorway. Ballade drags a hand over his face, exasperated.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Bass?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing much. No reason. No goddamn reason at all,” Bass says, and then his other hand is moving, and Quint lets out a strangled cry, and he’s ripped off Quint’s helmet.

There’s dead silence as what Quint knows darn well is the unmistakable face of Rock Light stares back at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s a long story?” he tries, finally. Just as Bass’ buster forms and creeps up dangerously close to his chin, there’s a small explosion - Ballade Cracker - and Bass is halfway across the room. Disoriented, Quint takes Ballade’s offered hand up.

As he gets up, Bass pushes himself to sitting and a kaleidoscope of emotions play over his features. He screws up his face, which does some interesting things to his cheek stripes, and then clenches his fists.

“You knew. ” He addresses Enker, who looks nonplussed.

“We all knew,” he says, jabbing a warning with his javelin at Treble. The purple wolfish bot is circling around them towards his master, looking none too happy.

“He’s Mega Man!” Bass throws his hands up, and Quint’s head swings to the open door, eyes wide.

“Keep it down!” he hisses, biting his lip.

“Don’t you tell me what to do-!” Bass gets up as if to charge him again, but every weapon in the room is trained on him again. “Give me one damn reason I shouldn’t tell every single idiot in this fortress who you really are, you little freak!”

“I can’t imagine why no one told you,” Ballade says, crossing his arms as Quint moves to stand on his own. Punk chuckles and Quint wishes, not for the first time, that he were dead.

“Look, I’m not - I’m not Mega Man anymore, okay?” he says, voice strained. “I don’t know how much you know or who told you what, but I got reprogrammed. We’re all on the same side.”

That gets an interesting reaction. Bass’ lip curls and there’s a beat before he bites out a response.

“Right, and I’m supposed to believe that,” he says. “That you’re from the future.”

“Who told you that?” Enker asks, with a surprisingly level tone.

“None of your business, fossil.” Bass sneers.

“If you can’t be bothered to be civil, I don’t see why we should entertain this any longer,” Enker states with some finality.

“Door’s over there, hothead.” Punk jabs a thumb at the exit and Bass visibly bristles. But, surprising everyone, he stalks out without any parting words, his wolf trailing after him in a slink.

As the door shuts behind him, Ballade pats Quint on the back and sends him a questioning look.

You okay? he’s saying.

Quint nods, picking up his helmet and sliding it back on.

“Asshole,” Punk says, as he sits back down at their makeshift table. The cards and other paraphernalia have been blown about in the commotion. “Where were we?”

“Guess we’ll have to start again,” Enker sighs convincingly. Ballade shakes his head and picks his book back up.

And just like that, they’re back to how it was right before the interruption. Wily-bots, Quint thinks. It’s stunning what someone can get used to.

He turns on the TV, and it makes a sparking noise before the picture flashes for a second and sputters out. He sighs.

Great.

Quint lasts about an hour before he feels the near-physical presence of boredom, a sensation not too unlike being bound. His core programming, that of an assistant, wants to do things. Wants to socialize. He was never meant for laying low with a group of combat robots, who, however nice they have come to be to him, are perfectly content to just sit around and entertain themselves.

It’s one of the many things that are hellish about his continued existence.

So, despite Ballade’s brow creasing as he announces his departure, he heads off into the bowels of the fortress.

Things that Quint never considered back when he was Rock were things like the wide-spanning and intricate economic forces that constitute the bartering system in Wily’s fortress. Dr. Wily builds robots with limited free will and humanlike traits, and even if he didn’t, he’s stolen enough robots from roboticists that do. As a result, there’s a lively black market around entertainment. And the number one purveyor is…

“Shadow Man,” Quint greets the ninja ‘bot, without much actual enthusiasm.

Shadow Man, who can teleport between shadows, and can come and go freely, unlike most of them. He’s perched on a ledge, one of those weird architectural quirks of Wily’s fortress design. His head snaps around to the smaller green robot and he nods stiffly.

“So, uh… Is this, like, a bad time?” Quint asks, and Shadow Man shakes his head. He leaps down.

“No. Is there something you need?” he asks, and Quint sighs.

“I was wondering if you could get me another TV… Bass broke mine,” he says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Uncharacteristically, Shadow Man’s lips quirk up into a smirk.

“Bass… That guy is always good for business,” he says. “What have you got for me? ”

“Uh…” Quint scratches the back of his neck. He really didn’t come out of here with any bargaining chips, given his hasty departure. He’s just about to fork over some of his time for cleaning duty, the basic currency of the fortress, when a voice speaks up from behind him.

“Just give it to him, you fucking weeb. It’ll take you all of two minutes.”

It’s Bass’ voice. Quint nearly jumps out of his skin, head turning around just as a white gloved hand clamps down firmly on his shoulder. Shadow Man raises an eyebrow.

Quint very quickly assesses the situation and finds himself wanting. The other Mega Man Killers aren’t here, and even if he wasn’t programmed against attacking Wily’s robots, he definitely can’t take Bass when he’s already got him in a hold. He’s in a lot of trouble. This was a terrible idea. This was a -

“Wait, what’d you say?” Quint’s mouth falls open as he finally catches up with what actually came out of Bass’ mouth.

Shadow Man, who is strong as a fighter but also not one to start things (he much prefers to finish them), is looking the two of them up and down with a calculating expression.

“And if I don’t?” he says.

“I-I can just… I can live without… it…?” Quint says, and he feels the hand on his shoulder tighten its grip.

“You just said I’m good for business. Call it payback for services.” Bass says, ignoring him otherwise.

“Not unreasonable,” the ninja says, once again smirking. “Very well. I’ll see that it’s done. This time,” he gives Bass a look. “No more freebies.”

Then he disappears, leaving Quint well and truly alone with Bass.

Who he doesn’t look at, staring straight ahead.

“Why did you do that?” he asks.

“Because you owe me a favour now.” He hears the scowl. “And I need something from you, Quint.”

Quint bites his lip.

“Okay,” he says, because he has little other choice. “What do you need?”

“You’re gonna tell me the whole story,” Bass says, and Quint does a double take.

“That's what you want?” he asks. It’s nothing close to what he had expected. What had he expected?

“Yes, idiot, do I need to repeat myself? The whole thing. You. Mega Ma-”

“Okay!” Quint waves his arms between them in a panic, looking around. They’re in an open area. Anyone could hear them. “I’ll tell you. In private.”

He finally looks up to meet Bass’ eyes, and they’re…

Intense.

Not angry, like before, but intense.

“Fine,” Bass says, and drags him away.

They hole up in a much smaller storage room than the one the Mega Man Killers hang out in. Quint has been in literal life-threatening situations less scary than being locked in a room with Bass.

Bass, who is notoriously vicious, doesn’t care about hurting or dismantling any of Wily’s robots, and had him pinned up by the neck earlier this afternoon. Bass, whose sole mission in life is to defeat Mega Man, who knows about his secret now.

“I’m, um, I’m surprised you didn’t just threaten me,” he says, awkwardly, because yeah, that’s the way to start a conversation with your potential murderer. Way to go, Quint.

“And get the three musketeers on my ass?” Bass crosses his arms. “I could take them, but the old man would get all uppity.”

Quint’s not so sure, but he doesn’t voice his doubts.

“I guess I’ve never heard of you pulling a, um… Good job with Shadow Man, you know, but people will talk.” he says, instead. He’s practically rambling at this point. Bass narrows his eyes.

“What, you think I don’t know how to fucking talk?” he asks, and then leans back. “And I don’t care what any of these rejects think.”

“I kinda do,” Quint grimaces. “I kinda have to.”

“Cry me a river,” Bass rolls his eyes. “The only person who you should be worried about right now is me.”

Fair point.

“So,” the larger robot leans in close, the gap much smaller than Quint is comfortable with in this confined space. “Spill it. How the hell do you exist?”

“I dunno what you’ve heard so far,” Quint says. His voice is hushed compared to before, reflecting the absolutely immense amount of discomfort he takes in recalling this.

“Start from the beginning,” Bass orders.

Quint sighs.

“I’m Mega Man from the future,” he says. “Well… not anymore, I guess. I’m from a future that doesn’t exist anymore. The wars’d finally stopped and Wily went forward in time and, and took me, and brought me back, and turned me into this.”

He expects Bass to say something, but instead he just sits there with his eyes boring a hole into him.

“I’m, you know. I’m a Mega Man Killer now. Which is really messed up. Especially ‘cause Wily was so afraid of me turning on him somehow that he disabled most of my combat systems. So I couldn’t beat myself even if I tried, and I tried, so…”

He gulps.

“Prove it.” Bass says, suddenly.

“What?” Quint looks up sharply from where his gaze had settled somewhere around his knees.

“Prove you’re him,” he prompts. His tone is impatient.

“Seriously?” Quint asks. “What am I supposed to say?”

Bass snarls.

“I don’t know, tell me something about future me or whatever.” he shifts, making a vague waving motion with his hand.

“Future you doesn’t exist.” Quint says flatly, and before Bass can say whatever he’s obviously raring to say, he holds up a hand. “I mean, in my timeline, the wars stopped before you got made.”

“Lucky you, because you’d be dead if I was!” Bass snaps.

Quint just levels him with a look and takes off his helmet. Bass’ mouth clicks shut and a foreign expression flashes over his face.

“Do you want to kill me, Bass?” he asks, well and truly drained. “It’d be easy. I can’t fight back. I was programmed not to.”

“Wh- do you have a deathwish?” Bass hisses. Quint finally places the expression. Disturbed. Bass is disturbed.

He can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of it.

“Shut up,” Bass says.

“Make me,” Quint says, and he waits for the blow to come.

It doesn’t.

“Whatever,” Bass growls. Quint blinks as he backs off. “There’s no goddamn point in beating up someone who’s too weak to fight back. You’re pathetic.”

“Uh… Okay.”

“Put that thing back on and get out of here.” Bass says, and as soon as Quint obliges, unruly hair and blue eyes hidden under his visored helmet once more, he’s pushed out the door.

He walks back to the others wondering what the heck just happened.

When he gets back, he endures some light questioning, mostly from Ballade. On the upside, his TV has been delivered. Apparently they didn’t even notice Shadow Man come in, which is obviously a sore point for Punk. Enker is gently shoring up his comrade’s anger, and his pile of energy pellets seems to have grown at some point.

Some people go in for chess, but Quint figures that there’s a certain something to the way someone so bad at a game of cards can be so good at playing it.

“So nothing happened?” Ballade asks, for the second time.

Quint shrugs, a little lost in concentration. Combos don’t input themselves.

“Nope,” he lies.

“Nothing with, say… Bass,” Ballade says, and Quint pauses the game and looks over.

“What’d you hear?” he asks, because of course. He should never have underestimated Skull Fortress’ second official currency, gossip. The grape vine is even faster, when it’s a robot grape vine.

“So something happened,” Ballade smirks, and Quint groans, gently hitting his head on the controller.

“That’s not fair,” he moans, and he hears Punk snort.

“Did he threaten you?” Enker asks, adding in a casual, “Full house.”

Punk grunts and pushes a few more pellets in Enker’s direction.

“No. Kinda. Wait,” Quint frowns, nose wrinkling. “I think… no?”

“Glad to have that cleared up,” Ballade raises an eyebrow.

“If he thinks he can go around messing with us maybe he’s in need of a beating,” Punk growls.

“Easy,” Enker warns. “He’s acting… erratic. More than usual. Why did he bother you?”

“He actually…” Quint debates telling them for a moment. He doesn’t know why, but that interaction felt private somehow. Personal. “he wanted to know the details of… me. How I became me.”

“That’s interesting,” Enker says, and then frowns as he loses another hand. His pellets disappear back into Punk’s pile.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all,” Ballade says. “That guy is nothing but trouble. He goes around acting like he’s king of the castle.”

“He’s everything you wish you could be, huh?” Punk’s eyes crinkle and his voice lilts in what for him goes as a crooked smile.

“Shut it,” Ballade crosses his arms. “And anyway, we literally have a robot named King and he’s somehow humbler than Bass.”

“I remember you being the same way, before your little incident in space,” Enker says pointedly.

“Enker, don’t,” Quint says, even as Ballade tenses. “That’s way too harsh.”

Enker shrugs, the picture of composure.

“Either way, let us know if he tries anything again,” he says. “We look after our own.”

“Yeah,” Quint says, as Ballade returns stiffly to his book. “I will.”

Bass tries something again.

Even if he wanted to, Quint couldn’t hole himself up in the storage room forever. He’s on a tour doing minor maintenance and inventory, since it’s his turn, when Bass strides into the room with Treble on his heels like a very scary and wolf-shaped shadow.

“Bass,” Quint says, after one fleeting moment of checking to see if maybe Bass is looking at something other than him. His hope is immediately squashed. He’s being hit with the wave of the black-armoured robot’s presence again. Idly, he wonders if Wily intended to make Bass as intimidating as he is, because if he’s being honest, Bass’ whole design looks ridiculous (head fins!). It’s the sheer intensity of his personality that carries it.

“You’re coming with me,” Bass says, holding out a purple piece of cloth.

“I’m… I’m, uh, busy.” Quint gestures to the clipboard he’s holding, because he doesn’t expect Bass to slap it out of his hand, which he does.

“Take this and get your ass moving, greenie,” he says, shoving the cloth into Quint’s hand. “We’re going out.”

“Out?” Quint asks, voice wavering. “I’m not…”

“Allowed? No. Unless you’re ordered by one of the ranking robots, oh look, I’m ordering you, get the damn scarf on.” Bass gestures impatiently.

His eyes are wide. Quint hasn’t been out on a non-mission in… ever. He suspects that Enker’s been given orders not to take him anywhere, because Wily’s defining quality is being a petty person, after all.

“I… Yeah, okay, just a second,” he says, putting the scarf on. “What’s the point of…?”

“I killed that copy Mega Man and took it.” Bass grins, and oh boy, that’s frightening. Quint gulps. He really really hopes that when Bass says ‘killed’, he means ‘destroyed the body and left the control chip intact’.

“So put it on and get in street clothes and everyone'll think you’re him,” Bass continues, “Maybe this’ll teach the old man to make less useless copies of Mega Man when he could be concentrating on improving me.”

“Wasn’t he around since before you were…”

Bass glares at him, and he gets on with it.

Quint hasn’t dismissed his armour in quite a long time, and when the light settles he’s dressed in what they had him in for the last mission he’d been involved in that needed any kind of subtlety (Punk hadn’t been invited to that one). He hadn’t been allowed even a spot of blue, unfortunately, but hey, at least that meant he didn’t have to deal with any more identity issues than usual. He’s in black jeans and a grey shirt, with a light green jacket overtop. He’d also grabbed a pair of shades, given his eyes were a dead giveaway. He fingers them now, taking a small comfort in the small connection to his erstwhile brother.

Bass nods, and then grabs Quint’s wrist.

They’re teleported in a flash, appearing in a quiet alleyway. Quint can hear the sounds of the city around them, people and cars bustling. He’s so fixated on looking around, as cooped up as he’s been, that he misses Bass dismissing his armour entirely. When he finally rests eyes on him, he’s surprised to see that Bass blends in surprisingly well for a robot built entirely for combat. He’s proportioned correctly to pass as human, under the armour, and is sporting a battered black hoodie over a yellow shirt and ripped jeans. He’s got jet black hair which is slicked back, revealing a fairly prominent widow’s peak.

Most jarringly is that the cheek stripes that so characterize his face are gone with his human guise, leaving his only tell as the piercing red eyes.

Quint realizes he’s staring when Bass narrows his eyes at him.

“So, uh, what are we… doing?” he asks, hesitant.

“Recon.” Bass says, and gestures him to follow as he turns around to walk.

Rock Light, a.k.a. Actual Mega Man, has his back to them, absorbed in a crane game in front of an arcade on the busy street.

“Why are we stalking me?” Quint whispers harshly, as his alternate self watches another plush toy slip through the claws. He’s pouting, because life is cruel and unfair, and Quint can only think, yeah, you don’t know the half of it.

“It’s recon,” Bass whisper-yells right back. “What is he doing?”

“He’s - what do you mean what is he doing? ”

“It’s obviously rigged, what’s so important that he keeps putting cash in?” Bass presses, watching the interaction between machines raptly. “You’re him, so tell me what he’s thinking.”

“It’s… I don’t…” Quint pauses and takes in the look on Bass’ face. Intensity. He’s really studying this. He’s really studying Rock. “You know this is super duper creepy, right?”

“Shut up and help or I’ll kill you,” Bass says absently.

Or, Quint’s mind supplies, he won’t take him outside again. He missed this, being out, so much, that even the circumstances can’t completely quash how nice it is to just be out in open air.

“He probably really wants what’s in there,” Quint says. He squints, catching a flash of pink. “Uh, it might be for Roll.”

“For… His dumb sister?” Bass frowns.

“Roll is not dumb,” Quint scowls, feeling a surge of brotherly protectiveness.

“She’s annoying,” Bass grouses. “Every time I team up with them it’s all, don’t you dare blow anything up, Bass, and I remember last time, mister, so watch it! ”

He takes his voice up into a falsetto to ‘impersonate’ Roll, and Quint has to stifle a genuine laugh.

“That does kinda sound like her,” he says. “But she’s sharp, you know. She ended up learning nursing, back in…”

Quint trails off. Bass breaks his creeper stare at Rock to glance over at him.

“Nobody cares,” he says, and Quint’s head jerks up to give him a disbelieving stare. “None of that actually happened. Get over it.”

“Wow,” he says. It’s funny, but in the wake of the worst thing anybody has ever said to him, all he can do is exhale and say, “You’re a huge jerk.”

Bass sneers, but stews on it for a few seconds before speaking up again.

“He should just break the glass and take it,” he says. “Idiot.”

“Why are we…” Quint pauses. What is Bass getting from this? Why is he so absorbed by his rival’s crane game activities?

Quint’s a personable person. Before he was whisked away to this existence as Quint, he was Rock, and Rock loved people, and being around people, and helping people.

Bass’ behaviour… His reaction to Quint’s real face, the weird expressions, recruiting Quint for the weird stalking…

There’s one explanation that could tie it all together.

“No way,” Quint breathes, unable to stop his jaw from dropping. Bass turns to him, mouth open, but he presses on. “Do you like Mega Man?”

There’s one singular moment where Bass gives him a look like a deer frozen in the headlights and Quint knows he’s right. Then the other robot’s features twist into a mask of rage and he knows with equal certainty that he definitely should not have said that out loud.

In a flash, he’s been dragged into an alleyway and pushed up against the wall.

“You really do have a deathwish,” Bass growls, grip like a vice on his forearms.

And really, what does Quint have to lose at this point?

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he doubles down. “You wanna know what I think he’s thinking ‘cause you want to know how to make him like you.”

The answer is pain, a significant amount of pain, as Bass’ grip strengthens and Quint feels something in his arm give. He gasps, squirming.

“Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass your little defense squad is gonna be after I scrap you?” Bass says through gritted teeth.

The prospect of his team going after Bass without hard evidence that Quint’s disappearance is his fault is kind of touching, and also unlikely. But Bass is strong, almost unnaturally so, and Quint doesn’t doubt that if even three against one he could seriously hurt or even permanently put out of commission one of his teammates before he went down. If they fought.

Would they fight for him that way? They keep him around, even though he’s functionally useless when it comes to territorial disputes…

“Wait,” Quint says. “I won’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll, I’ll help you.”

“What.”

Bass seems genuinely taken aback by this development. The pressure on Quint’s arm lessens and he lets out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“You want to… Try and, what, like, date him? I’ll help you. Like, I’ll tell you what he likes and keep it quiet and maybe like tell you how to not smash crane games ‘cause that’s not the point of crane games,” he rambles.

There’s a moment where Bass just eyes him, searching his face for some kind of sign of falsehood.

“You’re serious,” he says.

“I still think it’s super creepy?” Quint adds.

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, but like, you oughta, because if I think it’s super creepy, so would he,” he grins despite himself. Bass grunts and lets go of him completely. There’s a brief sensation of weightlessness as he slides down a foot to the pavement.

Bass’ expression wavers - for the first time, Quint notes, he looks unsure of himself - before he screws up his face like he’s sucking a lemon and crosses his arms.

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” he asks.

“Number one, probably stop stalking him,” Quint says. And stop being the world’s least likeable person, he adds mentally, but that’s clearly going to be a work in progress.

“Shades McGee does that all the time and he likes him just fine,” Bass counters.

“Shades Mc- You mean Blues?”

“Who else would I mean?”

Quint sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Blues doesn’t always really… He’s not really, you know, considerate,” he says. “He’s also m- his brother, which, you know, kinda different. From what you’re going for.”

Quint pauses.

“What are you going for?” he asks.

Bass sputters.

“Do you know what you’re going for?” Quint asks, feeling like this is going to be an even longer day than he thought.

“I thought you had me all figured out,” Bass snaps.

“Well, yeah, you like him, but what do you wanna do about it? Why haven’t you just talked to him?”

Bass looks at him like he’s suggesting murdering someone. Scratch that, he’s looking at him like a normal person would if he suggested murdering someone.

“I can’t just talk to him,” Bass finally says. “He’s… we’re supposed to be…”

“Enemies?” Quint says. “You really care about that? You’ve fought beside him lots of times, and, you’re still with Wily, but you’re more free to do anything you want than anyone else back there.”

He can’t stop a shade of bitterness from coming through in his voice as he realizes how intensely jealous he is of that fact.

“Shut it,” Bass growls, hand clenching into a fist. “We’re enemies, so it’s not that simple. Period. Work with it.”

“Fine,” Quint says, biting his lip. He weighs his options.

He’s committed to help, and as unbearable as Bass is, he kind of still wants to help. Bass, Quint thinks, is a unique case. This might really turn him to the side of good, if he means it. And this is so indirect, such an edge case, that thinking about it isn’t sending up any alarm bells around his loyalty programming.

“I’m gonna need to think about what to do,” he says honestly. “I’m gonna help you, but I don’t want to do creepy stuff, okay? Any creepier than what this is already…”

Bass grunts a response, and Quint thinks that’s probably the best he’s going to get.

“So can we… go back?” he prods, and Bass reaches forward and they disappear in a column of light.

Quint hits the ground and cries out as his arm gives the rest of the way, systems sending a structural integrity warning at him in addition to a healthy dose of ouch. A second later he stops sliding against the smooth metal floor and groans.

“Oh, crap!” Punk calls out from the other side of the training arena. “You okay, Quint?”

“Eyes forward,” Enker orders, “he’s not in the line of fire, we’ll get him after we’re done.”

Quint grimaces, pulling himself up to sitting with his good arm. The others are holding back the training drones just fine without him, honestly. It’s not like he’s all that helpful in a scenario like this anyway, and he tells himself that’s why Enker is gung-ho to leave him lying here.

“Saku?”

The reason he’s not great at fighting swarms of things hops over. Sometimes Quint just… wonders. Why Dr. Wily even bothered to kidnap him from the future when he fully intended to equip him with a pogo stick. Not even a buster, not the weapon which had served him successfully through several robot wars. Nope. A semi-sapient red pogo stick with googly eyes. Then he remembers that Wily is crazy.

At least it’s cute.

“Hey, Sakugarne,” he wobbles a bit as he shifts his weight to give his weird little partner a pat. The pogo stick gives him a mournful gaze. “It’s alright, buddy. Not your fault.”

“Sakuuuu,” it says. He has no clue what it means, but takes it as acknowledgement.

They sit back and let the others clean up the rest of the fight. The Mega Man Killers are a well-oiled machine, with or without Quint. Punk’s spiked ball form bounces around the arena tearing up anything in his path, while Ballade’s explosive crackers take out clusters of foes. Enker is right there in the middle of the fray, an entirely different kind of melee fighter. His technique is by far the cleanest of the three, ducking in and out of groups of enemies with agile leaps and shouting orders. And, best of all, if Enker takes a hit, his next attack is that much stronger thanks to his power being energy absorption and redirection.

Hypothetically, they should be able to achieve their titular objective, and they would, too, if they were allowed to work as a team on the field together. But Dr. Wily always insists on one-on-one confrontations, because he’s crazy, so Mega Man remains distinctly un-killed.

When they’re done, Ballade jogs over and gives Quint a hand up. He’s got an eye on his arm, which Quint is vaguely aware is sparking.

“That looks bad,” he says, frowning.

Enker comes up behind him, looking the injury over with a practiced eye.

“I didn’t see you get hit there,” he says. Quint laughs nervously.

“Sorry,” he says, forming his next words carefully. “I got hurt a little earlier, but I didn’t say anything ‘cause I thought it’d be fine.”

“You need to let us know if you’re injured,” Enker says, fixing him with a stare that brooks no argument. “If you got taken out like that in a real battle, you’d be in serious trouble.”

Quint sighs. That’s Enker for you. On a normal person that would sound comforting, but the because we would leave you behind is very much implied. Or is it? He’s always had trouble reading their leader, who often straddles the line between formality and familiarity.

“And we don’t want that,” Ballade clarifies, probably sensing the same undertone.

“It’d be a real pain,” Punk agrees, rolling up - literally - and giving Quint a hearty pat on the back. He’s jerked forward by the force of it.

“Thanks,” Quint says, shooting them a smile and turning to leave. “I’ll just - go to the repair bay.”

“Be careful,” Ballade calls after him.

“I will!” he says, because he means it.

Of course, that’s not how it goes down. It’s been a full day since he’s seen Bass, and he really should have expected someone so obviously impatient to get in touch with him as soon as he left the watchful eyes of his teammates.

“Hey. Greenie.” Bass barks at him. The hand, the ever-vice-like hand, falls on Quint’s bad shoulder and he winces. His head swivels around and he doesn’t see anyone else in the hall, which is something, he guesses.

“Hi, Bass,” he sighs.

“You had enough time to think?” Bass asks, and Quint gives him a look. He feels a little gratified that with their mutual leverage he can afford to give him a look. A small part of him thinks that’s pretty messed up.

“I thought about it, but…” he starts.

“But what?” Bass butts in, mouth twisted into a frown.

Quint gestures to his arm.

“I need repairs. I’ve gotta take care of that,” he says, fully expecting that to be the end of it. It’s not. Bass just lets go of him and gestures abruptly down the hall.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, and Quint blinks.

“Huh?”

“I said, I’ll take care of it, so you can get to helping me sooner, ” Bass grabs one of the horns on Quint’s helmet and tugs. Quint stumbles, but regains his footing and swats Bass’ hand off as he starts following him. Bass rolls his eyes but withdraws the hand once they’re moving.

The walk is silent, and they take a pretty circuitous route to wherever they’re going. Dingy metal hall after dingy metal hall with loose wires all over the place pass them by. Quint wonders if that’s because Bass generally resents being around the other robots, or because of the company he’s currently in. It could be both, he guesses. He’s not going to complain, because the less people see him around with the famously antisocial Bass, the less questions will be asked. And the less that will get back to his team.

They finally come upon a door to a smaller closet-esque room similar to the one that they’d had their original clandestine talk in. This one, however, has the words ‘NO OLD MEN ALLOWED’ spray-painted over it in dripping red. Even if he wasn’t being led here by Bass, Quint is sure he’d know who the room belonged to.

Bass opens it up and a low growl emanates from within. Quint’s eyes jump from side to side as he reflexively plans an escape route.

“Relax, Treb. It’s just me and this one,” Bass says, walking right in and dragging Quint with him.

As Quint had guessed, it’s a pretty small room, though not quite a literal closet. What he doesn’t expect is how lived in it looks.

No pocket of space is unused. Bass has a beat-up TV and console shoved against one wall, a shelf full of games and DVDs and even a book or two right next to it. He’s got an honest-to-goodness mattress in here, which is where Treble is curled up, his huge wolfish form taking up most of the space. There are toolkits and a laptop spread over a crate that’s been made into a makeshift work desk, with some project or another sitting half-finished on top. He’s even got what looks like a set of drawers.

Treble lifts his giant conical head as Quint enters and growls a lot more loudly, eyes trained on him.

“Yeah yeah, well, we know why that is now, huh?” Bass answers absently. He pulls Quint, who’s looking between them with a frown, over to the worktable and manhandles him into a metal folding chair.

Treble snarls.

“Nuh uh, absolutely fucking not. I’m going to way too much trouble.”

The wolf makes a sound that can only be described as a ‘harumph’ and lays his head back down.

“Are you… Talking to your dog?” Quint broaches the subject cautiously. He jumps as Treble’s ears twitch in his direction.

“Wolf,” Bass corrects him, “and what does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re, uh, talking to your… wolf.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

There’s a moment of silence as Bass pulls out a toolkit and starts rummaging through it.

“That’s not. That’s not normal,” Quint says. Bass, who’s got a soldering iron out, levels him with a deadpan stare.

“You’re telling me you don’t talk with your dog or pogo stick or whatever?” he says impatiently, taking Quint’s forearm in hand and starting work. It hurts, for a second, before Quint has the chance to turn off his pain receptors. Then he just tries to hold still.

“Um, I mean, yeah, but you kinda sounded like you were… saying stuff to stuff he was saying.”

“That’s because I was, idiot.”

“Your do- your wolf can talk? ” Quint looks over to the hulking purple form that is Treble, who just gives him the stink eye and yawns.

“He’s my support unit. He talks to me.” Bass gives him a look that suggests he thinks he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. “Wait. Wait, you’re saying that Mega Man’s dog doesn’t talk?”

“Rush?” Quint says. “No, he’s just like… He’s just like, a really smart dog.”

“Hah!” Bass suddenly barks out a laugh, turning to Treble conspiratorially. “You hear that? You’re better than that mutt in every way.”

Treble just grins, showing deadly metal teeth. Quint feels like he would pale if he could.

As Bass’ attention turns back to fixing his arm, he tries to relax.

“So?” Bass asks, after a minute or two of silence. “What’s the plan?”

“The- oh,” Quint says. “I thought we should probably start by… Getting you used to people.”

He’s being diplomatic, he really is, but Bass clearly hears what he’s really saying and his nostrils flare with the force of the glare he’s giving Quint.

“You mean make me nicer and crap,” he snaps.

Quint clicks his tongue.

“If you wanna spend time with people, and have them like you, you gotta put in the effort,” he says. “It’s a skill.”

“Are you saying I can’t?”

“I’m saying that getting better at hanging out with people is way less awful and’ll do way more for you than stalking,” Quint says. “And I kinda don’t think you’ve had much… practice?”

“Fuck off,” Bass says vehemently, and Quint smiles despite himself.

“Yeah, see, if I said that to you, you’d hit me,” he says.

“Yeah. I would,” Bass snorts. Then he grins. “Or get Treble to chew your leg off. Or shoot you.”

“‘Kay,” Quint’s smile fades. “So uhhh… It’s not hard, actually. Hey, what kind of games do you play?” He points over at the TV and console setup. Bass stops in his repairs long enough to stare.

“What do you care?” he asks, and Quint shrugs with one shoulder.

“Curious,” he replies honestly.

Bass levels him with a searching look, but finally lowers his eyes back to the repair job before replying.

“SRPGs,” he mumbles. “Tactics and shit.”

“Whoa,” Quint says, because that legitimately is not the answer he expected. “I woulda pegged you for an FPS guy.”

“Why, ‘cause I’m an angry fucking brute?” Bass says through his teeth, holding Quint’s arm in place a little more firmly than necessary.

Quint looks around at the space he’s occupying. Deliberate. Well put together. Bass is doing repairs and is clearly accustomed to it. It occurs to him that Bass was built as a combat robot, like Ballade, and Punk, and Enker, none of which have ever made any move to improve their living situation beyond the acquisition of entertainment.

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s never exactly done anything to improve his situation either.

“Yeah, but you’re actually pretty smart, huh?” Quint smiles.

Bass stills.

“I mean, you taught yourself how to do repairs, right? Even though you could get repaired by Wily.” Quint presses.

“Like I’d let the old man root around in my systems,” Bass snorts, resuming his work. “Last time I let myself go in for maintenance he stuck me in sleep mode while he pulled off his stupid plan so I wouldn’t ‘interfere’.”

He says ‘interfere’ with air quotes. Quint thinks back to the rumours he’s heard about how Bass reacted to the King fiasco and wonders if Wily didn’t, from his point of view, have a point in getting his most unpredictable creation out of the way. And thus in turn it makes sense from Bass’ point of view to become as independent as possible.

“I can’t blame you,” he says. “I wish I had the head for this stuff.”

“Aren’t - weren’t you a lab assistant?” Bass looks a little incredulous.

“Well, yeah, but… If we’re talking about what I was built for, I’m more for handing people stuff and keeping them company than anything.”

“Wow, that’s useless,” Bass says. For the first time, there’s no real bite to the insult. It’s more like he’s just stating the facts as he knows them.

“I mean, it was kinda also just ‘cause dad wanted an excuse to build himself kids,” Quint says.

“Also useless,” Bass rolls his eyes. “Good to know Mega Man is a total fluke.”

Quint bites his lip, unwanted memories springing up unbidden. It’s not wrong to call the circumstances that created his persona as a combat robot a fluke, he supposes. It’s certainly not what he was meant to be.

“I guess so,” he says, “but it’s kinda nice, too, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t, so that’s something,” Bass admits.

“Nah, I mean, it’s nice that even if we’re built for one thing we can become another, right?” Quint says.

“Yeah, nice try. You really are him under there, aren’t you?” Bass says, once again gripping a little too hard for comfort. He’s not hurting him, at least.

“Plus or minus a few decades,” Quint hums.

“Decades? ”

“Just like… Thirty-seven years,” Quint says, wrinkling his nose. “I know, it’s really weird and confusing. I’m from the future, but not like, the future, which is good because I was really scared I’d cause a paradox at first but I guess that wasn’t too much of a worry anyway ‘cause I didn’t kill myself.”

Bass is staring at him.

“What?” Quint says.

“You’re more than - you’re like fifty! ” Bass says, clearly aghast. “You’re dinosaur old.”

“Thanks,” Quint mutters, biting his lip and feeling self-conscious.

“You’re almost as old as the old man, damn.” Bass shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. And you’re what, five?” Quint feels his lips slide into a pout despite himself.

“Yeah, and I look older than you.” The ebony robot grins.

He’s right, which is the annoying thing. Quint can pass as a fourteen-year-old on his best days, whereas from what he remembers from the day before, Bass could probably buy beer if he were inclined and the cashier was feeling like letting it pass.

“That’s totally unfair. You should respect your elders.” Quint mutters crossly.

“I should kick you out,” Bass cackles, “There’s a sign on the door, can’t you fucking read?”

“Hah hah.”

The conversation dissolves into something more casual from there, somehow. They compare video games, mostly. Bass has a surprisingly large knowledge base on the subject, which Quint imagines is the result of having a looser leash than most of the other robots at the fortress combined with the copious amounts of downtime they all have.

When Bass is finally finished the repairs, Quint looks down at his arm. It’s a good patch job, surely. The fabric of his suit looks a bit jagged, but all of his systems are coming up green.

“Thanks, Bass,” he says honestly, standing up.

“You can thank me by holding up your end of the deal,” Bass drawls, leaning back into Treble’s curled up form on the bed and sprawling.

“I just did,” Quint smiles. Bass looks downright quizzical for a moment before it dawns on him.

“You sneaky little -”

“It’s not sneaky to just start a conversation!” he laughs. “And look, you didn’t punch or shoot me.”

“I’m reconsidering,” Bass growls, backed up by Treble. Quint puts his hands up in front of him disarmingly.

“I gotta get back, but we’ll work on stuff again, okay?” He grins despite the absolutely murderous atmosphere and hurries out the door, closing it behind him and choking out a laugh.

Bass is no coward. Bass is not afraid of stupid things that don’t matter, like talking to people, because people don’t matter, and besides that, Bass isn’t afraid of anything. Period.

That’s why what he’s doing is just – planning. He’s planning. Putting together what he’s learned today. That’s why he’s pacing around his room. No, he’s stalking around his room. Stalking, because people who aren’t bothered don’t pace. A robot can stalk around his room anytime he wants.

Treble’s watching him lazily, jowls perched on top of his wicked metal claws.

Yeah, but you’re actually pretty smart, huh?

The downside of using Quint for gathering information on Mega Man is that he’s breaking a carefully-maintained reputation of being one step away from killing anyone at any time. Actually, the real downside is that it complicates things. Actually, both of those things are an issue, and he’s cursing himself for ever getting into the mess that is feelings, ever, at all.

Bass growls to himself, dragging a hand over one cheek and sitting down to hunch over his pet project. He forces himself to pick up the tools and work at something productive, which in this case happens to be a minor upgrade for Treble.

Feelings weren’t so bad, once upon a time. They’re a driving force. Bass has sustained himself off of burning ambition for years, a desire to be great, a desire to prove himself better than Mega Man. He hated Mega Man for the longest time, and then hate turned to grudging respect, and grudging respect turned to real respect, and then he was fucked, because what the hell are you supposed to do when someone who means that much to you won’t stop believing in you?

Apparently the answer is grow feelings for them and start acting like a world-class idiot.

And then dig through all of Wily’s files on them and come across the fact that for your entire life you’ve been living in the same fortress as a future-alternate version of them.

He hates Quint. Fuck that guy. He’s a perversion of Mega Man. He’s weak, passive, he’s obviously given up on life, and he couldn’t be more different than Rock, but he has the fucking nerve to wear his face and say things that could have come out of his counterpart’s mouth even as it’s tinged with this stupid goddamn bitterness and Bass seriously wants to punch his face in.

Then, just as suddenly, he doesn’t. Quint is holding up his end of the deal. And, for all that Bass hates the little punching bag, and the complicated nerve he hits, it’s the first conversation he’s had, as himself, with someone other than Treble, on non-business-related matters, ever.

Yeah, but you’re actually pretty smart, huh?

Nobody has ever said that to him.

Bass frowns and examines the statement from every angle. It’s got to be flattery. That makes sense, in Quint’s position. To appease Bass’ ego (which even he knows is of legendary status) and try and ensure that Bass won’t eventually turn on him. At the same time, though, he’s shown a startling lack of self-preservation on other fronts.

Like looking Bass in the eye and telling him to go ahead and kill him, which disturbs him just to think back on it.

Bass doesn’t like how Quint seesaws between being properly cowed by Bass and suddenly having control of the conversation.

He’ll have to watch out for that in the future.

Bass groans and lets his head thump onto his makeshift table, avoiding crushing a few delicate pieces of machinery.

Does he have to figure out Quint, now, before he can figure out Rock?

When did this all get so complicated?

Quint is in high spirits when he returns from repairs, easily waving off the others’ perfunctory concerns.

They settle back into their routine of downtime-training-downtime, and it’s amazing how quickly Quint can get bored when he’s had a taste for the outside. The purple scarf, a physical reminder of his time out, is stashed in a compartment in his boot and feels like it’s burning a hole in his leg.

The others notice, of course.

“You’re awfully riled up,” Ballade says, looking at Quint over his hand of cards. He’s finished his book already, and hasn’t had a chance to bargain for another.

Quint looks up from his game, where he may or may not have been cursing under his breath at things like cheap AI and cheesing. Or, what passes for cursing with Quint, anyway. He’s not explicitly sure if Dr. Light programmed him with an inability to say anything spicier than ‘dang’, but he’s always had his suspicions.

“I’m just -” he pauses to collect himself, pausing the game. It’s not all of what’s been eating at him, but there is one thing he can share. “I’m not much use in battle, am I?”

“No, you’re not,” Enker says, just as Ballade makes a non committal noise. Punk nods along.

Quint sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Ballade says. “There are plenty of -”

“- Toad Mans,” Punk supplies helpfully. Ballade turns to fix him with a glare. “What?”

“I think what he’s trying to say is that not every robot is equally combat-capable,” Enker says. He busies himself shuffling the deck. “And you have uses beyond that.”

“I haven’t been able to use my future knowledge for a long time,” Quint mutters. He can’t even remember the last time that had worked. He’d been able to predict world events with quite a bit of accuracy, in the beginning, but as time went on, and things diverged…

“Don’t worry about it,” Ballade repeats, and Quint nods reluctantly. He turns back to his game. He can’t shake the thought, though, now that it’s sunk in its claws.

Why do they still keep him around?

The next time that Bass corners him, a few days later, Quint is more than eager to play along. He’s taken to taking walks, however inadvisable, just in case of this very situation.

“Bass!” he greets, as the robot in question stalks into his vision. He smiles, and Bass’ expression goes from grumpy to pissed in a beat.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” he says, “I hate you.”

“Okay,” Quint says patiently. “What’s up?”

Bass’ eyes narrow.

“I said I hate you,” he tries again, a little slower like he thinks Quint’s hearing is malfunctioning.

“I, uh… I figured?” Quint blinks.

There’s a few seconds of silence where Bass just looks like a kettle slowly coming to boil.

“Are you okay?” Quint asks, because some things are just reflexive.

“Let’s. Go. Now.” The words come through gritted teeth.

“Gotcha,” Quint says, a little faintly. He’s not sure exactly what’s going on. Bass grabs him - by the wrist, this time, he notes - and in a flash they’re in the city again.

Quint pulls out the purple scarf and dismisses his armour, spinning in place as he ties it loosely around his neck. He’s grinning as he turns to face Bass, who is naturally still scowling.

“You’re happy.” Bass spits the word happy out like it personally attacks him to say it. He’s back in his own casualwear.

“It’s just nice to be out is all,” Quint says. “So what’re we doing?”

“Once again, you’re supposed to come up with this,” Bass crosses his arms. “... Practicing and shit.”

“Okay, then…” Quint rubs the back of his neck. “... Uh, you want to practice hanging out, then?”

He doesn’t say that at that point they may as well be hanging out for real.

“Hanging out.” Bass gives him an incredulous look, posture stiff.

“Well you wanna hang out with Rock, right?” Quint has this part prepared. “It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship you wanna have, hanging out is kinda… basic to all of them. And you can obviously talk to people, so let’s just work on getting comfy with being around people for a while.”

Bass makes a face like he’s gagging.

“Oh c’mon, I’m sure you can handle it.” Quint laughs.

“Handle it?!” Bass’ hands curl up into fists. “I can handle anything, you punk. Bring it on, I’ll fucking crush you.”

“Yeah, that’s not…” Quint says, exasperated. Even so, he feels a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “That’s not how that works.”

They end up hitting an honest-to-goodness arcade, which is like a breath of fresh air after years of depending on second-hand video games and the whims of fortress economics. There’s a lightness in his heart that Quint hasn’t felt for a long time.

“Oh, they have Future Fighter 21XX!” He points out excitedly, flitting slightly ahead of Bass. “And Shadowstalkers, and ohh, Grand Slam Racers Neo!? That one was so short-lived, we gotta hit that one!”

Bass is trailing behind him with his arms crossed.

“I thought this was about hanging out,” he gripes, slicking back his hair with a hand. “Who cares about all these? They’re stupid. You can’t even save.”

“I woulda thought you’d be into fighting games,” Quint finally comes back to keep pace with the taller robot. “Seems like a good fit, since you like crushing people and all.”

“Har har,” Bass rolls his eyes. “You have any idea how hard it is to get an internet connection? The old man flips his lid anytime anyone tries. Something about,” he put up air quotes and puts on a less-than-passing imitation of the mad scientist, “security risks.”

“Soooo it’s just that you’ve got no one to play with?” Quint smiles slowly.

“Like I’d want to waste my time fake fighting people I can pound into the ground in real life.”

“Sounds like you wouldn’t last very long against a serious player, then,” Quint says. He raises his arms up behind his head and puts on his most cultivated innocent look as Bass stops dead in his tracks and turns to glare at him.

“You think I’m dumb enough to fall for that?” he says.

Quint quickly weighs his options. Getting thrown out of the arcade wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to happen, if it comes to that. And he thinks he’s earned enough… whatever you could call favour with Bass… to pull something like this.

“Nope, just saying, it probably wouldn’t be very fun for you,” he says. “I’ve been playing fighting games, like, forever, so it wouldn’t even be a contest.”

Bass’ eyes flash and Quint knows he’s got him. Then Bass is all up in his space, staring down at him hard and projecting that very intense aura, and for a second he thinks he’s made a mistake.

“Forever as in before forever,” he says, and it takes Quint a moment to register that it’s actually a question. He blinks up at Bass owlishly.

“Well yeah, I’ve always… Oh, I mean, he definitely is into…”

“Fine. We’ll play,” Bass says, retreating to go and stand by a vacant machine.

Quint stays behind for a second, feeling an unexpected pang of… something. Right, of course, he thinks. This is obviously a means to an end for Bass. he frowns to himself, internally chiding. He’d been trying to avoid giving Bass specific insights like this, that was the whole point of this approach.

But can he help wanting to do the stuff he likes?

The weight of his situation presses down on him again, but he follows Bass to the flickering screen of Future Fighter 21XX anyway.

“The controls are on the cabinet for the basics,” he points out dutifully, and Bass shoots him an annoyed glance.

“Yeah, I had the chance to do some light reading while you were taking your sweet fucking time.” Bass is already slotting in the tokens that he’s acquired from somewhere.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Quint says. “I’ll go easy on you first round so you can figure it ou-”

“Don’t go easy on me,” Bass cuts him off with sudden ferocity. “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

“Well if that’s what you want,” Quint says.

He absolutely destroys him.

Bass, to his credit, doesn’t blow up. He’s mad, face screwed up and nostrils flared, but he doesn’t yell or break anything. He just puts in more tokens and goes for another few rounds. And then a few more. Then he goes and gets tokens from somewhere else (Quint pointedly doesn’t ask) and continues to play.

And he does make progress, Quint notes. With sheer dogged determination, he gains a little bit of ground every round, even against Quint’s full effort. But he doesn’t win, and after the thirty-seventh round, Quint calls it.

“Okay, that’s probably enough for today,” he says. He thinks it’s a very diplomatic statement, but Bass rounds on him.

“NO! I can beat you. I’m close,” he says.

“Well the point is more to have fun, and it kinda looks like you’re…” Quint scans Bass’ face, a veritable wasteland of fun. “... not having fun.”

“I’ll have fun when I win,” Bass says petulantly.

“C’mon, I’ve been playing that game forever and I know all the combos, it’s fine. No one expected you to beat me your first time playing.”

“Well if you knew that, and the point was to have fun, why are we playing that game?” Bass shoots back.

Quint opens his mouth and then closes it.

The taller robot crosses his arms. He looks angry, but… Also maybe hurt? In a distinctly Bass way?

“That’s…” A fair question. “I’m… I’m sorry. You’re right. I got so excited about playing all these games I haven’t seen in forever that I just picked what I wanted to play. That wasn’t the deal.” Quint wrings his hands. To his surprise, Bass looks confused.

“But I told you to fucking…” he lowers his voice, “the deal is to help me get Mega Man. So we’re doing things he likes, which happen to be things you like. Right?”

“He’s gonna like someone who isn’t just spying on him to build up a list of things he likes,” Quint forces his hands to still and takes a step into Bass’ space. Bass’ eyebrows fly up, but he doesn’t give any ground. “Look, Bass, I can’t guarantee he’ll like you that way because that’s not how liking works, but I can help you feel better about spending time with people so you don’t totally blow it when you do talk to him.”

Bass stares him down.

“So what, I should just talk to him?” he asks, finally. His voice is halting. “How do I - that’s not going to work. He’s not - we’re not-”

“That’s how getting to know people works,” Quint says, and he sees the line of Bass’ mouth harden before adding, “but, you know, I think if you did, you’d be okay.”

Bass steps out of his space, hands sinking into his pockets. He moves into a slouch, but his red eyes, fierce as ever, are still trained on Quint’s face.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because you’re not actually so bad,” Quint shrugs. “Once you get past the… threats and yelling.”

Bass looks away, expression thoughtful.

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, and Quint leans against the wall of the arcade and watches the crowd go by. There are a lot of young people. He watches a couple play a shooting game together and the playful teasing that follows, unable to stop a smile.

“You’re just telling me to go and talk to him after… two of these.” Bass says, and Quint looks up. He’s looking in the same direction, right at the couple.

“Yeah?” Quint cocks his head.

“But I’m your only ticket out of that shithole right now,” he continues.

“Oh… Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“What’s your angle?” Bass asks, with a sudden harshness to his tone.

“Angle?” Quint frowns. “Like what am I getting out of it?”

“Yeah, idiot, that’s what angle means,” Bass huffs. “You say I’d do fine but you want me gone that bad? Doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t want you gone,” Quint says. “I just… I’m helping you out. I really think you could do it.”

“But I told you I hate you,” Bass shoots back.

Quint sighs, gaze dropping to his feet.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But I still had a good time. I know that’s weird and pathetic, but… it’s been a long time since I could just… talk with someone. My team…”

Quint pauses, looking up. Bass is… Paying attention. Raptly. He continues, emboldened.

“My team, I dunno. Everyone’s so distant. Ballade’s nicer, but... they don’t ever talk about what’s bothering them, and they exist for just one thing and it’s like they’re okay living and breathing that, and I feel like they’d be better off without me anyway. So we’re not really… close in a friendly way.”

“So…” Bass seems to take a moment to chew through this. “You think we’re… Friends.”

“Well, no, ‘cause you hate me,” Quint laughs a tiny humourless laugh. “I heard you, don’t worry.”

Bass grunts and pushes off the wall.

He spins around, suddenly, and sticks a finger into Quint’s chest with a little too much force. Quint winces.

“Well nice try, greenie, but you’re not ditching me yet,” he says, with a tone of finality. “I’m not losing to Mega Man in anything, so we’re gonna keep playing that stupid game until I win. For real.”

It takes a moment for Quint’s processors to catch up with what’s going on.

“... Really? I-It could take a while,” he says, “especially if you’re not gonna let me give you pointers.”

“I’ll live,” Bass says curtly. He grabs the front of Quint’s shirt and starts dragging him bodily back to the front of the cabinet. “Now face me.”

“Okay, jeez,” Quint lets out a startled laugh. “No need to be dramatic.”

Quint totally destroys him.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

The accusation comes out of nowhere, an interruption in a three-hour run of the Mega Man Killers leaving each other well enough alone. Quint looks up from his game. He’s been taking mental notes, thinking of what parts of the gameplay are the most important to tell a beginning player. It’s not easy, actually; he’s never been much of a teacher.

It’s Punk that’s spoken up, and that in and of itself is weird. Usually only Ballade really pays attention to him, a trait which Quint has long chalked up to him being by far the most empathetic of the bunch.

“Acting… weird?” he says. Punk makes an odd sweeping gesture as Enker and Ballade both look up from what they’ve been engaged in, some kind of codebreaking game and a beat-up manga respectively.

“Yeah, you’re off in la-la land,” Punk grunts. “Even more than usual. What gives?”

Quint doesn’t think so, but to his horror, Enker narrows his eyes thoughtfully and Ballade nods in agreement. He weighs his options carefully. If they find out he’s been hanging out with Bass in any capacity, they’re probably going to intervene.

The problem is that Quint’s never really been much of a liar. He’s never had any need for the skill, in his last life or this one.

“I’m, um… I’m not?” he says, intelligently.

“Leave him be,” Enker mutters, turning away and back to his game. He marks something down in a well-loved notebook, presumably some kind of math.

“Fine,” Punk huffs, and everyone returns to what they’re doing. Ballade takes the longest, holding his gaze intently for a few seconds before looking away.

Quint gulps.

Bass pulls Quint aside a few days later and he finds himself whisked away once more to Bass’ room. It still feels weird, thinking of any space in this place as something as domestic as someone’s room, but it is what it is. Treble once again lounges on the bed as they come in, and Quint wonders if Bass even sleeps on the mattress or if it’s just an indulgence for his support unit.

That’s cute, he thinks, before he can stop himself. But he doesn’t want to stop himself, not really. He’s so tired of putting up walls, and for all of his mean-spirited talk, Bass doesn’t make a point of hiding how he feels at any given moment.

Bass fires up his TV and console and sits cross legged in front of it, picking up the second player controller and dangling it in the air beside him without so much as glancing back. Quint reads the invitation for what it is and takes the controller, sitting down next to Bass.

Pleased, he notes that Bass managed to get the home version of the fighting game they played at the arcade.

“Oh, this is great,” he says. “We can just pick up where we left off.”

Bass just grunts, and Quint hears Treble growl something behind them. Bass’ head whips around and he glares at the wolf, who stares languidly back.

“Oh, can it,” Bass snaps,

Quint looks between them, confused.

“What’d he… say?” he asks.

Bass just shakes his head and turns back to the screen, which is now on the character select.

“Just pick a character already,” he says.

“Okay…” Quint shrugs, flipping through the options available. The screen looks wrong somehow, and it takes a moment for the reason why to occur to him. “Aw, they don’t have Gogo yet?”

“Yet?” Bass asks, looking bored. He’s already made his pick, a fierce-looking claw user.

“Oh, he’s hard, you don’t want to start with…” Quint withers under Bass’ stare. “Well, okay, your funeral. It’s just that they release a version of the game that has a bunch of the DLC characters in it, but I don’t think it’s come out yet. Probably hasn’t even been announced.”

“That’s such a useless goddamn thing to know about the future,” Bass says, rolling his eyes.

“Well I just know about stuff I was paying attention to at the time.” Quint huffs and crosses his arms, but he returns his hands to their position in front of him with the controller and picks a character. “And it’s actually not that good, ‘cause it’s been years and stuff’s changed.”

“Butterfly effect,” Bass says, offhandedly, picking the first stage that comes up.

“Yeah,” Quint blinks. “How’d you know about that?”

“I can read.” Bass levels him with a look. Quint bites his lip and watches the timer come up as the match starts.

“I didn’t really know about that stuff until I looked into it. After,” he says. They play in silence for a little bit. Quint doesn’t hold back per se, but he does keep himself from pulling combos. Bass has clearly been doing research, because he’s using the special moves competently enough. Finally, the words crawl themselves out of his throat. “After what happened. I was so afraid that just being here would screw everything up.”

“It did,” Bass says. Quint freezes, and Bass gets in a few good shots before he recovers enough to fight back. “You said the wars were done already before me, back where you came from?”

“Yeah,” Quint says, hearing his voice quaver.

“Sounds like whatever the old man saw in your future, it made sure he hasn’t given up since,” Bass says. “So yeah, sounds like things are pretty thoroughly fucked to me.”

Quint doesn’t respond. He loses, and then puts down his controller gently, standing up.

“I gotta go,” he says, and Bass probably says something in return, his red eyes flashing with annoyance, but Quint doesn’t properly hear it.

He makes it as far as a few corridors over, thankfully not running into anyone, before collapsing in on himself. He sits down roughly against the wall, drawing in his knees and hugging them close to his chest. His cheeks aren’t wet, because he hasn’t drunk any liquids for ages, but he’s shaking.

This is stupid. This is so stupid. Why was he built with the ability to cry? Bass isn’t going to understand, and he’s going to get mad, and call off their deal, and then things are going to be the same, awful status quo forever. The thought brings on a new wave of panic and he hugs himself tighter.

It’s all my fault.

I shouldn’t be here.

Everyone would be better off without me.

Every day is so hard.

If I died, no one would be upset for long.

He’s not sure how long he’s been there, spiralling, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He gasps, jerking to attention and looking up to see -

“Ballade,” he says. He hears the relief in his own voice.

Ballade is down on one knee to level with him, face contorted with concern.

“Quint? Are you…” he trails off, as though realizing what a pointless question that is. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“Sorry,” Quint says. He knows it comes out sounding weak. He feels hollowed out, like the maelstrom of emotion has sapped him. He just wants to hit sleep mode and try and forget that this ever happened, which a part of him whispers probably isn’t healthy. “You came looking for me?”

“Well, you missed training,” Ballade says. “Enker is pissed.”

Of course, Quint thinks, and suddenly he’s just so angry and he’s physically pushing a startled Ballade away and he’s standing up.

“I don’t care!” he snaps, “Why do I have to be there, anyway? I’m not helpful. What, do you just want someone to throw in the way if something goes bad?”

“Wh- No, of course not!” Ballade pushes himself up and Quint is oddly gratified to see anger on his face. “What the hell, Quint, you’re part of the team. Nobody is planning to use you as a shield.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to be! ” Quint yells in his face, and then, only then, does he finally recognize the hurt in Ballade’s eyes.

The anger drains out of him and he leans back, scrubbing his face under the visor.

“... Is that how you really feel?” Ballade asks, and his voice is cold. Much colder than Quint has heard in a long time. If he could feel sick to his stomach, he’s sure he would.

“Ballade…” He starts, looking up, and Ballade puts up a hand to silence him. His mouth shuts with a click.

“I should’ve known,” he says. It sounds… resigned. That feels like a punch to the gut.

“I-I just… I never asked to…” The words tumble out of his mouth without thought. Ballade’s mouth tightens.

“You know what, go ahead and skip training,” he says, turning away. “You’re right - we can do it without you.”

Quint wants to tell him to wait, but as Ballade walks away, the words won’t come.

When the other robot is finally out of sight, Quint sinks back down the wall and stares at the wall opposite, numb.

I’m a wolf and even I know you screwed that up, Treble had barbed from his comfortable mattress-shaped throne, seconds after Quint had run out. Bass had picked up one of the ratty pillows and thrown it at him, which of course didn’t do anything because pillows are made of soft things like cloth and stuffing and support units are made of hard things like metal and self-reflection.

“I don’t need your colour fucking commentary,” he’d said.

It’s been hours. Bass mashes the buttons to perform a combo which doesn’t go off correctly. He feels a spike of annoyance and puts the controller down before he can do something stupid like crush it in his hands.

Quint’s probably run off to his fucking scoobies or something, which doesn’t make any sense to him, but it’s the only thing he can think of that he would do.

Truthfully, he knows that Treble’s right. He said something so bad that Quint literally just left, in the middle of playing a game with him, but he just - can’t figure out why. He’d said equally awful things before, hadn’t he? And Quint had just taken pause, looked at him like he was an asshole (he is), said as much, and carried on. This time is different somehow.

And he has no idea what to do about it.

The big problem with this situation, as Bass sees it, is that the person he would tap on how to deal with this is the same person he’s run off.

People. People are so fucking complicated and he’s so incredibly done with trying to figure them out. But then, if he gives up on people, then he’s giving up, and Bass never gives up.

It has absolutely nothing to do with how nice it feels to play a competitive game with someone else and have them look forward to it instead of hating it. He definitely does not think about a certain pair of blue eyes lit up with anticipation instead of stricken and reluctant.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That’s when someone knocks on his door.

Treble is off of his haunches in a moment, up and growling at the door. Bass springs to his feet, too, his brain running through tactical scenarios on autopilot. Is it a robot master? Shadow Man, come to renege on their understanding? Or-

Treble sniffs the air and visibly relaxes, and Bass knows who it must be.

“Bass?” Quint’s voice is a little muffled but distinctly audible from the other side. There’s a note in it that Bass isn’t sure what to make of, a meekness. Divorced from the sight of the differences in his armour, it suddenly strikes Bass how similar he sounds to Rock, although he’s certain that Wily must have tweaked his voice a little for the sake of keeping up the ruse.

Bass immediately relaxes, but a different sort of tension fills his mind as he strides towards the door. It’s not more than a few paces, given the size of the space, and he throws the door open.

Quint is standing there, just sort of hugging himself.

“Hey… um… I’m sorry for running off, without saying anything,” he says. “If, uh, you still want to…” Quint looks away, sighing. “No, you know what, this was a bad idea, I’ll just -”

Bass grabs him by the cuff and drags him in, shutting the door behind them with a slam. Idiot, anyone could see him in the hallway in front of Bass’ room. He spins around, ready to deliver some of his frustration to the source, but when he sees Quint flinch, he just…

Fuck.

This is his screw up, and he has a feeling that yelling isn’t going to fix it (for once). Regrettably, there’s only one course of action he can think of. He forces himself to deflate from his intimidating posture and pulls his hand back stiffly.

“Why are you so upset?” he asks. The grimace on Quint’s mouth drops into an ‘o’.

“What?” Quint asks, startled.

“I said, why are you so goddamned upset.” Bass reiterates, annoyance creeping back into his voice.

“I…” The smaller green robot bites his lip. He fidgets, for a moment, before walking over and sitting down on the floor in front of the TV, but facing back towards Bass. “It’s a lot,” he says, and it sounds so tired that Bass bites back a sardonic response.

Instead, he sits down opposite Quint, arms crossed, and makes a gesture for him to continue.

“I’ve been here for more than ten years, stuck helping a total madman, just watching everything I ever worked for go down the drain,” Quint says, resting his arms in his lap. It makes him look even smaller. His tone isn’t quite hushed, but it is quieter than usual. Rougher around the edges. “You’re right. If I wasn’t here then everything would be okay. I hate it. I hate… the fact that I exist.”

“Then you must hate the fact that I exist, too,” Bass says, feeling a shade of bitterness. “Since you said I didn’t exist in your little perfect world.”

Quint lets out a long sigh. He seems to take a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again.

“No, I don’t hate that,” he says. “It’s not about you, Bass. You just reminded me of something that really bothers me, which isn’t okay, but I don’t hate you.”

Bass feels his frown tugging even deeper. This is new and uncharted territory and he doesn’t know what to say, or even what he wants to say.

“And also…” Quint shifts a little, as though uncomfortable. “I might’ve totally messed things up with Ballade, which isn’t your fault, it’s mine.”

That’s a little easier.

“Who the hell cares about what that guy thinks?” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Well I sorta do,” Quint replies, crossing his arms. “He’s my teammate, and he’s always been nice to me. Well… Not always, but for a long time.”

“Not always?” Bass raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“Well, when he was first built, he was really…” Quint trails off. “Cocky? Sorta full of himself? Hard to work with?”

“Like me?” Bass fills in, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of them he sees Quint’s mouth twitch up into a ghost of a smile.

“Kinda,” Quint says, and Bass can see him school that response as he refocuses on his face. “I mean, you were made for the same thing. He was different in a lot of ways, but he was a total jerk to everyone.”

“So what changed?” Bass asks, heroically ignoring that unflattering point of comparison.

“He went off to face Mega Man in orbit, and…” Quint shrugs. “Something happened. We got told he was destroyed in battle, but Wily managed to save his control chip. And ever since then, he’s been a totally different person.”

A silence passes over the two of them as they both think the same thing.

Reprogramming.

For Bass, it’s a chilling thought. Something he’s avoided at all costs, a razor’s edge he walks with every act of rebellion against his creator. This bothers him - to know that it had been perpetrated against one of his predecessors, someone similar to him. He wonders how he didn’t find out sooner.

Then he realizes something else.

“You’ve been reprogrammed,” Bass narrows his eyes.

“Yeah…” Quint bites his lip. “Wily isn’t a great programmer, though, especially back then. He steals so much of his work for a reason, and my mind is running on dad’s updates to his work from decades ahead of where we are even now. As far as I know, it’s not a lot of things. Loyalty failsafes, changes to the laws, that kind of thing.”

“Leave it to the old man to do a hack job on making sure he doesn’t get stabbed in the back,” Bass scoffs. Quint lifts his shoulders in a sad half-shrug.

“It’s enough,” he says, despondent. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter how nice Ballade is now, because now… None of them probably want me there anyways.”

“Good riddance,” Bass grunts, scooting forward and grabbing the first-player controller with one hand. He picks up the other controller and jams it into Quint’s lap. “Means we don’t have to sneak around their stupid schedule while you lay low. How the hell do you do these fucking combos? I swear to fuck I could kill Mega Man before I could input this shit quick enough.”

Quint looks startled.

“Oh, uh, there’s a training mode so you can practice them before using them in a real fight…” he says. “You’re really okay with me staying here for now?”

He’s sleeping on the floor, Treble growls from the bed.

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” Bass says, swallowing his pride and clicking down to training mode on the menu.

Quint, for the first time since he came in the door earlier, smiles.

They settle into a shaky routine of him practicing special move combinations, Quint giving him tips, and him begrudgingly accepting the advice.

It's... not unpleasant.

Two days pass by in a haze. They play video games, mostly. Even Bass can get bored of losing at fighting games after a while, it seems, and they take an occasional detour into one of his strategy RPGs. Quint is surprised to note that the characters and story are funny and vivacious, which is somewhat at odds with his perception of things that Bass would enjoy. Then again, the humour also has a decidedly dark bent, which is more expected.

After that breakdown, Quint feels like someone’s taken a sheet of wool and put it between him and himself. He’s mentally tired, and sleep mode doesn’t shake it. He doesn’t bother trying an E-tank.

They’re not supposed to carry them - Wily doesn’t like it for some insane reason. They don’t bother bending the rules when fighting Mega Man, as careful as the Blue Bomber is about not permanently killing them, but Enker insists they have them anyway. His spare is tucked in a compartment in his boot opposite the one where he carries the purple scarf that Bass acquired for him.

Quint should be suggesting going out, both for his sake and Bass’, but he can’t bring himself to bring it up. Bass’ room may be a literal den of wolves, but going back to his post and facing the others just isn’t in the cards. He’s even turned the communicator in his helmet off.

Considering that, it’s unsurprising that Bass is the one to finally drag him out.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he says, out of nowhere.

They’re in the middle of a round, and Quint’s concentration breaks enough that he fails to parry several hits. Bass grins and presses the advantage, forestalling Quint’s response.

“That was dirty,” Quint says, once the match is over. He puts the controller down and leans back, putting his weight on his arms. Then, because he’s not totally self-centred, he adds, “So you’re gonna talk to him?”

“Yeah,” Bass stretches and rests his own controller on top of the console before swivelling to face Quint. He’s visibly relaxed, which Quint thinks is a weird look on Bass, if not sort of a welcome one. “Well no, it wasn’t dirty, you just suck. But yeah, I’m going to talk to him.”

“That’s good,” Quint says. There’s a pause. “So, uh… What’s the plan? Obviously you don’t have his number or anything.”

“He has a phone?” Bass asks, his nose wrinkling in disdain. “Doesn’t he have built-in comms?”

“Well, no,” Quint cocks his head. “Not without his armour. It’s all in the helmet.”

“That explains that stupid radio,” Bass rolls his eyes. Seeing Quint’s questioning expression, he makes a vague waving motion with his hands. “When all that shit with King went down, and I worked with them, they gave me a comm. Roll kept bothering me with the most inane bullshit.”

Quint takes a moment to run that through his still-shaky Bass translator.

“So she was making conversation?” he ventures. Bass glares at him, and Quint leans forward again and puts up his hands defensively. “Hey, Roll’s really nice that way. She probably just wanted you to feel at home.”

Bass huffs, and Quint holds back a sigh.

“But you wanna talk to Rock, so, what’s the plan?” he asks.

“Plan?” Bass responds stiffly.

“Yeah, like, how are we gonna do this?”

“We? ” Bass fixes him with a look.

“No, I’m not gonna talk to him too,” Quint feels a twinge of exasperation. “I actually literally can’t. Loyalty programming. I mean like I’ll be there for moral support, if you want.”

Bass grunts, and shifts, reaching over absently to stroke Treble’s muzzle. Treble’s tail wags lazily, to Quint’s quiet amusement. Not a dog my shorts, he thinks.

“You literally can’t talk to Mega Man,” Bass raises an eyebrow.

“Nah.” Quint shrugs helplessly. “I guess Wily thought it would give me away. I can’t do anything to give away who I really am to my family. Not on purpose.”

“That sucks,” Bass says. He looks thoughtful for a moment. “And he locked you out of your weapon systems? What a colossal goddamn waste. Why did he even bother to kidnap you from the future if he was just going to leave you with, what, punching?”

“Pogo stick,” Quint mutters.

“What?”

“Well, more of a jackhammer, really…”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bass says. Quint looks up from where his gaze had fallen steadily towards his lap.

“Sakugarne? My weapon?” he tries. Bass just continues to give him a critical look. “It’s, like, a… pogo stick, but more powerful, and it’s got eyes and an AI for some reason and it’s actually really cute?”

“That thing is your weapon? ” Bass looks scandalized on the behalf of the concept of violence. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

“It’s not a… super effective weapon,” Quint agrees. “I was sorta surprised when Rock took it for a while after fighting me. It is kinda fun, though.”

Bass rolls his eyes so hard that it transforms into a full body movement and he flops down onto Treble, who just huffs and shifts to accommodate his master’s prone form.

“He would think it’s fun to ride a pogo stick,” he says. His tone is judging, but there’s a tinge of amusement in there.

“Hey, I can only speak for me,” Quint shrugs. “Speaking of Rock, though…”

Bass cuts him off with a grunt.

“I know where we can find him,” he says.

“Oh jeez, do I wanna know how you know that?” Quint plants his hands on either knee, cross legged.

“Shut up, I haven’t done it since you whined about it,” Bass snaps. “Anyway, it’s not stalking if you’re going to talk to them.”

“It totally is,” Quint says, massaging the helmet over his temples.

The murmur of the city’s activity around them, a background thrum, is more distant than their previous outing to the thoroughfare where the arcade lies. The buildings aren’t quite as tall as they are in the downtown core, mostly shopfronts and restaurants. There are even pockets of little open lots, some obviously maintained public property and one or two just abandoned. Quint doesn’t recognize it, unlike some of the areas they’ve been to previously.

“What’s he doing here?” he asks, genuinely curious. Bass turns to him and shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Dunno, I’d have to be a stalker or something to know that,” he says, belligerent.

“Hah hah,” Quint says. He gestures widely at the area. “It’s just not one of my old haunts, is all.”

“Who cares?” Bass taps his foot on the ground impatiently. “You’re not him.”

Quint takes in a breath and lets it out.

“That’s true,” he says through gritted teeth. “But assuming you’re just being, you know, a huge jerk about this, can you fill me in?”

Bass scoffs, but he clamps a hand down on Quint’s shoulder and walks, to Quint’s mild surprise, further into the alley they’d teleported into. They take a few twists and turns before a backlot opens up before them. Seeing what’s going on, Quint immediately understands.

There aren’t a lot of humans, all things considered. It’s just a gang of about eight people, including Rock. They’re kicking a soccer ball that’s seen better days around the backlot, jockeying to kick it into the makeshift goal posts. There are shouts and laughter and, as the two of them watch, someone scores a goal and a cheer goes up from the team opposite the Blue Bomber.

It pierces right through the haze and Quint feels a pang of longing. He pulls back from their vantage around a corner and takes a second to collect himself. It takes him another second to notice that Bass is watching him.

“What?” he asks, hands flush against the brick wall behind him as he leans heavily back.

“What’s your damage?” Bass asks, in what Quint recognizes as a near-saintly expression of concern for the taller robot. His brow is furrowed and he looks almost confused.

“It’s just - hard,” Quint admits, quietly.

“Why?” Bass asks, and Quint blinks.

“Well, uh, it’s just… I used to do that kinda thing. Hang out with my human friends and play soccer. It was really fun,” he explains, caught a little off-guard. “But that’s never gonna happen again.”

“Those are his friends?” Bass says, peering suspiciously around the corner at the small crowd. “What the hell is the point of making friends with humans?”

Oh, of course. It’s not concern after all.

“I wouldn’t be so picky if I were you,” Quint says, reproachfully. Bass’ head whips around, eyes wild, and he thinks he’s probably gone too far. He keeps going anyway. “S’not like you’re drowning in people that want to be your friend.”

“Shut up,” Bass snarls, closing in on him. He’s already pressed against the wall, but any space between his back and the brickwork closes immediately. Bass plants each hand on other side of his head with a thump, and Quint flinches. “Shut the hell up. I don’t need friends. Unlike you, I don’t need a defense squad because I’m helpless and weak.”

Any retort that Quint could have had dies in his throat.

“I, um,” he says, avoiding Bass’ eyes. It’s hard. He’s inches from his face, a terrifying proximity. “About that… defense squad.”

Bass’ eyes narrow, and Quint thinks, oh boy, he needs to clarify right now.

“W-wait, I mean, you’re not weak, I just-”

“Bass?” Quint is cut off when a very familiar voice comes from the end of the alley that opens up onto the back lot. They both freeze and their heads spin to face the speaker.

Rock is standing there, looking between the two of them with his eyebrows raised in incredulity. He’s wearing a light blue hoodie over a navy LightLabs shirt, blue sports shorts, and blue socks with blue and white sneakers. He’s clutching the soccer ball between two hands in front of him absently. It’s patterned blue-and-black.

Okay, when viewed from the outside, Quint can admit he and the colour blue maybe needed the time apart. He’s still jealous.

“Mega Man,” Bass sneers, and Quint whips his head back to Bass because what the heck, man?

Rock’s eyebrows furrow, his stance becoming a little more guarded. He’s holding the soccer ball like he could use it in self-defense, which Quint thinks is patently ridiculous. In terms of utility as a weapon, soccer balls probably rank somewhere under pogo sticks.

“Why are you here?” Rock asks, wary. It’s sort of addressed to both of them. Quint has a moment of panic before he remembers that he’s dressed as Copy Mega Man. Noticing a flicker of movement, he zeroes in on Bass’ expression.

“What’s it to you?” Bass is playing up his aggression, but it’s not even remotely genuine. Quint thinks that he might be professionally qualified by now to distinguish the difference, after all. The corner of the taller robot’s mouth is twitching and his eyes are a little too wide.

Bass is nervous, Quint realizes. No, not just nervous, probably verging on terrified. Bass’ hands, which have withdrawn from their position pinning Quint, are twitching.

“I don’t want to fight you, Bass,” Rock says. His voice is painfully earnest, blue eyes pleading.

Bass looks like the words are stuck in his throat. His posture drops into a mean curve and his fist clenches, and Quint realizes with alarm that Bass might actually be about to challenge his crush to a fight out of sheer cornered desperation.

I have to fix this. I have to say something, he thinks. But as he turns to Rock the words he wants to say to his other self won’t come out, and he gets a searing jab of pain in the back of his head for the effort. There’s nothing he can do to mediate.

Quint jerks forward and grabs Bass by the wrist. The look Bass gives him is a classic ‘if looks could kill’, but Quint just takes his free hand and puts two fingers over his ear as if he has a comm in.

“They want us back,” he says, trying to cant his voice into urgency.

Bass throws him a totally mystified (and annoyed) expression, jerking his wrist away. After a moment, though, his eyes widen in understanding, seeing the out for what it is. He snaps his attention back to Rock, who is looking at the space where Quint made contact with Bass’ wrist like he just saw Bigfoot doing a celebrity photoshoot.

“We’ll settle this another time, you got that?” Bass says haughtily, and he turns around, grabs Quint by the collar, and they’re out of there in a flash of light.

Quint lands a little unsteadily on his feet, as he tends to when someone else is the one doing the teleporting. He narrowly misses stepping on Treble, who growls a warning at him as he stumbles out of the way. Bass’ room is startlingly dark compared to the daylight they were just out and about in, and Quint suddenly regrets his choices in eyewear.

“Why’d you have to go and fucking make it awkward!?” Bass shoves him, and he throws out his hands to catch himself on the wall.

“Wh- I should definitely be the one asking the questions right now!” Quint sputters, spinning around. Bass’ hands are clawed and he’s directing all of his intimidating aura at Quint. Even so, Quint continues. “You wanted to hang out, why the heck would you act like you were gonna attack him?!”

Bass lets out a long huff through his nose and glowers at Quint, lips curled. Quint takes a deep breath and composes himself, straightening to stand and fixing his disheveled shirt.

“You panicked,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Bass spits out, sitting down and crossing his arms. He hunches over, a perfect picture of frustrated misery. “I wouldn’t have - you got me mad and then he showed up out of nowhere.”

Quint thinks back to his biting remark and winces.

“Yeah,” he sighs, carefully shuffling over and kneeling next to Bass. “I did. I’m sorry. I was supposed to be there to help, and I snapped at you.”

Bass lifts his head, giving Quint an indecipherable look. He makes a tch sound, and drops his gaze to his lap again.

“I’m not…” Quint says, “I’m not as good of a friend as I thought I was.”

“We’re not friends,” Bass says. There’s not much heat to it.

“Yeah,” Quint says. He feels tired.

Treble picks himself up from where he’s been lounging on the floor and soundlessly pads over, curling around his master. Quint backs off, taking a seat on the edge of the worn mattress with his knees pulled in front of him. One of Bass’ hands drifts over to Treble’s head, where he strokes his wolf’s ears.

Quint’s always prided himself on his ability to tell fortunes, and he can see the way this is going. Bass is going to get tired of this. It’s going to become clear that Quint isn’t going to be able to help him in the way he wants. He’s going to push him out, and Quint is going to have nowhere to go, and Bass will probably consider this venture a sign not to trust anyone ever again.

It must have taken a lot of courage to let Quint this close, for Bass, Quint abruptly realizes. He hasn’t shown an aptitude for approaching people, and even less of one for showing vulnerability. But here he is, one hand curled up into a fist in his lap as he stares resolutely downward with a grimace on his face. Not lashing out at Quint for witnessing what he knows is a failure. Maybe it’s just because he feels he has to to keep his help around, but...

Quint swallows, remembering the look on Ballade’s face. Who has he really let in since his name and purpose changed?

“I wish we were,” he says, softly. Bass looks up to meet his eye, startled. “I know you hate me, and I haven’t actually done much to help you, but… I totally misjudged you.”

“Join the club,” Bass grumbles, looking away again.

“Even if you don’t want my help,” Quint says, “or if you decide not to do… whatever it is you want to with Rock, I’d still wanna hang out.”

That seems to strike a chord. Bass tenses, bringing his full attention up to Quint. His eyes are narrowed and he’s got a distrustful frown firmly in place.

“Why? ” he asks. “I’m a ‘Jerk’.” he puts airquotes over ‘Jerk’.

“Well, I can’t say I really like being snipped at all the time, but…” Quint sighs. “You like some of the stuff I like, and,” he pauses to collect the words, “when I’m here, I feel like one day, maybe, things will change for me. Like I can change them. And I feel like that just ‘cause you’re being you. That’s pretty cool.”

Bass, whose mouth was open for a retort, clicks shut. It takes a minute for him to regain speech, face twisting in an almost amusing manner.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he finally asks.

Quint laughs.

“I dunno. You’re so driven, right? You didn’t do the best, today, but I know you’re gonna keep trying. That’s inspiring.”

“Well of course I’m not going to just give it up,” Bass says. He spits it out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, crossing his arms obstinately.

Quint smiles.

“‘Course,” he says.

“And I don’t,” Bass starts, and then stops. His frown contorts like he’s sucking on a lemon. “You’re not as annoying as most of these idiots.”

“Aww, thanks,” Quint beams, even as Bass flips him the bird. He feels like a little of the haze is gone, after this. He feels closer to himself.

Quint stands up, changing back with a flash into his now-familiar armour.

“I gotta go,” he says, heading towards the door. “There’s something I have to do.”

“What’s that?” Bass asks. Treble tilts his head as if echoing his master’s question.

“I should take my own advice,” Quint says, facing the hallway and gathering his resolve.

He’s got to talk to Ballade.

“Well that was fucking vague,” Bass grumbles, watching the door shut behind Quint. He watches it for another straight minute. “So much for figuring that guy out,” he adds, under his breath.

Inspiring. I’m… Inspiring?

Treble slips out from under him, and Bass frowns at the absence of support. He watches the wolf slink over to his set of drawers, look at him pointedly, and paw at the bottom drawer.

Call, Treble says, with a flick of his tail.

“No,” Bass says.

You’ll feel better, the wolf rumbles.

“No,” Bass repeats petulantly. “Leave it.”

You’re the boss. Treble bobs in the closest motion a wolf can manage to a shrug and returns to Bass’ side. For some reason.

Bass rolls his eyes and burrows into Treble’s sharp edges. He stays there for a good hour.

The closer Quint gets to the Mega Man Killers’ usual haunt, the more apprehensive he feels. He’s told that humans feel anxiety in their middle, sort of like a frothing whirlpool in their stomach, or butterflies or something. Quint just feels more and more uncertain, until the weight of his uncertainty crowds out any other thoughts and it becomes raw fear.

The atmosphere doesn’t help. The back-corridors of Wily’s fortress are in turns cramped and wide-open, and almost always poorly-lit. He passes many panels that have been pulled out which have wires spilling out of them for some unknown reason. Some areas even contain spike pits, though he always plots a route around as many of them as possible.

Maybe it’s not a problem for the other robot masters, but Quint can never quite forget fighting for his life in chambers and halls just like these, jumping and shooting and pressed on all sides by the enemy.

His feet stop, and he realizes with a start that he’s at the door to the storage room the others probably call home. Then, he realizes that for all his resolve earlier, he has no plan. Nothing to say to Ballade, or his team, no speech or apology beyond saying sorry for snapping at Ballade earlier.

Enker’s going to be mad, he thinks. Quint’s missed at least one training drill and, now that he thinks of it, cleaning duty. He almost turns around right then, but he’s frozen to the spot. He can’t just… walk away. He has nowhere to go, first off. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, Bass would let him in, with this tenuous not-friendship they have going, but certainly not indefinitely.

Whatever happened to being a people person? He frowns, lifting a hand to knock. But then, when did Rock ever risk having nobody?

It takes him a good half a minute to psych himself up, and then he raps twice on the door lightning fast and withdraws his hand like it’s been burned.

It’s Punk who opens the door, his massive frame taking up the whole space. Upon seeing Quint, his eyes harden.

“Hi,” Quint says.

Punk wordlessly clamps down a hand on his shoulder - Is that in the Mega Man Killer handbook? - and steers him into the room. Ballade is curled up with another book, something with a cyan cover, and very pointedly doesn’t meet Quint’s gaze. Enker, on the other hand…

Enker is sitting at the table they use for playing cards. No, it would be more accurate to say he’s sitting behind the table. He’s leaning forward, intent, fingers steepled. Quint has been on this planet long enough to know nobody ever steeples their fingers when something mutually beneficial is about to happen. The naturally dim light in the room, coupled by the one single overhead light shining down onto the table (the reason they dragged the table under it in the first place), gives the impression that he’s being taken to see a mob boss.

“So he returns,” Enker says, in a measured tone.

It hits Quint that he’s mistaken. None of the stuff he just thought matters because Enker could give off the mob boss vibe transplanted into the landscape of a children’s cartoon and surrounded by rainbows and sparkles.

“Enker,” he says. Punk forces him down into the chair opposite Enker and stands behind him. Quint is keenly aware of his bulky presence.

“I hear you’re not a fan of being on this team,” Enker says, cutting right to the chase. He leans back slowly, regarding Quint with a steady and penetrating gaze.

“It’s not - I never said that,” Quint says. He wishes, for just a moment, for the haze of indifference. If he had a heart it would be hammering out of his chest right now.

“I don’t think it’s ever been much of a secret,” Enker says. “It hasn’t really mattered in the past. What I need from you is loyalty, Quint. Stay close. Do your job. Don’t sell us out.”

“I didn’t sell anyone out,” Quint says, and he finds that the idea is abhorrent to him. Something in him feels tight. He scrubs his face under the visor with one hand, searching for the words.

“But you have been completely off the grid for several days,” Enker says, “your conversation with Ballade notwithstanding. Care to share your whereabouts?”

Quint’s free hand curls into a fist. He can’t answer that without selling out Bass, because if he says that he was with one of Skull Fortress’ most infamous shut-ins, there are going to be Capital-Q-Questions.

As it is, he’s very aware that Enker could order the information out of him if he wanted to. Maybe the fact that he hasn’t already means there’s still hope.

“I needed to get away for a bit,” he says. Technically, that’s the truth. It’s leaving out a lot of nuance, mostly everything important, but it’s not false. “I… I was reminded about my… when I was…”

When I was Mega Man.

Nobody says anything for a good awkward stretch of time. Quint doesn’t measure it on his internal clock, but it feels like about a zillion years.

“You’ll need to make reparations,” Enker says, finally.

“Yeah,” Quint says. He feels his stiff posture collapse into a slouch of relief.

“Eight extra hours of cleaning duty seems fair,” Enker continues.

“Isn’t that how many Punk won off you in Blackjack yesterday?” Ballade cuts in, eyes sliding over Quint like he isn’t there.

“What a coincidence,” Enker says, perfectly serene. Quint bites down a giggle.

“Are we done with this?” Punk steps out from behind Quint and crosses his arms. “You’re hogging the game table.”

“Don’t be daft, Punk.” Enker raises an eyebrow. “It’s multi-purpose.”

“It’s a game table,” Ballade says, turning a page.

“I’m not giving executive orders from a game table,” A frown tugs at Enker’s mouth, the first sign of annoyance he’s let through to his expression since Quint entered the room.

“I think you’re scary anyway,” Quint offers up. Punk snorts and claps him on the back, with enough force to jolt him forward.

“You would,” he says, and just like that, things are back to normal.

Well, things aren’t entirely back to normal, of course. There’s one loose end that Quint needs to tie up before things can move forward, but Ballade is proving to be elusive.

Having his team back is grounding, even so. Well, Enker and Punk are. What little downtime he has is much the same as before, but Ballade is ignoring him. He tries again and again to talk one-on-one, but nothing seems to work. The issue of getting him alone is compounded by Quint’s schedule.

Quint sighs, pushing the last panel in his assigned area back into place. He stands up and dusts his gloves off, wishing not for the first time that Wily would just repurpose some of the more mindless security bots to do the dirty work. Or maybe make a small army of Dust Mans. But then, what would anyone have to take up the time?

He thinks back to earlier.

“Ballade, can we…”

“Can’t talk. Supply run.”

That had been the first thing Ballade had said directly to him for days. He’d left immediately after.

Quint bites his lip. This is the last of his (Technically Enker’s) scheduled hours today. He’s got some free time. He could go back and try to cajole Ballade into talking to him again, if he was even back yet, or…

Stay close. Do your job. Don’t sell us out.

Well, two out of three ain’t bad, Quint thinks, as his feet start to move towards the isolated corner of the fortress where Bass’ room lies.

He’s surprised by how well he remembers the route, but then, it’s not like he hasn’t been around long enough to make some sense of Wily’s architectural eccentricities. They move fortresses every few years, but the basic patterns remain the same. Spike pit, moving platform array, spike pit, weird vertical drop, spike pit...

Finally, he finds himself in front of the words ‘NO OLD MEN ALLOWED’, the angry red cutting up the drab greys of the wall and door into little chunks between the harsh lines of the letters.

Quint knocks.

There’s a pause and a shuffle from behind the door, and Bass opens it, buster out. He drops it as soon as he sees who it is, but his suspicious glare only intensifies.

“What do you want?” Bass says, gruff. “I don’t need anything right now.”

“Just visiting,” Quint says.

Bass regards him for a good ten seconds before making a put-upon grunt and waving him inside.

Quint has the urge to pat Treble on the head as he enters, a long-forgotten relic of his time as a dog owner. He quells it when Treble opens one eye and zeroes in on him, a silent acknowledgement of his presence.

“Are you here to talk about what happened last time?” Bass asks, lowering himself to the floor and picking up the controller. Quint notes that he’s in the middle of a battle in one of his SRPGs.

“No,” Quint says, arranging himself belly-down on the floor and propping his head up with his elbows to watch. “Like I said, I’m just here to visit. And besides, we already talked about it… Right? Unless you wanna talk about it more.”

Bass scoffs and returns to his game. Quint watches, not really understanding the nuances but smiling at the characters’ exclamations and the over-the-top ultimate attacks. Bass navigates through the menus at a blinding speed, clearly very practiced at this sort of thing. But…

“Aren’t you really over-leveled for this fight?” Quint asks, as the demon princess Seismol hops on a pyroclastic flow from nowhere and decimates several squares’ worth of opponents.

“I go into the weapon world and grind between story fights,” Bass says. “Not my fault the AI can’t catch up.”

Quint laughs.

“That’s ‘cuz it’s scripted…” he says.

“Just let me have this,” Bass mutters darkly. Quint blinks, tilting his head to get a good look at the other robot’s face. He’s frowning, but it’s not annoyed. His shoulders are hunched up defensively. It’s sort of… Genuinely sad. Quint suspects that if he weren’t concentrating on the game it would be an expression Bass wouldn’t ever let slip.

“Okay,” Quint says, returning his gaze to the TV. “Okay.”

Bass plays the game for another two hours, true to his word taking detours between each story segment to go and level up in a some kind of weird side-area. They don’t say anything for a while, and eventually Bass’ posture relaxes and they start making small-talk.

“So you named that monster unit Treble? That’s really cute.” Quint grins, lazily pedaling the air with his boots.

“Go to hell and drink a million gallons of kiss my ass.” Bass says, reaching over to shove Quint’s head into the ground. Quint yelps and his flimsy elbow support collapses. Bass holds him down with one hand and continues to play with one hand and the controller propped on his knee.

“It is though,” Quint insists once he realizes that Bass is just roughhousing. “Aww, he’s one of your best guys, too. Does Treble ever play games?”

“No. He’s a wolf,” Bass says. He sends Quint a Look, like he thinks he’s one circuit short of a motherboard.

“He’s a talking wolf,” Quint points out. This does nothing to mollify the Look. If anything it makes it worse. Now, Bass is looking at him like his parts might be better served as soft-serve ice cream machine.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bass scoffs. He finally lets go and Quint rolls into a sitting position, adjusting his helmet.

“Well, you know, he’s smart…” Quint blinks as Bass scrolls over the list of his units. “Wait, go back.”

“No.”

“To the blue one.”

“No.”

“Is that a bomber class?”

“NO,” Bass says, through gritted teeth.

“It’s really high level.” Quint grins.

“Oh look, I’m making a green one right now,” Bass says, flipping a few screens over. “What’s that? It’s called ‘FUCK YOU’ and it’s a level one weakling forever.”

Quint watches as Bass, true to his word, punches in ‘FUCK YOU’ in the unit naming screen.

“No one’s ever made a character after me in a game before,” Quint says, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. “Thanks, Bass.”

“I hate you,” Bass says, but he finishes the unit creation anyway. “Ugh, what is with you, anyway? I completely failed to talk to Mega Man and now you’re being all weird and chummy instead of…”

“... Instead of what?” Quint asks, after it becomes clear that Bass isn’t going to finish.

“Instead of getting on my case about it,” Bass says.

Quint fidgets a little, sitting up straighter on the floor. He takes in Bass carefully. There’s a definite tenseness to the ebony robot’s posture. His shoulders aren’t drawn up as far as they were earlier, but he’s frowning tersely and his eyes keep flicking between Quint and the screen.

“Do you want me to get on your case about it?” Quint puts forward cautiously.

“Wh- No,” Bass’ frown deepens and his eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Why would I want that?”

“Well, I dunno. You’re the one who brought it up,” Quint shrugs. When Bass makes a frustrated noise, he continues, “But if you wanna know why I didn’t, I mean… You’re probably already upset at yourself, so why would you need me to make you feel worse about it?”

“That’s not how it works,” Bass mutters, and then more loudly, adds, “Why would you give a shit how I feel?”

“What?” Quint asks, bewildered.

“Look, if I fail to beat Mega Man, then Wily gets on my case,” Bass puts down the controller and starts gesturing. “If I fail to talk to him like a fucking idiot, then…”

Oh.

He’s got nothing else to compare it to, Quint thinks, and feels a sudden wash of sympathy.

“I’m... I’m not Wily,” he says, voice soft. “I’m not here to make you feel bad, Bass. I don’t think it would help, and even if I did, I wouldn’t do it on purpose.”

“But I screwed up,” Bass’ tone is edged with an almost desperate frustration.

“That’s okay,” Quint says.

“What?”

“It’s okay to screw up,” Quint repeats. “It’s fine. You don’t gotta beat yourself up over it. We’ll just try something else when you feel better, if you want.”

Bass stares at him, mouth just slightly ajar, for an amount of time that Quint would describe as uncomfortable. Then his mouth closes and he looks at Quint like he’s a book written in a foreign language.

Finally, Bass deflates and he turns back to his game, expression indecipherable. An uneasy silence hangs between them for a little while, until Treble rumbles from over on the bed. He crosses over the few feet to the dresser and paws at the bottom drawer. Bass flips the wolf the finger without looking, and Quint decides not to ask.

“How’d your whole ‘taking your own advice’ thing go, anyway?” Bass asks out of nowhere a few minutes later, jolting Quint from his reverie watching the screen. “You were in a hurry.”

“Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Good and not-so-good.”

“You’re so vague.” Bass rolls his eyes.

Quint laughs weakly.

“I guess I just didn’t know if you wanted the whole story,” he says.

“I asked, so spill it,” Bass shoots back.

“Well…” Quint shuffles to a more comfortable position. “I went back and Enker kinda chewed me out for disappearing on them, but not much else really… happened. Ballade’s mad at me ‘cause I said something upsetting to him when he came looking for me, and now he’s avoiding me.”

“When he came looking for you?” Bass raises an eyebrow. “When was that?”

“Oh, after I… after I went out,” Quint says, rubbing the back of his neck. “When you… erm. When I got upset.”

“When I said you fucked up the future,” Bass supplies.

“Yeah,” Quint lets out a ragged breath. “Then.”

“But you already knew that, so why’d you leave?” Bass asks. Quint searches his face for any sign of maliciousness, but it’s just quizzical.

“Well, it doesn’t feel nice to be reminded about stuff that bothers you,” Quint says, carefully. “If I rubbed it in that you haven’t beat Mega Man yet, it’d probably make you feel bad.”

“It’d make me pissed.” Bass snarls.

“Yeah,” Quint says, “exactly. And I feel really bad about my future being gone, Bass. It really, really sucks. So I needed a bit to be upset about it. And then Ballade came in the middle of that and - and I told him I didn’t want to be here, and I think he took it personally.”

“Sounds personal,” Bass says, brow creasing. “‘Here’ includes him. Hell, I already told you it includes me.”

Quint sighs, rubbing his face with both hands under his helmet.

“I wasn’t thinking about how he’d take it,” Quint says, voice muffled by his hands.

“Sounds like he wasn’t wrong, then,” Bass says. Quint looks up at him and he shrugs. “You’re really goddamn self-absorbed when it comes to the future shit. Yeah, I know,” he waves off Quint’s reply, “it’s not fair or whatever. But guess what? Welcome to Skull Fortress.”

Quint gapes.

“You say you’re all lonely and shit, but if you can put up with me threatening to kill you, then I don’t know what the fuck kind of problem you could have with them.” Bass jabs a finger right in Quint’s face. Quint flinches. “Anyway, fuck, do something about it.”

“I…” Quint looks down at his hands. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bass says, gruff. “Okay what.”

“Okay, I’ll do something about it,” Quint says. “I… You’re right. I’ve never really… really thought of myself as part of them. The Mega Man Killers. I guess that’s because I used to be... well…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, thank you.”

Bass, who had been halfway to his controller, freezes.

“Thank me for what?” he asks.

“Thanks for the advice,” Quint says. He manages a smile. “I haven’t had anyone be so blunt with me for a while, and I think I needed it.”

“I don’t get you at all,” Bass grumbles, turning away sharply to regard the TV. “Do you like being reminded of sucking or not?”

Quint laughs.

“Well, y’know, it’s all about conte-”

‘Quint, come in.’   Enker’s voice cuts him off as the communicator in his helmet crackles to life. ‘We need you back here. It’s Ballade.’

“I copy, what’s going on?” Quint says, standing up and hastily shooting Bass an apologetic glance as he presses two fingers to his earpiece.

Enker’s reply is tense.

‘His comms have gone dark.’

“Gone dark?” Quint hisses into his earpiece, turning away from Bass. After a moment of hesitation, he turns from Treble, too, facing the corner and hunching over. He feels a flutter of nerves start to build.

Communications going silent could mean any number of things, but none of them are good. And if Enker is calling him, that means that Ballade also hasn’t teleported back, which would not be a good sign on its own and is downright worrying when taken together with the above.

‘He hasn’t checked in,’ Enker says, voice cool on the surface but undeniably carrying an undercurrent of strain. ‘I want you where I can see you right now, so wherever it is you’ve been hiding, get back here.’

Quint finds the emotional capacity to be offended.

“Enker, I’m not…” Quint sighs, short and rough, and brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

‘That’s not a request.’ Enker says. It’s a firm command, and Quint’s loyalty programming screams at him to obey.

“Wait,” he says, wincing as his systems give him a warning jolt, like a light shock to the base of his skull. “Let me go after him.”

‘Quint, this isn’t the time to settle personal -’

“I’m faster than you and I have better control of it than Punk,” Quint says, voice tight. “And my comms are a different make ‘cause they’re in my helmet. If something has Ballade pinned down, I have the best chance of getting away and reporting back. And I know Wily didn’t clear you to send out more than one of us at a time, and you have to put in the request to do that.”

There’s a beat of silence.

‘He’s gotta point, bossman.’ Punk’s voice crackles in.

Quint glances back at Bass, who’s watching him with guarded interest.

‘Damn it, go.’ Enker says, and relays the coordinates, and the line goes dead.

“Sorry,” Quint says, taking his hand off of the comm button and turning back to Bass. “I’ve gotta go.”

Bass grunts his assent, and Quint feels the full-body pull as his body turns into a beam of teleporting light.

Bass watches Quint go. He watches the flash of green wash over his room as Quint’s teleporting beam phases up through the ceiling. He replays the side of the conversation he heard in his head, putting together what he knows from context.

There’s a tiny feeling gnawing at the back of his mind, buzzing like an irritating insect, and Bass has no idea what to make of it.

“What the hell is that idiot getting himself into?” Bass asks Treble, because he doesn’t want the distinction of being the guy who asks things of an empty room.

Sounds like he’s going to get himself in trouble, Treble says, stretching. He doesn’t look overly bothered about it.

Bass scowls. The upside of being the guy who talks to an empty room would be that an empty room has the decency not to state the obvious back at you.

Treble cracks one eye open and looks Bass up and down. He rolls said eye, an uncanny expression on the face of a wolf, and gets up. The wolf lopes easily over to the dresser and paws at the bottom drawer.

“No,” Bass says, on reflex. Treble huffs out an annoyed growl and fiddles at the knob with his teeth, pulling the drawer open.

You kept it for a reason. Treble disengages his jaw from working the drawer open and reaches in, delicately pulling out the contents. He trots over and deposits the object in front of Bass’ feet.

“Yeah, ‘cause you like her. Weird fucking dog.” Bass swats the little communication device back, but Treble stops it with a paw.

I don’t have hands, you stubborn ass, he says. I couldn’t work it anyway.

“I don’t need help.” Bass snarls, crossing his arms. Treble nudges his elbow with his nose, looking up at him with the closest thing to a mournful expression he thinks his support unit is capable of.

That uneasy feeling is still buzzing at the back of his head, incessant.

“Fine! ” Bass grabs up the communicator, booting it up quickly. He has to do it quickly, or the buzzing won’t be strong enough to overcome the urge to slam dunk it right back into the drawer it’s been sitting in since he came back from handing out an ass-whooping to King.

He hears a ring, and then another ring, and then he’s strongly considering the slam dunk option. Then he hears her voice.

“Hello?” Roll says. On the display, she looks surprised. He doesn’t think this thing transmits picture, just receives it, so she must have call display or something - it rung, so did it route to her phone? The angle of the picture is a little off-kilter, the background some kind of bedroom. There’s a lot of pink. “... Bass?”

He almost freezes up. In the privacy of his own head, he acknowledges that. But it’s urgent. He knows he won’t be able to rest until he settles this. Bass is no coward.

“Tell me something,” he says. “And don’t tell your dumbass brother I asked.”

“Which one?” Roll asks wryly.

When Quint lands, he’s totally disoriented for a few seconds. He’s intimately familiar with the feeling of being bounced off of a teleportation barrier to the next available slot of space, thanks to Wily, but it’s been a while. He sticks out a hand to steady himself on a concrete block.

When he’s able to look around without feeling like his gyros are out of whack, he takes in his surroundings. It’s a warehouse complex, and he’s been deposited on the outer edge of the cluster of buildings.

They do ‘supply runs’ like this for Wily every once in a while, retrieving specialty parts from random locations across the globe. The Mega Man Killers aren’t the best thieves in the fortress, but they’re one of the most disciplined groups. Enker runs a tight ship.

Quint shakes his head, willing the last bit of dizziness away, before setting off into the complex.

The fact that he hasn’t heard anything is unsettling. Ballade isn’t a quiet combatant; his Ballade Crackers are named aptly. It’s a bit on the nose, even.

If he had a weapon named after him, it wouldn’t be anything cool like Ballade Cracker. It would be something lame like Quint Quintet, and it would be a shield weapon made of pogo sticks. That would be just his luck. Shield weapons are the worst.

He realizes he’s thinking about this right now because he doesn’t want to think about what could be happening to Ballade, or about the fact that if something happens it’ll have happened while they were still fighting.

Finally, a familiar boom-CRACK rings out from nearby. Quint feels an almost physical rush of relief as he shoots forward into a large open warehouse door -

- and then a literally physical burn as he sees the charged shot coming in from his side and, on reflex, drops and slides forward to evade. He still catches a nasty graze to his shoulder and he spins around to face the source of the attack. Visor meets visor, and he gulps.

“Blues,” he says.

His brother raises his shield and starts charging up another shot.

“Either of them,” Bass says, rolling his eyes. Roll hums thoughtfully.

“Well, no promises,” she says. “If Dr. Wily has something up his sleeve, I’m going to warn Rock.”

Good, Bass thinks. Outwardly, he taps the side of the communicator impatiently. Impatiently and not nervously, because he’s not nervous.

“It’s personal,” he says. Roll’s eyebrows slowly raise up until they’re almost lost in her bangs.

“Personal?” she repeats.

“Just - just listen, okay,” he says.

The picture shakes a little as Roll shifts around, and her face is closer to the camera than before, taking up the whole screen. She looks totally intent, which just makes Bass want to hang up because holy crap this was the worst idea.

Hi Roll!! Treble underscores that sentiment by jumping up into Bass’ lap and making himself comfortable, which makes Bass uncomfortable because Treble is massive. Ask her if she still has those battery biscuits.

“Shut up, you embarrassment,” Bass hisses.

“Is Treble there?” Roll coos. Her expression lightens instantly. “Hi Treble! How are you doing, mister fiercest wolf in the world?”

I’m stuck with this guy. He never takes me out for walks, Treble whines. Bass shoves him off of his lap.

“I’m gonna go become a cyborg expert and give myself a stomach so I can puke,” Bass growls. “Look. There’s - I’m. Just. Just define a word for me, okay.”

“Define…?” Roll raises a single eyebrow. “Uh, okay.”

In the back of his mind, a wound old and raw reopens at the sight of Quint’s brother. He pushes it down.

He takes in the scene before him in a flash. Ballade is crumpled behind Blues. His head is intact, but his armour is pocked with plasma burns, which suggests a failure in shielding from repeated stress. He’s likely just out of power.

The interior of the warehouse tells Quint that Ballade went down swinging. Crates have been blown apart by what must have been Ballade Crackers, several of the support beams have been melted into slag, and what looks like the power generator for the whole complex is surrounded by sparking wires, with one industrial-sized electrical main stripped completely bare of protection.

Quint’s mind goes into tactical autopilot as he summons Sakugarne. Blues is a masterful skirmisher in one-on-one fights. It’s no wonder that Ballade lost. Even so, he can see that Blues’ leg is sparking even from here, meaning that it wasn’t just the scenery that sustained some serious damage.

But if Ballade is down, and probably has been for a while, then who fired the Ballade Cracker?

Oh, Quint thinks. He’d forgotten that Blues had a Variable Weapon System. He’s never seen him use it. More importantly, that means that Blues lured him here on purpose, to an unknown end.

As he pogos off the ground to avoid Blues’ strike, he knows - if he’s going to run and get the others, now is the time. But… What will Blues do if it becomes clear Quint is running to get backup? Can he even call for help from here? A quick check of his comms in midair and the screech of static confirms that that isn’t an option from here.

Ballade is helpless right now.

Blues could take him, or finish him off, or really do anything in the time it could take to rally the others.

Quint grits his teeth as Sakugarne and him shoot horizontally off of a wall and arc over a charged Proto Strike, crashing jackhammer-first into Blues’ shield.

Blues is an expert in one-on-one combat, Quint thinks.

“Sakugarne!” he yells, flipping off of his trusty weapon and landing behind Blues. “Go wild!”

“Saku!” Comes the high-pitched response, as Sakugarne independently bounces off of the shield, At a glance, Quint feels a grim satisfaction that they left a dent. The little mechanized jackhammer starts bouncing around erratically.

“That thing talks? ” Blues exclaims. It’s the exclamation of someone who’s having an unbelievably bad day.

Quint scrambles over to Ballade’s position, weaving in and out of Blues’ range of fire. It’s working, too - Blues can’t concentrate on both of them at once. Every time he lines up a shot at Sakugarne, Quint chucks a piece of debris at him, and he feels several shots whizz past him by a large margin punctuated by the occasional “Saku!” on his way over to his fallen teammate.

He pulls his E-tank out of the compartment in his left boot and practically jams it down Ballade’s throat. The first drops are hardly down his throat before Ballade’s eyes fly open and he grabs clumsily at the canister with one hand and his other hand flies out to grab Quint by the neck.

There’s one terrifying moment where Quint is sure that Ballade is going to crush the coolant pipes going to his head and doom him to an emergency shutdown to avoid overheating his motherboard, but Ballade blinks in recognition and drops him, guzzling the rest of the E-Tank.

“Quint?” he says, looking up and gaping at the scene before him. Quint scrabbles to his feet and holds a hand out, sheepish.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Ballade stares at him for a second before taking it. He’s so heavy that Quint stumbles and almost falls down pulling him up.

“Sakugarne!” Quint calls, and the red little pogo stick ceases bouncing off of the walls and regroups next to him. Blues spins to face them, does a double take, and then pulls out an L-tank and takes a swig.

Ballade pulls him in to hiss in his ear.

“That’s your brother,” he says, pointing at Blues.

That old and raw spot aches, and for a moment all Quint wants to do is rip off his helmet and run over and embrace him.

“You want me to define ‘friendship’.” Roll says. She’s giving him a flat stare.

“Yes,” Bass says. “I thought you’d be the expert on that bullshit.”

“I could be dusting right now,” she says, looking off into the middle distance.

“Just… do it.” Bass grates out. “Please.”

Roll’s eyes widen and refocus on the camera.

“You’re my friend,” Quint says, instead. “And I’m gonna tell you how to beat him.”

Ballade blinks, owlishly, and then a grin creeps up to practically split his face.

“Now we’re in business,” he says.

Quint quickly gauges that Blues is still out of hearing distance before starting to talk in a hushed but urgent voice.

“He’s got a faulty power core. He defends with the shield and dodges so much because his armour can’t handle the power draw for long periods of time. It overloads super easy.”

“Are you sure you should be telling me this?” Ballade asks, grin faltering.

“You’re a Mega Man Killer, not a Proto Man Killer,” Quint shoots back. Earnestly, he adds, “I trust you.”

Ballade nods, drawing up to his full height.

“The generator,” he says, before Blues charges them.

They scatter, Quint hopping on Sakugarne and Ballade launching himself in the air. Plasma rains down where they were standing a moment before, scorching the floor black and melting the concrete surface to slag.

The two of them weave in and out of Blues’ space, coordinated by by years of training drills. Quint doesn’t have much offensive capability, but he’s keeping Blues’ shield busy with repeated close strikes with Sakugarne, and Ballade is slowly penning him in with explosions. They’re getting closer and closer to the generator, but Blues is no slouch. Quint’s sporting several plasma burns and his reserves are starting to run low, and Ballade’s already taken enough damage to slow him down.

“SAKU!” Sakugarne takes a hit in midair and Quint tumbles onto a catwalk above the generator in a clumsy arc, bumping off of the railing and barely avoiding a forty-foot fall. He cradles his faithful weapon in his arms.

“Saku…” it whines, eyes wide. It’s got a nasty hole blown in its side and Quint can see the circuitry.

“Go home, buddy,” he says, fighting to keep his hands steady. “You did great.”

He activates the recall function and Sakugarne teleports away to safety. Quint mentally thanks Dr. Light for designing the workaround that lets support units be called in and out of blocked areas.

“Mrrrooowwwww...”

Quint mentally curses Dr. Light for designing the workaround that lets support units be called in and out of blocked areas.

“Tango,” he says, turning to greet the arrival of the green robotic cat. It’s got its back arched and it spits out a hiss at him. It’s got its hackles raised, which wouldn’t be possible except it’s more like it’s half-curled into its ‘Rolling Ball of Death’ form and armoured spikes are coming out of its back. He is keenly, keenly aware that he’s unarmed.

“Good… Kitty?” Quint says. “You uh… You like Blues, huh?”

“MMMMMRRROOOWW!” Tango yowls and, like a miniature version of Punk, curls up into a ball and shoots at him, grinding the catwalk to scrap in its wake.

Quint yelps and bails, making a hard landing right in the crossfire between Ballade and Blues, who is standing his ground right in front of the generator’s livewires. He dives out of the way of a misaimed Ballade cracker.

“Damn it, get out of the way!” Ballade yells, as if Quint wanted to be there or something.

“Cat’sheretakecover!” Quint yells right back.

“What’s here?” Ballade says.

“Good kitty,” Blues says from behind his shield.

“MMMRRROOOWWLL!”

“Ballade!” Quint watches in horror as Tango slams into Ballade and tears through his back armour. Ballade cries out, and time seems to slow down.

In that moment, in a flash, Quint has a plan. It’s not a very good plan, but it’s a plan.

He dashes out in front of Blues, hoping very hard that he doesn’t have a Proto Strike charged up.

“Hey fleabag!” he yells, and Tango retracts from its ball form and bounces forward, hissing up a storm. “You missed me!”

Tango doesn’t waste a moment, a terrible scraping noise building up as the cat rolls up and zooms at Quint. Quint books it, running right towards Blues.

Blues, to his credit, seems to catch wind of what’s going on.

“Wait, Tango, stop-!” he calls out, firing at Quint. Quint weaves in and out of the shots easily, totally concentrated on dodging and moving forward.

He won’t fire a fully charged shot at my front when his pet is right behind me!

When he gets to Blues, and Blues raises his shield in alarm, Quint puts his momentum into it and shoves on the shield, sending Blues staggering backwards.

Right into the huge exposed central wire going to the generator.

Blues cries out and goes rigid as his back hits the wire and however many volts run through him. He bounces back forward, crumpling to the ground.

Quint stands shock still above his brother’s body and hopes, hopes very hard, that he didn’t just kill him.

He’s snapped out of his reverie when a Ballade Cracker goes off behind him and Tango yowls and teleports away. He spins around to see Ballade let one shaky arm fall to the ground.

“Ballade!” He runs over, slinging one of Ballade’s arms over his shoulder and helping him stand.

“See,” Ballade says, voice sort of distorted. His voicebox must have taken a beating somewhere along the line. “I think s’not very fair of you to complain about getting thrown in the way n’then go and throw yourself in the way.”

“I’m sorry,” Quint says.

“Not very helpful my ass,” Ballade says, surveying the scene. He closes his eyes, frowns, and then sighs. “Teleport blocker’s still up, isn’t it?”

Quint tries. It is.

“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip.

“We’re gonna have to walk.” Ballade grimaces.

“Ballade,” Quint says. “Are we okay?”

Ballade sighs.

“Quint,” he says, “we just got our asses kicked.”

“But are we okay?” Quint presses.

“By one guy.” Ballade’s nose wrinkles. “I am never ever living this down.”

“Ballade.”

“I mean, I got bailed out by the pogo stick guy. Punk is going to laugh for days.”

“Ballade,” Quint whines.

“We’re fine, Quint.” Ballade grins. “I’m messing with you.”

“Jerk,” Quint pouts, but his expression sobers as he looks at Blues’ prone form again. “W-we should check if-”

“BLUES!” Another voice echoes from the warehouse doors, and their heads turn in unison.

There in the light of the setting sun stands Mega Man, eyes blown wide and hand outstretched towards his fallen brother. At his side prowls Tango, a little worse for wear but still moving around.

“Oh heck,” Quint says.

“Oh shit,” Ballade says, with considerably more force. Rock is raising his buster, face grim.

“You won’t get away with this,” he says, voice tight. Quint thinks his other self might be crying.

This is it, Quint thinks. They’re totally dead on their feet, Quint is unarmed, Ballade can barely stand, and the strongest robot in the world is about to finish them off.

And just as it finally felt he was getting somewhere.

Quint closes his eyes and all he can hear is the sound of a charging buster.

… Wait, he thinks. It’s a subtle difference, but… That’s not what the Mega Buster sounds like.

His eyes fly open just in time to see Rock dodging out of the way of a flurry of massive purple-tinged shots from above.

“No way.” Quint’s mouth falls open as Bass, fused with Treble, sweeps in like an angel of death.

“Bass,” Ballade breathes. “That glory-hogging son of a bitch.”

He knew I was here, Quint thinks, gawping. He had to have.

“Quint!” Ballade elbows him. “We’ve got to move while we still can!”

“Right,” Quint says, shaking his head. He starts moving his feet, one after the other.

They manage to limp out of the combat zone and out of the borders of the teleportation shield without getting shot or mauled, which is a testament to Bass’ skill as a loud distraction as well as as a fighter.

Ballade disappears in a stream of light, back to safety. Quint pauses before activating his teleporter and looks back at the battle, dots of moving light against the darkening sky.

He knew I was here, Quint thinks again.

Slowly, very slowly, he feels his face curve into a smile.

Then he’s a beam of light, travelling up, up, and away…

Earlier:

“Friendship is when you want to spend time with someone… When them being around makes you happy,” Roll says. “Friends support each other.”

Bass buries his face in his hands and grits his teeth.

“FUCK.”

Roll might have been about to say something, but then there’s a commotion in the background. He hears someone say “Tango” and “Wily’s robots” and “Blues”, before Roll apologizes and disconnects the call.

Bass sits there for an agonizing thirty seconds before he gets off of his ass and pulls up his laptop, cracking into the fortress teleport shield’s permission logs.

“Fuck,” he repeats, under his breath.

Quint lands in the familiar confines of the Mega Man Killers’ room. Ballade is already sprawled out on the floor on his front, groaning. Under the thin glare of the room’s single light, Quint can finally see the damage that Tango did to his back - he winces. The back of his chestplate is totally chewed up, and Quint sees the glint of some of his internals through shredded under armour. Quint silently thanks their lucky stars that the damage didn’t reach Ballade’s power core.

As he kneels down to get a closer look, voices float in from the hallway.

“- don’t care what that maniac bastard thinks, we’re going in.” Enker’s voice is the first to resolve into something coherent. Quint notes with some surprise that he sounds pissed.

“Enker, if we go he’s gonna know we went against orders,” Punk says. His tone is far more reasonable. “Look, it’ll take a bit, but I can call in some favours. Shadow Man has a going rate for extracts on the down-low.”

“It’s been twenty minutes and no word,” Enker argues as they turn the corner. He’s totally focused on Punk. “It’ll take another ten minimum to track him down, provided he’s not busy, stealthy little - what.” he stops as Punk catches sight of the two and holds out an arm to stop him, eyes wide.

“Hey,” Quint says, waving from his position over Ballade weakly.

The two of them stare as if Quint was a ghost, and he has the time to feel a little offended.

“No, that’s fine,” Ballade says, grunting and shifting himself to face them with some apparent difficulty. “Just stand there. I haven’t been gravely injured or anything.”

Enker, for his part, recovers admirably.

“Punk,” he says, nodding to the taller robot curtly. “Get the smartass to the repair bay.”

“On it,” Punk grunts, moving forward to pick Ballade up. Ballade grits his teeth and lets out a low whine under Punk’s less-than-gentle ministrations. Punk, being sharp just about everywhere, has to carry him in some kind of belly-down bridal carry, which is an awkward position at best.

“Why does your body have so many spikes on it?” Ballade gasps, writhing so that Punk’s cuff spikes don’t dig into his stomach.

“Freedom of expression.” Punk rolls his eyes and starts ambling towards the exit, where Enker steps out of his way. He’s staring at Quint intently, which is unnerving.

“You were literally built with that armour,” Ballade counters, as they cross the threshold of the door.

“Yeah, but I’d do it all again,” Punk says. That’s the last piece of their conversation that Quint can distinguish as they hurry down the hall and out of earshot.

Leaving him alone.

With Enker.

Quint, sensing the oncoming storm, takes a seat at the table and sinks into it. He grimaces. He’s been shot a lot, and no matter how much it happens, it never gets easier. The spots where the plasma burns dot his armour sting something fierce.

“What happened?” Enker says, taking the seat across from him and leaning forward. Quint takes a sharp breath in as Enker steeples his fingers.

“Well…” Quint squirms. “Things got a little, um, we fought Blues.”

Enker’s face goes through a series of expressions very quickly.

“You fought Proto Ma- I told you to - Quint,” Enker says. His face settles on annoyance, one eye twitching. “May I take a moment to remind you that your orders, the entire reason that I allowed you to go, was based on the argument that you could and would run and report back if something was wrong?”

“It wasn’t that simple!” Quint exclaims. He realizes he’s jerked forward, hands gripping the table edge. He forces himself back down. “He - Ballade - he was down, and Blues was luring us in, I think, and by the time I knew what was going on it was too late to go, ‘cause what if he took Ballade when he realized I was gonna get help?”

Enker sighs a deep sigh and massages his temples.

“You,” he says, “are absolutely the worst at giving reports.”

“Look, I-” Quint starts. Enker puts up a hand to stop him.

“Start at the beginning,” he says. “And tell me what happened, in detail, please.”

Quint does. He tells Enker the whole story. Enker interrupts him frequently to clarify, and halfway through, Punk gets back from dropping Ballade off at the repair bay. He laughs at the part where Tango jumped Quint, which earns him a glare from Enker and a pout from Quint. (He doesn’t laugh at the part where the cat ripped up Ballade, to his credit.)

When he finishes, Enker is drumming the table with his fingers. Quint fidgets with his thumbs in the deafening silence left when his words end.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Punk says, finally.

“I’m impressed,” Enker concedes. “Given your disadvantages, you managed far more than I would have expected. But,” he says, “you must know that it was sheer dumb luck that Bass was there to distract Mega Man so you could both get away.”

“I know,” Quint sighs, though he feels a little warm tug remembering the ebony robot’s intercession. He has to fight down a smile. “I probably didn’t make the right call, but I just… I saw him there and all I could think was, I needed to save him.”

Enker sighs.

“I should have expected as much,” he says. “That’s my mistake, though, and it all worked out. So I won’t reprimand you. This time.”

“You’ve let me get away with a lot,” Quint says. His gaze drops to the table.

“Yes, well, I’ve never had to extract you from a riot,” Enker says, and Quint looks back up just in time to see Punk elbowing him indignantly.

“That was a concert,” Punk protests. “It wasn’t a riot ‘til I got there.”

“Exactly.” Enker gives Punk a long-suffering look before turning back to Quint. Quint stifles a giggle.

“What bossman here is trying to say,” Punk says, “is that he’s glad you’re both alive, so he’s letting you off easy.”

“Right,” Quint says, watching the two of them play some kind of nonverbal ballet, except the ballet is just Punk dodging bricks thrown by the other performer.

“Well,” Enker finally says after he’s done throwing Punk nasty looks, “I think that’s all for now. Poker?”

“You still owe me from yesterday,” Punk says, pulling a worn deck of cards from his boot. He starts shuffling them with practiced ease.

“Yes, yes,” Enker says. “We’ll see how the books look by the end of today.”

Quint looks between the two of them.

“Can I play?” he asks.

They both shoot him surprised glances.

“I, um… I don’t know how to play.” Quint smiles, “But-”

“Deal him in,” Enker says immediately, with a glint in his eye. Punk rolls his eyes and starts dealing out cards.

“Hope you’re prepared to lose a lot of free time,” he says to Quint.

Quint just laughs.

“I am,” he says.

When Quint next sees Bass, it’s two days later.

He knocks, and Bass opens the door. Quint’s immediate diagnosis of the situation is that Bass is critically grumpy.

“Hey,” Quint says, with a little wave and a lopsided smile.

“You fucking suck,” Bass says by way of greeting. Even so, he retreats from the entrance and leaves the door hanging open. Quint takes that as permission to enter and strolls on in, closing the door behind him.

Bass is already taking a seat, this time not in front of the TV, but on his ratty mattress. Treble is curled comfortably around him and he’s got a laptop propped up on his knees. He stares resolutely at the screen and doesn’t meet Quint’s eye.

“Um,” Quint says, “I just wanted to say thank you…”

Bass grunts.

“You know, for bailing me out,” he continues.

“You owe me big time,” Bass says, snapping the laptop closed very suddenly. Quint jumps.

“I know,” he says, once he’s certain that that’s the full extent of Bass’ outburst. He steps directly in front of Bass and crouches. “It was - you had to pick another fight with Rock because of me. I’m sorry, and I just, I just want you to know that that meant a lot to me.”

Bass huffs and looks away.

“What kind of fucking business did you have getting into a fight anyway?” he asks. “You’re weak. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“I did used to be the world’s hero,” Quint reminds him gently, finally giving into gravity and sitting down all the way. He takes a moment to arrange his limbs before meeting Bass’ critical eyebrow.

“And humble, too,” Bass snarks. Quint can’t help but laugh.

“Hey, pot to kettle, first off,” he says. It comes out muffled because he’s trying to bury his laughter in his hand. “And hey, that’s just the press for you. What I mean is that I still got a few tricks up my sleeve, yeah?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bass says, suddenly.

“Huh?” Quint blinks.

“I won’t tell anyone - you know,” he throws up his hands, “that you used to be him. If I told everyone you’d just get ganked in two seconds flat and then who the hell would show me how those goddamn combos work?”

“Oh,” Quint says. “So you still want me to, um, hang around?”

“What did I just say?” Bass fixes him another look like he’s stupid before continuing. “Do you need your ears cleaned out?”

Quint takes a moment to absorb that, and then his face lights up with a huge smile.

“Okay,” he says, “Thanks, Bass. You’re a good friend.”

Bass rolls his eyes and stalks over to the TV, practically throwing a controller in Quint’s direction.

“Come on, this stupid game isn’t going to play itself,” he says, gruff.

Quint just smiles wider, taking his place next to Bass on the floor as the game boots up and the logos fly past.

Blues wakes up to a dark room and a lot of pain.

The latter isn’t new, but the former could be, and the idea of that is enough to propel him straight up with a gasp, clutching his chest. It’s still covered with the titanium-mix weave of his under armour, and the artificial flesh hasn’t been peeled up to reveal his innards.

His power core.

So he probably hasn’t been tampered with, a conclusion which is supported by the many, many damage reports and warnings his system is throwing at the more machine-organized side of his brain.

Blues lets out the breath he’d been holding thanks to one of his many human-behaviour subroutines and gathers his wits about him. First, he determines that he’s not in Dr. Light’s lab, which is a large comfort. Second, he determines that he’s not in Dr. Cossack’s lab, which is less so, because that means that the only other safe place he could possibly be is -

“I see you’re awake,” Shadow Man says, from next to him. Blues jumps, and then lets every tensed appendage relax.

“I hate it when you do that,” he complains.

“Would you like an alphabetized list of things that I hate when you do that you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours?” Shadow Man deadpans, and Blues sighs and goes to lie back down on the table. Shadow Man grabs him by the shoulder and forces him back up, shaking his head. “No, you don’t want to do that right now. Trust me.”

“Ah,” Blues says, and now that he focuses, yes, his back in particular is a searing mess. “So I don’t. Are you going to give me the list anyway?”

“I am, you idiot.” The ninja-bot says. He grabs Blues by the wrist and guides him to sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the work table. It’s a sign of Shadow Man’s annoyance, Blues thinks, that he hasn’t made any move to turn on the light for those of them who don’t have night vision and wear tinted visors as part of their getup. “Starting with ‘are you crazy’ and ending on ‘what in the world were you thinking baiting the Mega Man Killers? ’”

“I was thinking that living independently is expensive and that someone was willing to pay good money for the green one back,” Blues says. It comes out belligerent.

“You didn’t come to me,” Shadow Man says, frowning.

“I wouldn’t put you in the position of helping a Light-bot reacquire a stolen robot from your evil overlord,” Blues says.

“No,” Shadow Man bites out, “Instead you put me in the position of rescuing a Light-bot after he sabotaged one of our operations and incapacitated one of ours.”

Blues takes off his helmet and runs a thumb over his brow.

“Sorry,” he says, softly.

Shadow Man huffs.

“Anyone see you?” Blues asks.

“No,” Shadow Man crosses his arms. “I’m not an amateur. Besides, your brother and Bass were really going at it.”

“Please rephrase that,” Blues groans.

“I don’t think I will,” Shadow Man says.

He moves Blues’ arm from his face, and kisses him.

Blues sinks into it. He sighs when they part.

“I’m an idiot, etcetera,” he says. Shadow Man snorts. “Forgive me?”

“... Fine,” Shadow Man says. “But get yourself looked at by someone qualified. And there’s one more thing.”

“What?” Blues asks, already grimacing.

“Who exactly wants Quint, out of every robot master in this fortress?”

Blues shrugs, an action which his back informs him is unacceptable. He aborts mid-motion, wincing.

“Some place called the Chronos Institute,” he says.

Many, many light years away:

Titans clash.

The gas giant is not notable. It is simply where he catches up to his quarry. It is not habitable by any life that he knows of, its depths producing a magnetic field so vast that even here, past the orbit of its third moon, he feels disoriented. This does not bother him, for he knows that his enemy must also be suffering the same disadvantage.

Their energies clash, his radiant blue and its sickly purple. Their fight crosses over into dimensions unseen by the biological eye. They collide, again and again, and he finds his energies waning. The other’s cruel flames are also diminished, though, so he fights on.

It is close. Very close. In the end, it is mere chance that he wins, because at that final moment, just before the final blow is struck-

A god is slain.

Its dying cries echo throughout the cosmos, its rage a supernova to those attuned. The other, its kin, turns its attention to the call for but a moment.

That is all that Duo needs.

They erupt in fire, and the other is critically injured. In its final moments, it flings its body at the source of the noise. Duo is injured, but he follows, dutifully.

It will be years before they arrive at the planet that he will come to know as Earth.

Many, many light years away, somewhere else:

Sunstar sleeps. Duo fails.

‘Player 1 wins!’

“Yes!!” Quint pumps his fist triumphantly.

The tinny voice on the TV fills the small space of Bass’ room after an extended period of silence. They’d been tight-lipped, concentrating, the whole match, no room for banter between the intense back-and-forth on the screen.

“You’re not supposed to be happy when I win,” Bass complains, shoving Quint hard enough that he topples onto his side with a yelp. He’s grinning, though.

“But you beat me fair and square!” Quint laughs, righting himself without much trouble. “There is nothing more to teach you, my student, for you have surpassed the master.”

Bass snorts.

“You’re taking all the fun out of this,” he says.

“Oh-kay,” Quint rolls his eyes, not that the gesture really matters on account of the fact that he’s still wearing his helmet and visor. He flops over backwards, belly up. “In that case, oh no, I’ve been beaten. I’ll never ever recover, ‘cause you’ll be the best forever.”

“That’s better,” Bass grins, and Quint laughs.

Treble, who had been watching them with half-lidded eyes, pads right over from the bed and lays down on Quint’s stomach.

“Oooof!” Quint exclaims. Treble is several hundred pounds of metal and claws, and he’s effectively pinned. Bass howls with laughter.

“Did you tell him to do that?” Quint turns his head as much as he’s able to see the tip of Bass’ head fins over the conical mound of purple and chrome.

“No,” Bass says, raising himself so his face pops up over the obstruction in Quint’s view. “But I would’ve if I’d thought of it. You should see your face. Who’s a good wolf? ”

Quint feels the rumbling as Treble growls something back at Bass. Presumably confirming that he is, in fact, a good wolf.

Quint sighs and shakes his head. He wishes that Sakugarne was here to even the odds, even if he isn’t sure what the well-meaning little pogo would actually be able to do.

Both Sakugarne and himself have long since been patched up from their run-in with Blues. It’s been a whole month, and things have been quiet. Quint spends most of his time with the Mega Man Killers, a much more enjoyable existence than before thanks to their new understanding, and when he has free time, he spends it with Bass.

Somehow, Bass never seems to have anything to do while he’s around, even if Quint is certain by the changing configuration of his makeshift workbench and the shifting position of his laptop that he has a few projects on the go. They haven’t made a move after Rock in a while, with Bass’ insistence that he wants to put some space between the fight in the warehouse cluster and his next attempt.

Secretly, Quint is alright with that. If Bass succeeds in getting Rock to go out with him, then he’ll probably have a lot less free time to spend with Quint. He knows it’s selfish, but even if he’s got more of a social life now, time spent with Bass is still the most enjoyable.

Once you get past the insta-death-spiky exterior, Bass’ obnoxious competitiveness softens to something more fun, his insults become less sharp and more teasing, and his creative swearing is actually kind of entertaining. His eyes, the vivid shade of crimson, carry all of the intensity from before, but Quint isn’t afraid. It’s just… Bass.

“Hey. Hey! Are you listening?”

Speaking of presence.

“Sorry,” Quint says, having a little trouble drawing the breath necessary to speak with Treble’s weight pressing down on him. “I’m just busy being all conquered and stuff.”

“Har har,” Bass says. “I said, I’m gonna play that one sword game with the puzzles, since you like it so much.”

“Myth of Zeruda?” Quint attempts to wiggle so he can see the screen. It’s totally in vain.

“Yeah, there were like fifty of the fucking things so I held the game store guy at gunpoint ‘til he told me which was the best one,” Bass says.

“You stole it, huh,” Quint sighs.

“Where the hell do you think your TV came from?” Bass snorts dismissively, and Quint hears the sound of cartridges being exchanged. “I can guaran-fucking-tee Shadow Man doesn’t just go out and buy all that garbage.”

“Okay, okay…” Quint concedes. “I guess I never really thought about how he gets stuff. Hey, do you think you can tell Treble to move?” he adds, as the opening jingle of the game plays. “I wanna see.”

“Treble, move your ass,” Bass says casually. The wolf obeys, albeit reluctantly, slinking back off to the bed with a low whine. “I don’t give a damn, get a blanket or something.”

Quint chuckles, stretching and pulling himself up to sit so he can better see the screen. When he does, he groans.

“The Piccolo of Time,” Quint says, putting his face into his hands. “Of course.”

“What, is it not the best one?” Bass asks, looking put out. “Damn it, I’ll go back and shake that guy down again-”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Quint shoots back up from a slump and waves his hands in front of him frantically. “It’s a really good game, it’s just, it’s got time travel in it and that stuff always gives me a headache.”

“What, like literally?” Bass side-eyes him.

“No, I mean, it’s like…” Quint sighs. “On top of being kinda, er, bringing back bad memories, it’s always really confusing. I’ve spent waaaay too much time thinking about paradoxes.”

Bass rolls his eyes, fast-forwarding to the menu screen and picking a new game.

“What’s there to know about paradoxes?” Bass says, “If we’re here and time isn’t broken, then we’re good.”

“That’s a cool attitude to have,” Quint says, “but like, I used to think about it a lot. Like what if Rock was destined to become me. Then stuff started happening that definitely never happened to me, so I guess he isn’t.”

“You said that I never existed, so I gathered that,” Bass says, ignoring the opening cutscene in favour of their conversation. “Where’d things go different?”

“You mean besides me, right?” Quint asks, and Bass shoots him a flat look. “Oh, well, basically, Wily stopped trying to take over the world after the whole thing with Dr. Cossack. Actually…”

Quint pauses.

“It sort of… went down different, too,” he says. “‘Cause he didn’t kidnap Kalinka. He just stole his robots, and then Cossack helped us out to beat him. I guess when he got back Wily decided to fix that.”

“Wow, the old man taking notes,” Bass says. “I guess he didn’t completely waste the trip.”

“Wow, you jerk,” Quint swats Bass’ knee, which earns him a toothy grin. “Anyway, it wasn’t too long after that that he reformed. So I retired as Mega Man and got to be Rock, for a long time.”

“Damn,” Bass says. He’s just gotten around to controlling his character, but he pauses the game to spin around and face Quint. “So - wait, hold on, that doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Huh?” Quint blinks.

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Bass repeats, jabbing Quint in the chest. “If Wily used time travel to go forward in time, he shouldn’t have existed in the future, because he wasn’t there after he time traveled because he was busy time travelling.”

Quint grimaces.

“S’why I hate time travel,” he says. “I mean, like you said, it happened, though, and we’re living it, so it has to make sense somehow, right?”

Bass’ mouth twists like he’s sucking on a lemon, and he reluctantly swivels back to face the TV.

“I guess.” he says.

“That’s gonna bother you, isn’t it?” Quint says.

Bass grunts.

“... Why the hell am I taking orders from a pixie?”

On his way back from Bass’ room that evening, Quint whistles tunelessly. He’s long since memorized the route there and back, so he’s more or less moving on autopilot as he thinks about other things. Enker is out right now, he knows, on some kind of mission that far exceeds Quint’s need to know the details. There have been a lot of missions like that, lately, which usually means that Dr. Wily is gearing up for yet another plot for world domination.

Honestly, Quint thinks, the warning signs are so obvious when you know where to look. Fortresses don’t build themselves out of nowhere, especially giant space fortresses. Though maybe he should cut his counterpart some slack for that, because as bad as Dr. Wily is at things like reasonable strategy and doing anything in a way that makes sense, his manic genius has led him to do things that were considered literally impossible before he did them. Like building giant space fortresses completely under the radar, and making trips with a barely-functional prototype time machine.

Quint sighs.

He hasn’t thought about the impossibility of his own existence for a while. He actually feels a little embarrassed, because it took him weeks of thinking about it before he considered the angle that Bass brought up earlier. He’s just not suited to that kind of hypothetical thinking.

“Quint.”

“GAH!” A sudden voice from right next to him causes Quint to jump back several feet in alarm, buster arm coming up on reflex even though it’s been years since the thing worked. Shadow Man stands there, looking for all the world like he had been there all along and it’s Quint who’s the weird one for freaking out. The illusion is broken somewhat when he smirks.

“How are you doing?” Shadow Man asks, and Quint straightens, eyeing the ninja robot with a suspicious frown. Nobody aside from the Mega Man Killers and Bass ever talks to him, much less asks after him. And Bass doesn’t really ask after him so much as interrogate him, when he wants to know something.

“I’m… uh…” Quint says. Shadow Man waits for him patiently, still as a statue except for one eyebrow that quirks up very slowly with each passing second that Quint fails to answer. “I’m… good?”

“That’s good,” Shadow Man replies, very much giving off the air that he couldn’t care less.

“Is there, uh, something you need?” Quint asks.

“I was just passing by,” Shadow Man says. “Though I have been meaning to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” Quint says, uneasy. He doesn’t like this, in no small part because Shadow Man scares the living daylights out of him. He knows firsthand that the ninja is an extremely skilled hand-to-hand combatant, an area which not many robots excel in and in which Quint is abysmal.

“I was just flipping through the information banks and I noticed something curious,” he says. His eyes, red like Bass’ but somehow cool where the ebony robot’s flash like fire, zero in on him with an almost predatory regard. Quint’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck nearly of its own accord. “Were you aware that there is nothing about you recorded anywhere in the low-access files?”

Oh, heck.

“Oh, that sounds about right?” Quint laughs. It’s strained. “I’m not exactly Wily’s finest. I’m probably not important enough to waste the drive space on.”

Shadow Man’s piercing gaze stays fast.

“Well,” he says, finally. “I can’t argue with that.”

“Yup,” Quint says, because he isn’t sure what else to say. Subterfuge really isn’t his strong point.

“Oh, and you should pay better attention to where you’re going,” Shadow Man says.

“Huh?”

“You seem to have wandered into Bass’ stomping grounds,” Shadow Man says, giving Quint a knowing look. “He’s famously unfriendly, though come to think of it, I remember him acting somewhat out of character a little while ago. Where you were concerned.”

And then, without giving Quint the chance to respond, he steps back into a shadow and disappears, leaving Quint alone in the cavernous halls.

The cavernous halls which are poorly lit at the best of times, leaving shadows in every nook and cranny.

“Great,” Quint says aloud to himself.

“You look like hell,” Ballade observes as Quint steps into the Mega Man Killers’ little sanctum.

“I’m fine,” Quint says, walking over to the game table and sinking very low into one of the unoccupied chairs. Enker still isn’t back, and Punk appears to be playing solitaire. “I just ran into Shadow Man on the way over and he was being super creepy.”

“That’s kind of his thing,” Punk says. “But I heard him listening to music once and it was freakily upbeat. Just absolute pop-rock garbage.”

Ballades snickers.

“Yeah, well, he was asking stuff like, why’m I not in the public-access files,” Quint sighs, crossing his arms on the table and burying his face in them. The other two sit up a little straighter at that.

“Well, that’s not good,” Ballade says. “Enker’s going to want to know about that.”

“Yeah,” Punk says, “if that gets out there’s gonna be a target painted on your back. Doesn’t matter who’s reprogrammed to do what, tons of ‘bots would just love to get even with…”

Punk pauses, reaching up and shining the light around every darkened corner of the room. One by one, each shadow is banished. Nothing happens. He lets it go and it sways in a slowly-tightening circle, giving the impression of movement as the light shifts over their forms.

“... with Mega Man,” he finishes. “Damn, couldn’t you have gotten the attention of someone easy to see coming, like Frost Man?”

“It’s not like I can help who’s spying on me!” Quint whines. “Besides, I don’t know what I did to get his atten-”

The door chooses that moment to swing open and reveal Enker. Everyone’s head turns.

Enker looks like hell.

The smell of plasma burn on metal chases him into the room. The source is clear; he’s got burns all over his gold-tinted armour. They’re not like any marks Quint has ever seen, though. Busters leave a scorched circle on the impact site, but these are long stripes, slashes. Enker is limping, and his expression is stormy.

“What happened? ” Quint asks, first to recover the power of speech.

“New robot in town,” Enker says, clenching his fist.

Bass sips at the straw of his drink, letting the unfamiliar sensation of taste splash across his tongue. It’s not unpleasant, though he wouldn’t really seek it out of his own accord. He’s often wondered why Wily bothered putting the capability to eat and drink in him at all; maybe it’s just part and parcel with his design as ‘Mega Man but better’. The Light siblings having the ability makes sense with their imperative to mix with humans for their original purposes.

Roll, who is sitting across from him at their little beach table and is totally unrecognizable as a robot at first glance, supports that theory. She’s wearing a totally different outfit than the attire he usually sees her in on the occasions that he’s stayed at Light Labs, a red crop top and (what he assumes is) fashionable white shorts and white sandals. She’s swapped out her usual green hair ribbon for a blue one.

Bass is still getting looks for wearing a jacket on such a sweltering day, and he can practically feel the scrutiny on the back of his neck. It irritates him, but it’s a low background irritation that’s easy to filter out by reminding himself he doesn’t care what some random humans think.

Heat aside, it’s a beautiful day outside. The sky is a wide expanse of uninterrupted blue, and the sea is a darker and deeper shade that runs a stripe across the horizon. The beach they’re at is packed; their table is further up from the water near where the sand meets solid ground and boardwalk.

“So,” Roll says, drawing out the ‘S’. She’s got a drink too, some variety of milkshake. She pauses her foray into speech to take a draw from it. “You’ve got a friend, huh?”

Bass grunts and folds his arms together.

“Oh c’mon, you’re the one who wanted to get together,” Roll points out reasonably.

Yeah, that’s true. He’s the one that called her. But now that he’s here, he can’t seem to get his words to work right. It’s not the same kind of nervousness that compels him to act suicidally stupid around Rock, but there are stakes here. Roll isn’t just a random human, and the fact that she agreed to hang out with him after what happened last month actually caught him off-guard.

“Didn’t think you’d agree,” Bass says, finally. The truth, or at least part of it.

Roll snorts.

“Well, I really shouldn’t have,” she says, and when Bass’ eyes narrow she laughs. “Not like that, silly. I mean if dad knew I was out meeting with one of Rock’s sworn enemies he’d be worried sick.”

“Yeah, that was pretty stupid of you,” Bass agrees. “What if I was going to kidnap you?”

“If you were going to kidnap me you would’ve done it before we got drinks,” Roll reasons. She holds up her milkshake and wiggles it as if to demonstrate.

“I could still kidnap you,” Bass grumbles. He internally bites back the urge to go to one of the wooden electrical poles lining the street front some twenty feet away and hit his head against it.

Roll laughs - actually laughs - and shakes her head.

“The real reason I came is because I need to know the details,” she says. She leans forward with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes.

“The details,” Bass repeats.

Roll leans further onto the table and props her head up on her elbows.

“The details,” she says. “Like who’s your friend? How’d it happen? Seriously, Rock is going to be so jealous, he’s been trying to make friends with you for ages.”

Bass nearly spits out his drink.

“He has?” he asks, and, okay, that’s not actually that surprising, but the idea makes him feel warm and summons up images of kind blue eyes. He thinks about blue eyes a lot, at very inconvenient times.

Roll has blue eyes too, but even though they’re similar to Rock’s - some kind of artificial family resemblance - there are differences. They’re ever-so-slightly tinted towards turquoise where the pair he’s fixated on are a really deep azure. And fuck him for knowing that, but he looked it up one particularly fitful night and now he’s stuck knowing it forever.

Roll’s eyes are currently fixing him with a look that can only be described as ‘no duh.’

Bass considers being totally evasive, but the point - the WHOLE point - of calling on Roll was a challenge to himself. Hanging out with someone other than Quint. It should be easy, damn it, but so far he’s found it impossible to feel comfortable.

Quint is so easy to talk to. Bass wouldn’t have to worry about saying stupid things around Quint because the green robot always seems to know what he means instead of what’s coming out of his mouth.

Bass sighs.

“I can’t exactly say who h- they are,” he says.

“So it’s a he,” Roll says, smiling impudently.

“God dammit,” Bass says. He flinches as Roll kicks him under the table. “Ow! What the hell!”

“Language!” she scolds, tilting her head towards a group of human children.

“Ugh, whatever,” Bass says. “He… was…”

It occurs to Bass that the circumstances under which he and Quint became friends are very embarrassing.

“He helped me with something,” Bass continues, crossing his arms and leaning back. “At first it was a… deal. But then, I don’t know, things changed.”

Roll’s eyebrows climb up her forehead.

“But who cares about that, how long has your brother been friend-pining after me?” Bass says quickly. Too quickly, probably.

“Oh, pretty much since you showed up,” Roll says, leaning back to sit like a normal person. She tilts her head, studying Bass as if sizing up some variable. “He wasn’t in a great place before you came into the picture, to be honest. I was really worried about him.”

“What do you mean?” Bass frowns. This is new information.

“Well, like…” Roll sighs. “Rock’s a sensitive person, you know. He doesn’t like to fight. And it’s been war after war after war… He could handle that, I think, but at that point…”

“Something else happened?” Bass asks. For the first time in this conversation, he feels focused.

“A few things happened, all in a row,” Roll says. There’s a slurping sound as she pauses to finish off her milkshake. “Ballade, and then Dark Man, and then Sunstar.”

Ballade?

Bass remembers, suddenly, what Quint had said about his teammate.

“What happened with Ballade?” he asks.

“You don’t know?” Roll blinks. “Oh, I guess Wily wouldn’t exactly advertise it. When Ballade and Rock fought up in space, Rock finally reached him. He wasn’t going to fight for Wily any more. But then he had to sacrifice himself to save Rock.”

And then Wily scavenged his control chip and reprogrammed him, Bass’ brain supplies. That hits uncomfortably close to home.

“That’s fucked up,” he says, and shoots Roll an irritated look when she kicks him under the table again.

“Rock took it hard,” Roll says, “And then Dark Man impersonated Blues and tried to take over the world, and then, well, the Stardroids.”

Bass scoffs.

“The Stardroids,” he says, “Read about that. Wily really let the theme get away from him.”

Despite the tone of the conversation, Roll smiles.

“I’m just glad he didn’t stick with the usual convention. Wouldn’t it be worse if it was Mercury Man, Venus Man, uh, Earth Man?” she says.

“Next time Terra sticks his nose around down here I’m calling him Earth Man.” Bass grins. “He’ll hate that.”

“Anyway,” Roll says, “You remember that Wily built them all from that one alien robot Sunstar, right?”

“There’s not exactly a world domination history class in Skull Fortress.” Bass rolls his eyes. “It’s all hearsay and old assignment logs.”

“Okay, well, here’s the thing, right?” Roll fiddles with her straw. “Rock fought Sunstar, and, well, he says it was the toughest fight he’s ever had. If it weren’t for Wily’s-”

“THAT guy is the toughest fight he’s ever had?” Bass feels a hot pulse of anger. “I’ve come closer to beating him than anyone!”

“Can you let it go for two seconds and let me finish?” Roll says. “Like I was saying, at the time, he said it was the toughest fight he’s ever had. He doesn’t go around comparing who’s strongest all the time, ‘cause in case you missed it, he hates fighting.”

Bass scowls and looks away.

“If it weren’t for Wily’s modifications…” Roll continues, more softly. “I don’t know. Even after being repaired from almost nothing, Duo was incredibly strong, too. But Rock says that in the end, he tried to talk Sunstar down, and there was good in him. But... it was too late. Rock barely got out. The explosion was massive...”

“What’s the point?” Bass says. He looks up to meet Roll’s gaze again and finds a very serious expression on her face.

“My point is, when you came along, and pretended to be on our side, you gave Rock hope,” Roll says. “And then you stole it away - no, don’t give me that look,” she says, as he opens his mouth to counter, “you didn’t know how much it hurt him, but you did. But then you did what no one else ever did, and you came back.”

Bass feels his lips press into a thin line.

“Even though you’re a class-A jerk,” Roll says, “Rock admires you for that. So… That’s why I really came, even though you’re still working for Wily. Because Rock thinks you’re a good person, and even if he’s sometimes naive, I think he’s right.”

Silence hangs between them. The sounds of the other beachgoers filters in, a soft buzz of conversation punctuated by the hoots and screams of children having fun. The soft roar of the ocean underpins it all.

Bass feels impossibly warm.

“I -” he starts, because he feels like he has to say something. “... Thanks.”

Roll’s mouth opens into a little ‘o’ and then she smiles brightly.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “When did you learn manners? This mystery friend of yours sure is a good influence.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bass says.

Roll laughs.

They all sit around the game table, which had previously only had three chairs, but since Quint started sitting in on card games, Ballade had followed.

Punk had acquired another chair in an act he had called ‘liberation’, which had led to a tiff with its original owners, the loose collective of robots who’d been acquired in the International Robot Tournament. Enker had agreed to ‘give’ them ‘territory’ that in actuality was a freezer room informally claimed by Frost Man for the purpose of storing ice sculptures, and they hadn’t heard from them since.

Well, they’d heard a lot of distant crashes and a muffled scream or two.

Enker, Quint thinks, is kind of a scary guy.

Currently, Enker is rubbing a scorched, half-melted spot on his signature javelin and looking downright murderous.

“So,” Ballade says, “New robot in town.”

“He uses a weapon I’ve never seen before,” Enker says. “Some kind of plasma sword.”

“A beam sabre?” Quint furrows his brow. “That’s… that’s not right. It’s too soon.”

All heads turn to him.

“You got some sort of future info on this?” Punk asks.

“I remember them being talked about, but they were only, like, theoretical,” Quint says. “And that’s theoretical like twenty years from now.”

“There’s nothing theoretical about those.” Ballade frowns, eyeing the slashed burn marks on Enker’s armour.

Enker sighs.

“It didn’t seem like he was after me,” he says, laying his javelin down on the table and threading his fingers together. “I happened to run into him in the vault where I was sent to steal some sensitive equipment. Energy sensors, something of the sort. He didn’t seem keen on me leaving after spotting him.”

“You fought him off?” Quint asks.

“Barely,” Enker says, and his expression darkens. “It was very close quarters. Luckily, I was able to redirect the energy from his strikes to blow out a wall. Escaping with the required materials for Dr. Wily was the mission, after all.”

“Well that’s not concerning at all,” Ballade says. “You’re telling me someone get the better of you in melee? That’s your specialty.”

“How many other robots do you know that use a close-quarters weapon?” Enker points out, and then fingers the melted-out groove on his javelin. “I’ll be better prepared next time, but I don’t have a means to block his attacks at the moment.”

An uncomfortable pause hangs over them.

“In the meantime,” Enker says, “while I don’t think it was necessarily related, this is the second unexpected strike against us in particular while out on routine missions in a month. We’ll take some precautions. I’m going to inform Wily, and see what I can find to counter that sabre. Quint, you’re to stay in the fortress. I’m not sending you out until I get a better handle on this.”

“What?” Quint says. “But, I barely ever - I don’t get sent - I’m-”

He’s reeling, because the way Enker is wording this, that’s a direct order to stay in, and Bass won’t be able to circumvent that. They’ve gone out once or twice since last month, and it’s always so… freeing. He needs that. This feels like a leash being tightened around his neck.

But he still hasn’t told them about Bass, and there’s no way to get into that without admitting he’s been hiding a major part of his life for them for quite some time. Quint’s words die on his throat.

Ballade sends him a sympathetic look.

“Look, I know you got me out of that situation with Proto Man,” he says, “but you’re not exactly equipped to deal with some kind of sci-fi supersword.”

“I’m not helpless,” Quint says.

“Unless they happen to have a cat,” Punk snorts.

“That’s a low blow,” Quint pouts.

“It’s not up for debate,” Enker says. His voice rings with finality. He stands up and starts limping to the door. “Now, I’m going to the repair bay. Keep out of trouble.”

“Don’t we always?” Ballade says.

Quint hunches forward and buries his face in his arms.

Great.

Bass catches up to Quint later that day, as he’s on his way back from a mind-numbing shift cleaning one of the spike chambers. It’s about Quint’s least favourite job, next to anything that requires him to be in physical proximity with the mad scientist himself.

“Hey,” Bass says, jogging in from a side hallway. His tone is… totally genial. Quint is almost a little confused at the lack of his usual gruffness.

“Hey, Bass,” he says, waving a small and redundant wave. “You’re in a good mood.”

Bass makes a face at him and he laughs.

“Don’t go and ruin it,” Bass says, shoving him. “Hey, do you like beaches?”

“Uh, yeah, I love beaches,” Quint cocks his head to the side. “It’s been a while since I went swimming.”

“Swi- Wait, you can swim?” Bass frowns, one eyebrow raising skeptically. “You’re made of metal.”

“Well yeah,” Quint shrugs, “but I’m also made of plastics and polymers and coolant is oil-based and - well, I can’t remember how dad explained it, but I’m pretty close to neutrally buoyant. Why?”

“I dunno, I just thought it might be a place to go,” Bass says, “I did… Research. And stuff. There are crowds. It’s normal people shit.”

“Hey, I’m all for it,” Quint says, and then sighs. “But… I can’t. I’m grounded.”

Bass regards him for a full five seconds before speaking.

“Grounded… as in…” he finally prompts.

“Enker got into a fight with some mystery robot on a mission and now I’m, just me, stuck here ‘cause they think I can’t handle myself in a fight.” Quint crosses his arms and tries not to think about how he’s probably visibly pouting.

“They’re right,” Bass says, without any hesitation.

“Oh, not you too,” Quint says.

“In a straight fight, you’d get creamed,” Bass says, leaning back on the metallic hallway wall with a thunk. “Maybe if you had your actual fucking weapons you’d be fine, but you don’t. You’ve got a pogo stick and your plucky fuckin’ spirit. The thing with Ballade? You had backup and quick thinking and just happened to know your opponent really well. And even then you had to be bailed out.”

Quint deflates.

“Yeah, but I only ever go anywhere with you, anyway,” he mutters. “You’d be fine.”

“So tell Enker that,” Bass says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Quint sighs and leans against the opposite wall, crossing his arms.

“I’m not sure how they’re gonna react,” Quint says. “I didn’t tell them ‘cause I didn’t want to, uh, tell them what I was helping you with. But now it’s like… It’s gotten big. And now I really really care what they think, and I don’t want Ballade to take it personally again and… ugh.”

“That sucks,” Bass says, somewhat dispassionately. “Am I stuck getting you out of this if I want to take your dumb ass anywhere?”

“Is that an offer to help?” Quint asks.

“What do you think?” Bass rolls his eyes.

“Well… thanks,” Quint says, standing up straight. He smiles. “It means a lot, but I think I need to figure this out myself.”

Bass snorts.

“Fine, but you better figure it out while I’m beating your ass at Wonder vs. Capcom,” he says, pulling himself up as well and poking Quint hard in the chest. Quint grins up at him.

“That’s impossible, ‘cause it’s you who’s gonna get beat down,” he says.

“Oh it’s fucking on, Greenie.” Bass grins back, and they take off down the hallway towards Bass’ room.

Around the corner and out of sight, in the depths of the shadows, Shadow Man listens to their retreating footsteps.

He waits until long after they’re gone before he dares to voice the thought at the forefront of his mind.

“What,” he says under his breath, “the hell?”

“So I hung out with Roll,” Bass says out of nowhere, interrupting a carefully-considered decision between the best two fighters to add to Quint’s team composition on the select screen.

All tactical consideration over whose super would best complement Captain Star-Spangle’s Freedom Barrage goes completely out of the window to process this new, different information. A plethora of questions flash by and on reaction he reaches out and takes the stupidest one.

“You hung out with Roll?” Quint asks.

“Yeah,” Bass says. “I was. You know. Taking your advice. Practicing hanging out and shit.”

“Oh,” Quint says. “I just didn’t know you guys were talking at all.”

Bass frowns.

“I might’ve kept the dumb comm they gave me. The one I told you about,” he says, gesturing out at the rest of his room. Quint guesses the radio must be stashed away somewhere. “Anyway, you don’t look very happy about it. What gives?”

“I’m happy about it!” Quint protests. He bites his lip when he realizes that, no, he’s not totally happy about it.

He’s jealous.

“I…” Quint falters. “It’s good that you’ve got someone else to hang out with. Especially since I can’t go out right now.”

Bass has fixed him with a studying gaze. He’s frowning, game totally forgotten.

“You’ll be able to get out of here again eventually,” he says, finally.

“I know,” Quint says.

But why would you want to hang out with me over literally anyone else? he thinks.

And now that he’s thinking about it, is this why he’s been so okay with not making any actual progress? Because once Bass actually is in with Rock, he won’t have as much time for him?

Bass is talking and Quint, lost for a second in that paralyzing realization, shakes himself mentally and tries to catch up.

“-ust as irritating as ever, too,” Bass says. “She kept kicking me under the table for swearing. Who cares if there are a bunch of brats around? They’re gonna hear it anyway.”

“Not usually from other five-year-olds,” Quint says, and Bass snorts and shoves him. “Anyway, that’s Roll. She likes things clean, y’know?”

“She’s fucking fierce about it,” Bass says, folding his arms above his head. “If Rock hates fighting so much, how’d miss kicks-a-lot end up on the sidelines?”

Quint frowns.

“I… Rock… Both of us, I guess. It was never about how much I hated fighting,” he says. “It was about what would happen if I didn’t.”

Bass’ arms lower from their exaggerated position and he folds them on his lap, suddenly looking thoughtful.

“You fight for something else. The future and shit,” he says. His voice is pensive.

“The future, well, you know how that turned out,” Quint lets a dry chuckle escape him. “But, yeah, it was about making the world a better place. So humans and robots could live in peace. Now…”

“Now?” Bass prompts.

“Now I just want to protect the people I care about,” Quint says. “I’m too weak to do anything else, and sometimes I’m too weak even to do that. But I want to fight for their futures, now, too.”

Quint, whose gaze had dropped down to the controller in his lap as he spoke, looks up at Bass. The taller robot looks more thoughtful than he’s ever seen him, a serene sort of expression gracing his features.

“Proto Man once told me I couldn’t ever beat Mega Man until I fought for something other than myself,” he says.

“That’s rich coming from him,” Quint mumbles. Bass raises an eyebrow.

“What about it?” he asks. “I thought Proto Man always came and saved Mega Man’s ass.”

“Maybe here,” Quint sighs, pulling his knees up and hugging them. “He saved me exactly once, and then took off. After that I didn’t really need saving, ‘cause there was barely any more fighting.”

“So you weren’t close,” Bass says.

“Didn’t have a chance to be,” Quint mutters darkly.

He thinks back to their battle a month ago and pushes down the wellspring of emotion that comes with it. He doesn’t want to think about it. Bass looks uncertain of what to do, but to his great credit, Quint feels a light pressure on his shoulder as Bass places his hand there awkwardly.

“That sucks,” Bass says.

“Thanks,” Quint says, forcing up the smile that that huge of a gesture deserves. “I, um, I guess I always hoped that he - or someone - would find me, here, realize what happened and get me out of this place. Maybe I feel a little bitter about that, too.”

“Hey, at least you had that to hang on to,” Bass sort of maneuvers the shoulder-hold into a (very awkward) pat before letting go. “Lots of us were just built by Wily. No one’s gonna rescue us.”

“Couldn’t you leave?” Quint asks. “Not everyone could, but you’re, I dunno, different.”

“I’ve thought about it.” Bass frowns. He crosses his arms. “But what the hell would I do? I’m made for beating Mega Man. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do when I have that - him. My feelings are just, fucking, punching me in the gut here.”

“I’ve got a feeling that whatever you decide on, you’re probably gonna get it,” Quint says, a much more genuine smile coming across his face. “You’re pretty cool that way.”

“Pffft whatever,” Bass rolls his eyes, reaching out lazily to shove Quint. Quint rolls with it and bounces back as Bass’ arm recedes. “Pick your character, it’s been like a thousand years.”

“Alright, alright,” Quint sighs, picking the controller up and trying to reclaim the train of thought that had been derailed earlier. “Whippersnapper,” he adds.

“Fossil,” Bass shoots back. Quint grins.

When Blues strolls into Shadow Man’s little nook of the fortress, whistling to himself, he’s surprised to see it well-lit for once. The walls of the room that his boyfriend currently claims are packed with shelves, displaying neatly-organized trinkets, machinery, tools, and various simulacra of frogs.

The frogs are the most personal touch by far, ranging from plush representations to functioning security robots. Somewhere, he knows, there’s a souped-up go kart from the Battle and Chase tournament, also frog-shaped. It’s very endearing.

Right now, though, one of the walls is covered with a board, and the worktable has been cleared from the centre of the room. The board is…

“Is that a conspiracy board?” Blues asks, wandering up next to Shadow Man.

Shadow Man, who hasn’t moved a synthetic muscle in his intense concentration on the contents of the board since Blues came in, nods.

“I witnessed an event so inconceivable that I feel duty-bound to explain it,” he says.

Blues smirks.

“Don’t you think that’s going a little overboard?” he says, resting a hand on Shadow Man’s shoulder.

“First, hah,” Shadow Man says, rolling his eyes, “and secondly, while gathering information about Quint, I discovered that he and Bass seem to be on friendly terms.”

“That’s -” Blues’ smirk falters, “That’s impossible. Are you sure?”

“I know what I heard,” Shadow Man says.

“Bass doesn’t have friends,” Blues says. “He’s the most selfish person, possibly, in the world. One time, King cut me in half -”

“And he called King weak and ignored you,” Shadow Man says.

“And he called King weak and ignored me,” Blues finishes.

“It’s not like he doesn’t have a reputation here for wanton violence,” Shadow Man hums. He brings a hand up to his chin, considering.

The board itself, Blues notes now that he’s paying attention, has a lot of question marks around Quint.

“So we don’t know a lot about the other half of the equation either,” he says.

Shadow Man’s brow furrows and he turns.

“What we know about Quint is that he was stolen from the Chronos Institute to add to Wily’s ranks not too long after my generation’s war. He commanded some of my brothers, along with some of the second generation, and ultimately failed to stop Mega Man’s incursion into the fortress. After that, he was placed under Enker’s command and became part of the Mega Man Killers,” he says.

Blues walks over and rolls out the worktable, just to have somewhere to swing up and sit. His scarf’s fabric pools just behind his hand.

“Right,” Blues says, “That’s all common knowledge around here.”

“He’s known as the weakest member of that team, and until now I’ve heard very little about him other than that he prefers to spend his downtime playing video games,” Shadow Man says, starting to pace. He’s counting off facts on his fingers, which Blues watches and files away to appreciate later. “In other words, on the surface, the robot Quint is about as unnotable as it’s possible to be.”

“So why does the Chronos Institute want him back after more than a decade?” Blues asks, drumming his fingers on the edge of the worktable.

“Some things don’t add up,” Shadow Man says. “Aside from apparently accomplishing the impossible with Bass. He’s the only member of the Mega Man Killers not to have been built by Wily himself, and any information about his specifications is absurdly high clearance.”

“And it went under your nose this whole time,” Blues whistles appreciatively. “I get the wall now. This guy must be some kind of chessmaster of subterfuge.”

“Hey, where were you last night?” Ballade asks, slotting another chip into the frame of the board. Quint squints at the configuration of the pieces before putting in another of his red ones. “After training.”

“I, uhhh, I was…” Quint bites his lip. “Taking a walk.”

“For two hours?” Ballade raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Quint says.

Ballade sighs and drops in another black piece.

“Four across,” he proclaims.

“Best six out of ten?” Quint says, glumly pulling out the rail on the bottom of the board. The pieces fall down with a clatter.

“Maybe so,” Shadow Man muses.

“Well, now I’m curious,” Blues hops off the table and loops his arms around Shadow Man’s waist.

“It would be unwise to hand over a robot of unknown capability to the whims of your mysterious employers,” Shadow Man says, in a low voice, leaning right into his ear.

“Not without investigating,” Blues says, running circles in his back idly with his fingers. “A very thorough investigation. We’ll have to put our heads together.”

“I was hoping you’d see it my way.” Shadow Man all but purrs. Blues feels the other robot grin into the crook of his neck.

“You’re very persuasive,” Blues says, mentally calculating the distance to the worktable behind him. “Hit the lights?”

Shadow Man snaps and the room is plunged into darkness.

Drama queen, Blues thinks, hypocritically, before moving on to more pressing things.

When Shadow Man finally shows up again, Quint is so tired of jumping at shadows that he only flinches as the ninja ‘bot appears unexpectedly around a corner. He’s not on one of his semi-regular jaunts to Bass’ room at the moment, so that’s something; he’s actually barely two hallway blocks down from the Mega Man Killers’ quarters.

“Hi, Shadow Man,” Quint says, voice dripping with resignation.

A frown flashes over Shadow Man’s features, but it’s gone as soon as it appears.

“Quint,” he says. “I have some questions for you.”

“Yeah, you said so last time,” Quint says. And because he’s in a bad mood, he adds, “And you were kind of threatening me, too.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘threatening’.” Shadow Man strokes his chin. “Just some making some... observations.”

“I don’t know why you’re even interested,” Quint says, crossing his arms. “I’m not important or anything. I’m not a threat.”

“So there’s nothing out of the ordinary about you whatsoever,” Shadow Man says.

Quint grimaces.

“That’s -”

“Hey, leave him alone,” a voice cuts in. Quint looks over his shoulder to see Ballade approaching.

“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” Shadow Man says mildly. His posture is anything but casual. Honestly, Quint isn’t sure if he can picture Shadow Man doing anything close to slouching. The guy probably practices the ‘stoic ninja’ look in the mirror.

“Yeah, and I’m a Light-bot,” Ballade snorts. “Push off, you creep.”

Thank you, Ballade. Quint feels a surge of relief. He’s not sure how he would have deflected that line of questioning had it continued. It’s a good thing that Shadow Man caught him so close to their home base.

“I was only asking him about Bass,” Shadow Man says, the pinnacle of innocence.

Quint stiffens.

Oh no. This wasn’t a mistake on Shadow Man’s part at all.

“About Bass? ” Ballade scoffs. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. All we know about Bass is that he’s a -”

“Ballade, let’s go,” Quint cuts in, turning to grab Ballade’s arm and tug on it.

“Really,” Shadow Man says, with a click of his tongue. “You don’t know a thing about it at all? I expected that he’d have shared something.”

Despite Quint’s tugging, Ballade is rooted to the spot. He’s very slowly frowning, brow furrowing as he takes in what Shadow Man is saying.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“Ballade, please,” Quint tugs again, but it’s like pulling on a statue. Ballade is a lot bulkier than he is.

“Just your teammate’s little dalliance with Bass,” Shadow Man says, with the air of someone discussing the weather. Quint freezes.

“What!? It’s not like that at all! ” he protests, holding his hands out in front of him. “We’re just friends!”

“I’m sorry, what? ” Ballade says, pivoting on the spot to face Quint. “When did this happen? The last time I saw you two in the same room he was choking you out against the wall!”

“It’s a long story,” Quint flinches back, because Ballade is towering over him and he looks absolutely livid. “Which, I was, I was going to tell you, I was trying to work out how to tell you!”

“That’s where you’ve been going on your ‘walks’, huh?” Ballade says, with finger quotes. “What does Bass have to offer you that we don’t? We’re your team!”

Quint, eager to find somewhere to look other than Ballade, glances over at Shadow Man. He’s watching the proceedings with what looks like genuine interest. Quint grits his teeth.

“Ballade,” he says, “Can we please not do this here? I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

Ballade draws back coldly, pulling himself up to his full height.

“Oh, would you like some time to figure out how to defend that guy? Wily’s rabid dog?” he practically spits it out. “I don’t know what he’s done to you, but it’s not okay.”

Quint stills.

“He’s not like that,” he says.

“Please,” Ballade says, “It’s Bass. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone, that he can do whatever he wants. He destroys whoever he feels like he can get away with-”

“He’s better than you think he is!” Quint shouts.

It sounds uncharacteristically vehement even to his own ears, and he realizes his hands are balled up into fists at his side. Ballade is staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

“All that stuff you said is true,” Quint continues. The words are pouring out of him, now, like there’s a pressure pushing them out. “But he’s also someone who tries to improve, even when it’s not something that comes easy to him! And yeah, he’s a jerk, but he never had a team, Ballade! Maybe you’d be exactly the same if Enker and Punk and me weren’t around, so why’s it okay to trash-talk him for that? Plus, you know what, if it weren’t for him neither of us would even be standing here!”

“Are you serious?” Ballade says. “You’re going to give him credit for that? Bass picks fights with Mega Man all the time- ”

“He was there when I got the call,” Quint grits out. “Trust me, he wouldn’t’ve come if I wasn’t there.”

“Trust- Quint, I want to trust you!” Ballade throws his hands up. “You have no idea how much I want to trust you, but how can I when you keep on keeping things from me?”

“I was going to tell you, I just…” Quint exhales, running a hand over his helmet. “I thought you’d be mad. And I was right.”

“I’m mad because it took this guy prying it out of you for you to tell me.” Ballade gestures to Shadow Man.

“Don’t mind me,” Shadow Man says.

“Oh, piss off,” Ballade growls.

“Yeah, go away,” Quint echoes miserably.

Shadow Man shrugs and steps back, melting into the shadows. Ballade punches the wall where he’d dematerialized for good measure, a clang ringing out through the hallway.

“I’m also mad because Bass is a total psycho and you could have gotten hurt,” he says, more softly.

“He’s not, and Ballade…” Quint sighs heavily, falling back to lean against the wall. “I’m so tired of being treated like I’m made out of fine china. Do you really think that after everything I’ve been through that I can’t handle myself?”

“I don’t know,” Ballade says, rubbing his knuckles. “You always act so… sad. Like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We didn’t - I didn’t - I just wanted you to be able to be happy for once.”

Quint lets that sink in for a moment.

“Ballade… I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ballade sighs.

“Do you think that Enker’s gonna order me not to see Bass anymore?” Quint asks, voice very small.

“Does he make you happy?” Ballade asks. There’s something foreign in his tone that Quint can’t really place, but he nods, because it’s true.

“Yeah,” he says.

Ballade lets out a long sigh and claps him on the shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get back. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can figure out how to string up Shadow Man.”

“‘Kay,” Quint says, letting himself be guided back towards their home base by Ballade’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

Bass knows that someone unwelcome is approaching his door before the knock sounds out, because Treble’s ears go flat under his elbow and he starts growling. It’s a low sound at first, but by the time Bass hears the boots out in the hall outside of his room he feels it reverberate up his arm.

He’s propped against Treble in one of those odd positions that doesn’t look comfortable but, improbably, is. He’s got his huge boots tucked under and stuck off to the side and he’s leaning against Treble with one elbow perched on the tip of the wolf’s conical neck to brace a component and a soldering iron in the other hand.

He sighs irritably, putting both component and tool down and extricating himself from Treble.

What Bass doesn’t expect is the identity of the visitor. He’d thought, based on what Quint had mentioned offhand, that it would probably be Shadow Man. Or maybe the old man coming around to bother him, as happens every once in a while. Instead, Ballade is standing there with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bass asks, wiping his hands together to get rid of some loose particulate.

“Enker wants to see you,” Ballade says. It’s terse.

“So what?” Bass asks, and Treble growls an affirmation as he saunters up to lurk at Bass’ side.

“Enker wants to see you about Quint,” Ballade says.

Oh, this is going to be one of those days.

“What does he need with me?” Bass leans up against his door frame and crosses his arms. He’s certain that his crossed arms are much more intimidating than Ballade’s. “If Quint is grounded or whatever seems like it’s between you assholes.”

Ballade rolls his eyes.

“Look, Enker wants to make sure you’re not pulling anything funny with a member of our team,” he says. “And Quint, for whatever reason, wants to be able to spend time with you, so if you do actually give a damn about him you’ll come.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘for whatever reason’?” Bass’ lip curls.

“Well…” Ballade looks him up and down, eyes flickering over Treble briefly before meeting Bass’ eyes again. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t see the appeal.”

“And he said you weren’t a dick anymore,” Bass says.

“Anymore?” Ballade says.

“Whatever,” Bass says, waving over him, “I’ll come to your lame clubhouse and Enker can say whatever bullshit makes him happy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly how it’s going to go,” Ballade says, stepping out to give Bass room to follow.

The room that the Mega Man Killers reside in is barely different from the last time Bass was there, but to be fair the last time he was there he was in a near-blind rage. The TV in the corner, which he assumes is Quint’s, is a newer model than last time, though it’s still attached to the same well-worn old gaming console. Now that he knows to look, he sees the label for Boulevard Brawler II just visible from this angle. There’s still just the one table near the centre of the room, lit by a lone hanging lamp.

Enker is sitting at that table, playing at looking important. His cold, dark green eyes follow Bass and Treble as they enter. Ballade shuffles to the side of the entrance and closes the door behind them. Punk is standing behind Enker like some kind of enforcer.

Quint is actually sitting in the chair to Enker’s left, looking apprehensive. He brightens as Bass looks over at him, perking up and giving him a little wave and half-smile.

Bass scowls and pointedly does not sit down, coming to a stop behind the chair opposite Enker.

“All right, what do you want?” he asks.

“Uhhh, Bass, please hear him out-” Quint starts, but Enker raises a hand and he cuts himself off and shrinks back into his chair.

“Are you threatening or in any way blackmailing a member of my team?” Enker asks, voice completely even.

Bass scoffs.

“No,” he says. “Damn, if you give everyone the third fucking degree like this it’s no wonder he doesn’t have any -”

“Have you at any point threatened or blackmailed a member of my team?” Enker cuts him off, smoothly.

Fuck.

“Who cares?” Bass spits. “Anyway, it’s not that simple.”

“Oh, really.” Punk says.

“Actually, it was more, um, a mutual…” Quint starts, and trails off as Bass turns sharply to glare at him.

“Oh yeah, I can definitely tell this is based on mutual respect,” Ballade snarks from the door. Treble turns to growl at him openly and he tenses, weapon arm up.

“Shut the hell up,” Bass says.

“Oh, why don’t you make me?” Ballade sneers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bass sees Quint looking between the two of them in alarm.

“Stand down, Ballade,” Enker says. Ballade visibly forces himself to relax against the wall, still scowling. He returns his attention to Bass, unruffled. “And save your aggression, Bass. Quint’s filled us in on the broad strokes.”

“How broad?” Bass asks, gaze flickering over to a fidgeting Quint.

“He ordered me,” Quint says quietly.

“We know you’re trying to score a date with our sworn enemy, for one,” Punk says.

Bass sees red.

“That is none of your fucking business,” he says, slamming his fists down on the table. Quint jumps as the rickety thing threatens to buckle, but Enker just keeps on staring at him.

“I’m not sure if you paid enough attention to remember our name,” Enker says, sitting back almost casually and fuck him, fuck that guy, but he’s still talking, “but we’re the Mega Man Killers. It’s our business.”

“And what,” Bass asks, leaning far over the table as he can, to get as close to Enker’s infuriating face as he can, “the fuck do you plan to do about it?”

In the corner of his mind that isn’t occupied by unending rage, he registers the slight quiver on Quint’s lips. Then that corner of his mind is filled with something else, something raw and painful, and he refocuses on how much he wants to kill Enker.

“I’m sure that we can come to an accord that benefits everyone,” Enker says. “Wily doesn’t have to know about this.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” Bass snarls.

“What goes around comes around,” Punk says, smugly, and that really is it.

“You can take that offer and shove it!” Bass spins around, stalking out of the room. “I don’t give a fuck about what Wily thinks.”

He’s lying, of course. The mad doctor might have tolerated an absolutely tremendous amount of bullshit up until now, but that was because Bass was - is - his most powerful robot. The only one with a chance in hell of beating Mega Man. If Dr. Wily finds out that Bass has wavered in his one and only purpose…

He’s not ready. He’s not ready yet to go out on his own. He needs access to components and facilities and maintenance that he can’t get on his own.

“Wait, Bass!” Quint calls after him. “He’s not done.”

Bass spares a look over his shoulder. Treble is, of all places, standing next to Quint, who at some point while Bass wasn’t looking threaded his fingers between Treble’s ears in a soothing gesture. Soothing for who, he’s not sure. Quint’s lost a dog, after all.

He can’t see all of Quint’s face, but he knows - he knows the look on his face. He’s stricken, blue eyes blown wide and hurt.

Bass grits his teeth.

“You gonna leave now?” Ballade asks. His voice is low enough the the others probably can’t hear - they’re both so close to the door.

“Fuck off,” Bass says, barely louder.

“You don’t deserve how much he believes in you,” Ballade shoots back, and for one moment, one long horrible moment, time seems to slow down as the meaning of those words hits Bass.

“Treble. Come.” Bass says, not looking back. He strides through the door and, once Treble catches up with him, closes it behind him with a heavy slam.

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Bass leans back against the rocky overhang. It continues up a few feet over his standing height, one of the larger geological irregularities on the large swathe of untamed land that LightLabs resides upon. The Lights have a lab and apartment in the city, too, he remembers - that’s where he had spent time being repaired when he first met them. But apparently, most of the time, they live in a quaint little house surrounded by a white picket fence out in the countryside. It’s the only house for a few miles around, and really, when you have teleporting technology, who cares about location?

So this is where he runs, he thinks, with a stab of self-hatred. Right into enemy territory.

Roll is sitting to his left, legs crossed. She’s making a visible effort to ignore the fact that her dress is getting dirty, which in any other situation would be entertaining.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. Petulantly.

Roll’s face tells him that she’s not buying it. Not even a little.

But he’s not ready, not yet. Even though he had called her and he insisted they meet alone.

“Did something happen with your friend?” she asks, after a lengthy pause, because apparently she’s psychic or someshit.

“You said no one came back,” Bass says, grasping onto the first unrelated thing that comes to mind. “What about Proto Man?”

“What?” Roll blinks.

“Before, at the beach,” he says. “You said - I was the first one who came back, and gave Ro- Mega Man hope. But his stupid asshole brother has been around this whole time, hasn’t he?”

“That’s my stupid brother too,” Roll reminds him, and cocks her head to the side. “I guess I wasn’t counting Blues. He’s family, so…”

“Yeah, but what if he hadn’t?” Bass presses. “He’s got his whole lone wolf schtick going on, so why’d he bother giving you the time of day?”

I resent that, Treble huffs. He’s squeezed in between them, enjoying Roll’s absent petting.

“Blues can be…” Roll bites her lip.

“A dick?” Bass supplies.

“... Selfish,” Roll finishes, shaking her head. “He can really get wrapped up in his own business, and he and dad don’t get along, but he loves us. He loves Rock.”

“Everyone does.” Bass mutters.

“That’s because Rock has the opposite problem,” Roll sighs. “He’s too selfless sometimes. He tries to solve everything for everyone, even when he can’t handle it.”

“The way everyone says it, you wouldn’t know it,” Bass frowns. The words are coming a little easier now. “And isn’t that good? Being selfless is supposed to be good, right?”

“Being selfless is great up until a point,” Roll says, propping up her chin with an elbow on her knee. “But it’s not bad to be selfish as long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

Bass snorts derisively. As long as you’re not hurting anyone…

“For example, I’m going to be selfish and say...” Roll says, and she actually takes her pointer finger and squishes it right into Bass’ cheek, causing him to jerk back as though electrified, “I’m really curious about this friend of yours and I’m not your life coach, so you better tell me about it if you expect me to help you.”

Bass weighs his options.

“Fine,” he snaps, rubbing his cheek like some dirt got stuck on it.

“Good,” Roll says primly, sitting up a little and giving him an expectant look.

He doesn’t tell her the whole story. The whole story is beyond embarrassing and he’d promised Quint not to blow his cover besides. But he tells her about Quint, and their hangouts, and their outings, and gives a thoroughly unbiased (but edited to leave out Rock’s tertiary involvement) account of Enker’s horseshit.

At the end of it, Bass isn’t sure what to make of the look Roll is giving him. Her eyes are practically shining with… Excitement? And she’s got both hands cupped around her mouth. She’s stifled a few of what Bass would hesitantly identify as delighted gasps.

“That’s so r-” she says, and then appears to catch herself mid-sentence and change course, “adorable.”

“Fucking kill me.” Bass rolls his eyes.

Then she punches him in the arm.

“Ow!” He hisses, jumping back. “What the hell!”

“You just left him there?” Roll says.

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Bass growls. “I’ve never given in to a threat in my life. I’m not going to let commander asswipe there order me around!”

“Well what are you going to do about Quint? ” Roll stands up and puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t you want to be able to see him?”

“Yes!” Bass jumps to his feet as well, to Treble’s vocal displeasure. “Fuck, yes, okay, I do, alright?”

“Well, what’s more important to you?” Roll asks, completely unfazed. “Your ego or your friend?”

Bass wipes a hand over his face and curls it into a fist.

“I could just kill all of them,” he grumbles. “Then there’d be no one to boss him around.”

“Do you think he would be happy if you did that?” Roll asks.

“Fuck. No,” Bass groans. He lets his head fall back against the rock face with a thunk. “Nothing ever used to be this complicated.”

“People are complicated,” Roll says, more softly. She puts a hand on his forearm, just sort of leaving it there. Somehow, it comes off as heartfelt and not awkward. “You’re used to being alone, but if you want to have other people, you’ve got to be ready to think about what they want, too.”

“Proto Man called me selfish,” Bass says. It’s the first thing to come to mind.

“That sounds like him,” Roll smiles. “He really doesn’t hold back.”

“I’m not some goody two-shoes like your brother,” he says.

“You don’t have to be,” she says, “if you want.”

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” Bass says, swallowing.

Roll snorts, and he frowns.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, sharply.

“I think you know what you want,” she says, withdrawing her hand to hold her chin up and stroke it impudently.

“Oh really,” Bass crosses his arms.

“I think, ” she says, crossing her arms to mimic him, “that you want to go in there and get your friend back.”

I think she’s got your number, Treble puts in.

“Shut up, you’re not a part of this.” Bass shoots the wolf a venomless glare.

“Treble agrees with me,” Roll grins. “You wanna go get your friend back, and -” her eyes gain a distant glimmer, “- hang out with him forever and ever.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Bass leans back from the intensity of the blonde’s gaze. He recoils even further when she waves a finger in his face.

“Bass Wily, so help me you had better sort this out.” she says.

“Okay?” He says. “Fuck, okay. I’ll… I’ll go back. You weirdo.”

“I expect you to tell me how it went,” she sniffs.

“Just to be clear, I was planning this anyway,” he says, ignoring that hook for commitment. “I’m not doing this because you told me to.”

“Good,” Roll says, smiling.

Ballade is saying something, but Quint isn’t really hearing it. He’s playing Boulevard Brawler, but he’s just going through the motions on arcade mode. Playing the game is totally rote at this point.

He hadn’t even stayed to hear Enker out.

Oh, he’s mad at Enker, too. And Ballade. And Punk. He’s mad at all of them, for baiting Bass. But it’s overshadowed by the hollow feeling that Bass left. Like he took something important with him when he stalked out the door.

Quint wants to leave, to be alone, but what’s the point? The only other place he would go is off-limits, and Shadow Man is still lurking around waiting for moments of emotional vulnerability. He refuses to give him that satisfaction.

“... was thinking we’d call it bunny mode,” Punk says, when Quint finally tunes into the conversation the others are having. “Because they look ridiculous.”

“Oh, leave it,” Ballade says. He sounds irritated.

“Or we could go eighties and call it ‘Power Ballade’,” Punk continues.

Quint hears the familiar and distinct sound of Punk getting punched half-heartedly. It’s a sort of dull clang.

"You're just mad because Bass got you two in one," Punk says.

There’s a much more alarming series of sounds, a shuffle of what Quint assumes is the chairs and the table and then a much sharper and louder clang. Quint finally pulls himself out of his stupor long enough to look behind him.

Punk is actually laid out on the floor. Ballade is standing over him with his fists curled up tightly and balled at his sides.

“Shut up,” Ballade growls.

“Children,” Enker cuts in, exasperated.

“Stop fighting,” Quint says, and everyone looks in his direction. He’s too drained to care. “Just… Please stop fighting.”

“Quint…” Ballade’s fists uncurl.

“Oof,” Punk grunts, pulling himself up. He walks over to Quint’s little corner and drops down next to him. “Hey, I’m sorry it worked out that way, Quint. But now you know, right?”

“Know what?” Quint puts down his controller, frowning. “That if you push Bass’ buttons he gets mad? ”

“I was thinking more along the lines of knowing he’s an ass,” Punk says.

“I know that!” All of that mad finally boils to the surface, and Quint throws up his hands. “He’s a jerk sometimes, but if you get to know him, he’s not actually a bad person, okay? Of course he left. You didn’t give him a real chance!”

“Oh, for - stop defending him!” Ballade says. “He barely even came in the first place, Quint. He doesn’t actually care about you. That guy doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Quint’s hands are shaking and he’s swallowing thickly around the words that need to come out.

“You’re wrong -”

“He’s not coming back! ” Ballade yells.

Everyone falls deadly silent.

Before anyone can recover themselves, before Enker can intercede, before Quint can even get out a strangled sob -

- the door flies open, propelled by Bass’ boot. It swings around on its hinges and slams into the inside wall. Bass stands there wreathed in some kind of greenish firey energy, which dies down to a more metaphorical aura of menace as he locks eyes with Ballade.

“Wow, look at you, being fucking wrong,” he says, with a sneer. “That’s surprising.”

“Bass!” The name tears itself from Quint’s throat of its own accord. He’s pulling himself to his feet. “You came back!”

“I said I would,” Bass says, striding into the room like he owns the place. “So you don’t have to sound so surprised. Damn.”

Quint blinks, confused for a second. Then it hits him.

Oh, he did offer to help, didn’t he? Quint thinks. He hadn’t exactly forgotten so much as the offer was so roundabout that it hadn’t really registered as a promise.

Either way, as Bass flops into one of their folding chairs and puts his boots up on their table, to Enker’s visible annoyance, Quint is smiling like an idiot.

Ballade looks at his expression for a second with what looks like a twinge of guilt before looking away.

“Well this is a turnaround,” Enker says, gathering up playing cards and fitting them into their box. Punk reaches over and tugs one from under Bass’ boot. “Thought through the consequences?”

“Like I said, I don’t care what the old man thinks,” Bass says. Treble slinks in from the door behind him and curls up at the base of the chair, giving each of the Mega Man Killers with the exception of Quint the stink-eye.

“I’m sure,” Enker says, taking the last card from Punk and sliding it into the deck. He closes the deck box, a shoddy cardboard affair, with a decisive motion.

“So what’s this deal I was supposed to listen to?” Bass asks, reaching down with one arm and lazily scratching Treble behind the ears. “I don’t have all day.”

Enker leans forward and stares Bass down coolly.

“It’s simple,” Enker says. “You publicly join the Mega Man Killers.”

“What? ” Punk starts from where he’s standing beside Enker. “But he’s-”

Enker holds up a hand.

“Emphasis on publicly,” he says. “You don’t have to intermingle with us as a group. You don’t have to be formally under my command. But you do have to ally with us. Your reputation is fearsome, which is valuable to me.”

Bass scowls.

“What’s in this for me?” he says. “Oh wait, I know. It’s not being fucking blackmailed.”

“Free reign to spend time with Quint on his off-time, and go on your little outings,” Enker smirks. “A public excuse to be seen together without any questioning.”

A public excuse that works for both of us, Quint realizes, a slow grin spreading across his face. So even if Shadow Man says anything, it’ll be falling into Enker’s version of the story.

Bass peers at Enker over his boots.

“That’s it? That’s the whole deal?” he asks, voice wary. “You just want me to get up on a soapbox and say I joined your little club.”

“And count yourself as our ally should the need arise, yes.” Enker says.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Bass asks.

“Colour me surprised you don’t know the meaning of that word,” Punk says, rolling his eyes.

“I know what the word means, pincushion,” Bass narrows his eyes at Punk. “I’m asking what you expect.”

“Stay close, to Quint at least. Don’t sell us out,” Enker says, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Clearly it’s too late to ask you to do your job, but those are the perks of not being an official member, I suppose. You have the freedom to go where you please, which I may call on in the event of an emergency.”

There’s a beat where Bass is clearly considering it, and Quint swallows.

“Hmph,” Bass says. “Fine. Deal.”

“Yes!!” Quint pumps his fist, and every head in the room (including Treble’s) swings around to look at him. He hunches into himself, warm embarrassment washing over him.

“Uh… Yay?” he says, half-smiling as he makes eye contact with Bass. Bass looks like he’s about to die of secondhand embarrassment.

Treble’s tail is wagging.

“You better be grateful,” Bass grouses.

“I am,” Quint smiles up at him.

They’re walking back through the fortress hallways to Bass’ room together. For the most part so far it’s been silent, but Quint takes Bass’ complaining as an end to that embargo. Quint has a spring in his step that he can’t quite hide, not that he particularly wants to. He speeds up a little and walks backwards in front of Bass, grinning.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna make it up to you, though,” he says.

“What are you doing? You’re going to fall into a spike pit and die,” Bass huffs, pulling him back by his wrist. “That shit ain’t happening after what I just went through.”

Quint laughs.

“Hey, don’t you think I know where I’m going by now?” he says.

“I think you’re going to get in trouble somehow anyway,” Bass rolls his eyes. “That’s what you are. Nothing but trouble.”

Quint slows, letting a breath out.

“I’m sorry,” he says, deflating a little. “I didn’t mean to - I just wanted to help you, and it sorta turned into this.”

He doesn’t say that ‘this’ is probably, no, definitely the best thing to happen to him in a decade.

Bass snorts.

“Yeah, of course you were,” he says, and Quint cocks his head to the side as he tries to make sense of that tone. Not sarcastic, but like there’s a joke Quint isn’t in on.

Treble’s snout presses into the small of his back from behind and nudges him forward. He complies, jogging a little to catch up with Bass, who hasn’t slowed down his pace at all. They turn a corner and there it is - the door to Bass’ room.

Bass stops short of opening the door and turns to face Quint. He’s not quite meeting his eyes.

“And now that I have permission from your dad or whatever-” Bass starts.

“Whoa, Enker is not my dad,” Quint sticks his tongue out. He makes a little gagging noise just to go that extra mile.

“You said he grounded you earlier,” Bass raises an eyebrow. “That’s the word you used. Grounded.”

“Okay, but…” Quint throws his hands up helplessly, “he’s not - okay, I’m not gonna win this but he’s not.”

“Yeah, whatever lets you sleep easier,” Bass grins. Then the grin recedes, and he scuffs the ground with his boot. “Do you, uh… Do you still want to go to the beach? Now that your team isn’t breathing down my fucking neck.”

“Oh!” Quint says, instantly brightening. “Yeah, I’d love to. We’ll need swimming trunks, though.”

“We’ll…?” Bass peers at him oddly. “Plural?”

“Aw c’mon, it’s not like you can drown,” Quint’s smile shifts into something a little more lopsided, his tone playful. “I’ll teach you how to swim.”

The look Bass gives him in return is so focused, so full of unexpected intensity, that his smile falters. He feels like his world narrows to two points of red. Quint swallows.

“Uh, unless you wanna-”

“Okay,” Bass says. “Swimming. Why the hell not.”

Just like that, the spell is over, and they’re standing in a dingy hall in Skull Fortress, five feet between them.

Quint isn’t sure when he makes the conscious decision, but he wobbles forward and before he knows it he has his arms wrapped around Bass’ middle and he’s squeezing him tightly.

Bass tenses up immediately at the contact, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away. Is he stunned? Angry? Quint chances a hesitant eye upward and finds total bewilderment looking back down at him.

“Uh,” Bass says.

“Sorry,” Quint pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. I just… Yeah. Sorry.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m just…” Bass jerkily searches for the doorknob with his hand. He finds it, grabbing twice before he actually gets a good grip on it, and pulls his door open. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Quint says, watching Treble slink in past Bass. The door shuts and he’s alone in the hallway.

He isn’t sure whether he feels more disappointed or breathless, but there’s something else there that doesn’t bear examining.

When Quint returns to the Mega Man Killers, he’s surprised to find Enker sitting around in plainclothes. His human guise is actually quite ordinary looking. He’s got black hair in a neat short style, and he’s wearing a beige light jacket over a navy blue polo shirt with straightforward jeans. In typical Wily style, the only giveaway besides some discreet seams in the synthetic flesh at some joints is his eyes, the same humanly impossible shade of dark green as always. Even so, they’re not quite as bombastic - or arresting - as Bass’ bright reds.

Enker stands when Quint arrives and nods to him. He, like everyone else, is taller (if barely) than and looks older than Quint. Which isn’t fair in the least, because he’s literally the oldest human-made robot in existence and that should come with a lot more perks.

“We’re going on a mission,” Enker says, and Quint frowns.

“I thought it was dangerous?” he says. Enker waves away his concerns with a hand.

“We’re unlikely to encounter resistance,” he says, and Punk chortles like something is funny.

“Well, uh, okay,” Quint says, and with a flash he’s back in his street clothes. Enker raises an eyebrow at the purple scarf, which Quint had totally forgotten about. He fiddles with it between two fingers self-consciously.

“Ah,” Enker says, “Impersonating Copy Mega Man. I have to give him credit.”

“It could’ve been my idea,” Quint pouts.

“Mm. I’m sure,” Enker says. He walks over to Quint and places a hand on the arm that he puts out. They disappear in a beam of light.

When Quint regains his bearings, blinking furiously, he doesn’t quite believe the information his senses are feeling him. He stares at Enker owlishly over the rim of his shades.

“Are we-?” he asks, wide eyes sliding back down to the action down in the stadium. Two teams are furiously fighting for possession of the ball, and as someone scores a goal, the whole crowd goes wild. The roar reverberates dully under their feet where they stand on the roof of one of the top boxes.

“Yes,” Enker says, already moving to sit down and settle in to watch the match. He’s regarding the action with what is unmistakable as a trained eye.

“You like soccer?” Quint asks, dumbstruck. He lowers himself to sit next to Enker, restraining the urge to let his legs dangle over the edge where he’s sure someone would spot them.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he replies, not taking his eyes off the game.

“I like soccer,” Quint says faintly.

“I know,” Enker says.

There are a few beats of silence. The game continues below, a mesmerizing back and forth as the ball bounds across the field, is captured, dribbled, returned...

“What you did with Bass,” Quint says. “It was a lot… nicer… than I was expecting.”

“How so?” Enker asks.

“Well, I mean, you said - you made such a big deal about him and, you know, him and Rock.” Quint says. He rubs a thumb over his cheek absently.

“It was never actually a concern,” Enker says. “Believe me, not having feelings for our mortal enemy isn’t a prerequisite for membership.”

“Uh, okay,” Quint’s face screws up a little as he tries and fails to parse that. “Do yo-”

“No.”

“Alright,” Quint says slowly. “Then why-?”

“Leverage,” Enker says. His eyes are still watching the players below, flicking back and forth. “It’s called lying, Quint.”

“I know what lying is,” Quint protests.

“Clearly,” Enker says, and that shuts him up nicely. “All in all, it was a net gain. Bass is a powerful ally, and through you I now have a means to his aid.”

That doesn’t sit right with Quint, and he squirms a bit in place.

“You got what you wanted either way,” he says, finally. “If he agreed, you had his name to throw around, and if he didn’t come back…”

“... He would stay away,” Enker finishes, a faint smile ghosting over his features. “I didn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’ve known you for a long time,” Quint says, frowning. He looks over to the game and then back to Enker, eyes softening. “Though, I guess not very well.”

Enker shrugs, an unusually full-body action that leads into a stretch.

“I look after my own,” he says, once he’s repositioned himself.

“Yeah,” Quint says. He’s smiling too, just a little, despite how alien and kind of uncomfortable this all feels. “You always have.”

“You’ve changed,” Enker says, humming thoughtfully. Quint blinks at the non-sequitur. “It’s unusual, but not impossible. As robots, we’re bound by our function.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” Quint says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I am built to fight. You are built to help,” Enker says. He’s tapping a finger against his knee. “And yet… You found a place fighting. A secondary purpose of your own making.”

“I don’t like fighting,” Quint ducks his head.

“No,” Enker says. “And among us, that is an irregularity. I know you’ve been unhappy.”

Quint swallows and places one hand over the other in his lap.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “I’ve just - it’s been hard.”

“I know,” Enker says.

“And I didn’t want to be a burden on everyone,” he continues, more quietly.

In a cruel juxtaposition to his words, another goal is scored below and they’re once again rocked by the crowd’s excitement.

“And…” Quint says, “even though all of this has happened, and it’s easier, I still feel like every step is a mile, sometimes. Like everyone would be better off without me.”

“We wouldn’t be,” Enker says. He doesn’t say it forcefully, or softly, but in the same tone he always speaks in. Quint bites his lip.

“You’ve changed, too,” he says. “Since I first met you. Weren’t you colder then?”

“When there was no one but myself and my function,” Enker says. He finally rips his eyes off the game and looks skywards. “You changed me. Punk changed me. Ballade changed me.”

“Oh my gosh, Bass was right.” Quint’s nose wrinkles and he exhales a short laugh despite himself.

“Do I want to know?” Enker levels him with a stare.

“No,” Quint huffs.

“Hm. I find that hard to believe,” Enker says.

“That’s kinda funny, though,” Quint says, smiling faintly down at the game.

“Mm?” Enker makes a questioning noise.

“I guess that means that if I’m a helping robot who fights, you’re a fighting robot who helps,” Quint says.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Enker says mildly. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I won’t,” Quint laughs.

They sit back and watch the game’s last few minutes unfold beneath them in companionable silence.

“Oh,” Enker adds, out of the blue. “And if he hurts you again I’ll kill him.”

“Okay,” Quint chuckles.

“I’m serious.”

Quint stops laughing.

“Hello, Blues! Earth to Blues!”

Blues is knocked out of a stupor as he feels a heavy tap, tap, tap on his noggin. He looks up from his phone to see Kalinka’s pouting face as she gingerly gives him another tap with a wrench that looks comically large in her slender hands.

It would have been impossible for her to lift it when he first met her, a tiny child buried in a too-big red jacket and stubbornly clinging to her favourite hat. He’d later learned that they’d both been presents from her mother, before she’d passed away.

It’s been almost a decade, and Kalinka isn’t tiny anymore. She’s about the same age that Roll was built to look, in her early teens. Her wavy blonde curls are longer, currently done up in a plain bun to get it out of the way. One stubborn lock has escaped its confines and has been brushed behind her ear. She’s dressed in overalls over a sky-blue T-shirt, with gloves, and it is only with the greatest reluctance that she’s given up her dear hat for practicality in the workshop.

“Sorry,” Blues says, pointedly not stowing the device because he knows that she knows that no human is the boss of his texting habits. “What were you saying?”

“I said, if you’re just going to text with your boyfriend the whole time you’re here, you may as well have stayed home!” Kalinka says. His attention recaptured, she returns to her worktable. It’s a complete and utter mess, robotic parts, circuitry and tools laid around willy-nilly. Her corner of Dr. Cossack’s lab is utterly indistinguishable from her father’s except for a brief clear area of the floor separating it like a partition. She picks up a small welding tool and mask and opens up a panel on the currently-deactivated Dive Man. “Which one of us is the teenaged girl again?”

“You wound me,” Blues says, standing up fully from his perch on a deactivated mono roader. “I’m pursuing a case of intrigue, if you have to know.”

His phone buzzes, and he pauses to check it.

SM: applied pressure on the target and found out some interesting things
SM: I dearly wish I had recorded it
SM: 8)~~~*

Blues tilts his head.

PM: What is that supposed to be?
SM: … a frog catching a fly
SM: it’s a metaphor

“Ewww, you’re smiling all weird,” Kalinka says, pausing in her work to pull up her goggles and stick out her tongue. “Gross.”

“One day you’ll understand,” Blues says, sauntering over and patting Kalinka on the shoulder that isn’t holding a live welder.

“Well, there is Ivan,” Kalinka says thoughtfully.

“Do you happen to know where he lives?” Blues says, squeezing her shoulder carefully but firmly for effect.

“Blues! ” Kalinka chides, waving the welder at him. She’s smiling, though. “Honestly, you’re worse than papa. I can take care of myself.”

Blues backs off with hands held up defensively in front of him and a smirk.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I get it. You’re not a little princess anymore, you don’t need old Blues hanging around saving you and cramping your style.”

“Please,” Kalinka rolls her eyes. “I was four.”

“Not letting it go,” Blues says with a grin.

It’s true, though, he thinks, with a hint of nostalgia. Kalinka is no longer a child. She’s smart as a whip, prodigiously so. She’s already won several robotics awards on her own merits, a fact that makes her father proud enough to go on about it at Blues for hours when he visits for repairs. Not that Blues minds.

He minded a little more when she hacked his phone to find out who he was texting a year or so back, but it’s difficult to stay mad at her.

His phone buzzes again.

SM: information gathered so far only raises more questions
SM: implied to have a positive relationship with creator, but ci only wants him back now?

Blues frowns.

PM: It might be time to go digging around the Institute.
SM: agreed
SM: already did some recon. they’ve tightened security in last few months
SM: signs of a large project being kept under wraps

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Blues mutters.

Kalinka closes the panel she was working on and looks over in his direction.

“What’s the big mystery about, anyway?” she asks, hopping off of the stool she’d been bracing herself on and shamelessly invading Blues’ space to look over his shoulder. She discards the welder on the way into a random cluster of tools.

“There’s a robot that Dr. Wily stole a while back from a place called the Chronos Institute,” Blues says. “They hired me under the table to get him back, but he’s somehow made friends with Bass, of all people. And when we looked into it, things started looking strange.”

“Oh, you mean Quint?” Kalinka asks, and Blues does a double take.

“... What?” he asks.

“Roll told me all about it,” she says, reaching into her pocket and brandishing her own phone. “She thinks, and I quote, that they are ‘oh-em-gee totally crushing on each other’.”

Blues takes a moment to process that.

“How does Roll know anything about this?” he asks, and it comes out sort of strangled. Kalinka shrugs.

“Maybe you should visit her and find out,” she says, pointedly.

Blues balks.

“She always wants me to come for dinner,” he says, “and spend time with him.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to him,” Kalinka says. “He’s your dad. He loves you.”

“Sure,” Blues says, pocketing his phone. He crosses his arms stubbornly. “That’s what everyone thinks.”

“Blues -” Kalinka says, exasperated, and Blues stands up and dusts himself off.

“I’ve got to go,” he says. “Investigating to do.”

“Ugh, if you’re going to be a baby about it,” Kalinka says, looking away. Her voice sounds hurt. “Don’t forget to grab that component you left with papa. He finished it yesterday.”

“Thanks,” Blues says, opening and closing the door to the main laboratory as he passes through. Outside in the hall, he sighs deeply, sinking against the wall. He takes out his phone again.

PM: I’ll hit the Institute tomorrow. Send me the recon data?
SM: tomorrow night, technically. it’s on the other side of the world
SM: you don’t want me to come along?
PM: I could use the challenge. It’ll clear my head.
SM: if you say so
SM: be careful
PM: Aren’t I always?
SM: not especially, no

He smiles at the screen.

“You know that she’s going to blame me when you’re gone,” Dr. Cossack’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and he looks up to see that the older man has somehow crept up on him. He’s holding a steaming mug of coffee. From Blues’ experience, he guesses that it’s probably somewhere around the man’s fourth cup today.

“You don’t have to tell her you knew,” Blues says, looking away. Dr. Cossack snorts derisively.

“She knows I do repairs on you and she’s far from stupid, my friend,” he says. “I still believe you should tell her. And your siblings, for goodness’ sake.”

“Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” Blues lets his head drop back against the wall.

“Please,” Dr. Cossack says, “why would I do that when I have robot masters to do it for me?”

Blues spots the edge of a red boot being hastily shuffled out of sight around the corner. He narrows his eyes. Ring Man, at some point down the line, is going to have a very unpleasant day.

Damn Cossack’s paranoid streak.

“No one else needs to know,” he says, finally, lowering his voice so that no one but Dr. Cossack can hear. “It’s bad enough that Dr. Light and Wily both do. I want to live my life on my terms, Mikhail.”

Dr. Cossack sighs.

“I won’t tell her,” he says, “because I owe you a great debt. But... consider it.”

“I’ll consider it,” Blues lies. “She said that component is fixed?”

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Cossack says, turning and waving Blues along. “It’s in the other lab.”

“So when are we going?”

It’s the first thing Quint asks the next time he sees Bass. He’d rushed right to Bass’ room the next day after training, pointedly ignoring Punk pretending to wipe away a tear and proclaiming how they grow up so fast.

Ballade has been sort of quiet since yesterday, but Quint thinks that maybe giving him some room might help. He hopes so.

More currently, Bass is standing on the other side of the door looking typically grumpy. It’s his default state, Quint thinks. Bass ambitiously treats every new situation like an opportunity to get properly pissed, like some kind of reverse kids’ TV show host.

“I feel so used,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You know I’ve still got to do my part of the deal, right?”

Quint rolls on the heel of his boots, bouncing in place.

“You’ve basically only gotta tell one or two people,” Quint says. “Rumour mill’d take care of the rest.”

“You just want to go to the beach right now, you greedy little fuck,” Bass’ initial mood seems to wear off and a smirk quirks at the edge of his lips.

“Can you blame me?” Quint laughs, shrugging helplessly.

“Okay, keep your goddamn shirt on,” Bass says, emerging fully from the confines of his room.

“But we’re not gonna be wearing shirts,” Quint grins.

“Fucking hell, you know what I mean!” Bass shoves him, and then won’t meet his eye for a few minutes as they move down the hall as he works what Quint presumes is the annoyance out of his system.

In the end, Bass pulls off his end of the deal in a way that Quint would call… characteristic.

“HEY ASSHOLES,” He shouts to a common room full of robot masters. Almost everyone looks up at the proclamation. A few, including Charge Man, dive for cover. “I’M PART OF THE MEGA MAN KILLERS NOW. MAYBE THEY’LL BE ABLE TO DO THEIR FUCKING JOB FOR ONCE.”

“Yeah, because you’re so great at it,” Tengu Man calls out. Air Man and Gyro Man sidle away from where they were standing next to him.

“What the fuck did you say?” Bass asks, eyes narrowing at what is very quickly becoming a gap in the crowd occupied solely by Tengu Man as everyone develops a limited kind of future vision.

“I said you’ve had plenty of chances to kill Mega Man and you completely blow it every ti-”

“Did you have to totally scrap him?” Quint shudders on the walk back.

“Yes. Like he has room to talk, mosquito motherfucker,” Bass fumes. “Besides, now no one thinks I’ve gone soft. And I left the control chip, so the old man won’t do anything more than whine at me for it.”

“I’d’ve been upset if you’d right out killed him,” Quint says, reproachfully.

“Yeah, that too,” Bass’ eyes turn skyward. They arrive at his room again and he hurries them in. Treble is sprawled out in front of the TV, laying on the controllers. Bass scowls and nudges the wolf with his foot, which just makes him open one eye lazily and yawn.

Something else catches Quint’s eye. It’s a plastic bag placed haphazardly on one corner of Bass’ mattress, its contents spilling out fabric -

“- Blue!” Quint gasps, practically throwing himself forward in his haste to get to the bag. He pulls out a pair of bright blue swim trunks, eyes wide. “It’s blue! ”

“Uh, yeah, I figured…” Bass seems a little taken aback at the sheer level of enthusiasm that Quint is radiating. Or maybe it’s because he’s hugging the fabric to his chest. “You’d… like it… Are you kissing it? ”

“Noooo,” Quint says through puckered lips, drawing the trunks away from himself and settling into a pout.

“Ugh, that’s so fucking weird,” Bass makes a face. “I’m never getting you anything ever again.”

“Nonono, I’m really grateful!” Quint laughs. “Thank you! I just missed wearing blue, okay?”

“Just pass me mine, freak-o,” Bass holds out his hand, and, with a flash of light, he’s in street clothes. Quint obligingly tosses him the bag.

The stretch of beach that Bass takes Quint to is less of a thoroughfare than where he and Roll met up. It’s a beautiful day out, even Bass has to admit. There are puffy white clouds hanging in the sky, but they do little to dampen the brightness of a sunny day. There’s a pleasant breeze. The ocean is calm, waves lapping gently at the shoreline, and it’s as stunningly blue as last time. Even though the water must end somewhere, on another shore, from here it looks like it goes on forever.

In a rare moment of fancy, Bass wonders if it looks the same from the other side.

“Bass?” Quint’s voice drifts up from behind him, and he turns.

Bass has a Problem. He has a capital P Problem, and his name is Quint. Or Rock. He’s not sure. They look similar from a distance. That’s the problem.

Because Quint’s unruly mop of raven black hair is caught up in the breeze, going all over the place. His body, the shape of which wasn’t exactly complimented by huge boots and gauntlets, is sort of gangly on its own, but he’s still got a touch of what would be considered a childish chub on a human to his cheeks. The sunglasses he’s wearing look totally dorky with the purple scarf and a swim suit, of all things.

Because even though none of that should logically add up to anything, when all of those disparate things frame those damned blue eyes, which are practically sparkling at Bass over the rim of his shades…

Bass has a Problem.

He swallows.

“What is it?” He asks, affecting gruffness. He crosses his arms over his bare chest.

“Are you sure it was a good idea to bring Treble?” Quint asks, pointing over at a small congregation of bikini-clad women. Treble is rolling over to expose his belly, tongue flopping out, and they’re cooing over him like he’s not a several-hundred-pound razor sharp death machine.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bass massages one temple with his thumb. “This is why I don’t bring you anywhere, you mutt! ”

You’re just jealous! Treble barks back. The pack of girls titter.

“I didn’t know he could be so friendly,” Quint giggles right along with them, the traitor.

“He likes girls for some stupid reason,” Bass sighs. “I think Wily put it in just to irritate me.”

“Thaaaat sounds about right, actually,” Quint sends him a sympathetic look, even though his eyes are still warm with mirth.

“Swimming,” Bass chokes out. “We were going to swim or someshit.”

“Oh yeah!” Quint says. He pauses and takes off his sunglasses, fiddling with them in both hands. “Uh, I guess I’ll have to leave these off.”

No, that’s fine, make yourself literally fucking indistinguishable from Rock, Bass thinks. It’s not like that’s confusing or anything.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trunks. They’re black with gold trim because he’s nothing if not consistent.

The shades disappear off with the rest of what Quint isn’t currently wearing, and they head over the rest of the way down the beach to the water. Now that Quint’s eyes are uncovered, Bass notices that he keeps… looking at Bass. Furtive glances, mostly, when he should be looking where he’s going. He doesn’t know what to make of that.

When they do reach the waves, though, Quint doesn’t hesitate to whoop and wade right in. Bass stops at the line where the water laps up onto the sand, but when Quint notices, he turns on his heel and makes a beeline back, grabbing Bass by the forearm and tugging.

“C’mon!” he says.

“Hey!” Bass yelps, not expecting the force with which Quint pulls. He stumbles forward, and Quint overbalances. They both go tumbling into the shallows.

Bass pulls himself up, mouth already open to tell him off, but Quint is next to him and propping himself up on his elbows, which are now covered in wet sand. His hair is dry in the front and sopping wet in the back, flattened against his head and dripping onto his similarly soaked scarf-ends. His eyes are crinkled shut and he’s laughing.

Bass’ mouth clicks shut and he feels this pull. To be closer.

Which is ridiculous, because there’s not a foot between them.

So, instead, he grabs Quint by the back of the head and shoves his stupid face into the water. When Quint comes back up, sputtering, Bass is howling with laughter of his own. Quint sticks his tongue out and, after a moment, joins in.

“So that was a bust,” Bass says, sipping at his soft drink with the straw set in the corner of his mouth. He’s watching Quint savour literally every single bite of a chocolate chip cookie, rationing it like a human who’s about to set off on a hunger strike. Quint looks up from his methodical devouring and smiles sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess whatever you’re made from is denser than me.”

They’d tried, but Bass had spent an unproductive half an hour or so standing on the bottom of the ocean shelf crossly.

“I guess Bassnium sinks,” Bass leans back. “Well, whatever.”

Quint stops halfway to another bite and his brow furrows.

“Bassnium?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, Bassnium,” Bass taps his chest. “It’s my power source and shit? The reason I’m better than Mega Man, aside from all the other reasons I’m better than Mega Man?”

“No offense, but that sounds made up.” Quint smiles impudently.

“Oh, can it,” Bass huffs. “Wily is shit at naming things. You knew that already. He discovered a new element while he was making me and he’s insane so he thought, yeah, Bassnium, that’s not a stupid as fuck name.”

“So…” Quint wipes some crumbs from the side of his mouth with a pensive expression. “Wait, wait. Were you named after Bassnium or was Bassnium named after you?”

“I…” Bass stops mid-draw on his drink. He eventually swallows it and chews his lip thoughtfully. “I have no fucking idea.”

“Dr. Wily,” Quint says, sagely.

“Dr. Wily,” Bass echoes.

His attention drifts off to the rest of the beach. There’s still plenty of the day left; the early afternoon sun hangs in the sky. He’ll just ask Quint what other beach activities there are to learn about. A game involving several people, a ball, and a net catches his eye, and he snorts to himself as he spots Treble dozing on the sidelines with some of the female spectators.

It’s only because he’s actively absorbing their surroundings that he hears it through the general ruckus of the beachgoers. A sound that he could recognize in sleep mode. It’s a high pitched whine that bottoms out, like beee-wooo.

The sound of an incoming teleport. Bass is up on his feet in a moment, visibly startling Quint as he flashes into his armour. People around them gape for a few seconds of shock before they start running in a wave away from him.

“Show yourself!” Bass yells, and Quint opens his mouth to say something, but a streak of red flies by him and there’s a buzz in the air as Bass rolls to the side to dodge a blue-tinged blade of plasma. Their table is cut in twain, molten plastic dribbling from the edges.

Quint jumps back and backs up towards Bass as a masked red robot regards them, beam sabre blade springing from a buster and raised to strike.

Old combat habits resurface as Quint takes in the situation at hand in an instant.

Bass and himself are standing on the opposite side of the ex-table from the interloper, who is already winding up for another shot. He’d backed up in a hurry, and now he’s just behind Bass’ elbow, peering out with wide eyes from behind the taller robot’s shoulder guard.

The mystery robot is about Quint’s height, armoured in red with white under-armour. Like Bass, he’s sporting a chestpiece and pauldrons. There’s an upside-down triangular symbol in the centre of the chest, which is a polished white bare metal of some kind. The helmet is fully visored, obscuring the face, if there even is one. From each earpiece a grey antenna, not too unlike Metal Man’s, slants backwards. It’s hard to see from this angle, but Quint thinks he’s also got some kind of backpack-like component attached to the back of his chestpiece. It’s a dull unpainted grey.

Humans, well informed of the perils of being a bystander to combat between robots, are fleeing in droves.

“You need to get out of here,” Bass hisses out of the side of his mouth to Quint. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his opponent, buster pointed at them steadily. Quint hears the whine of its charging cycle.

With his free hand, the robot presses down on the symbol on his chest. It depresses with a click.

The world goes funny.

It spreads out from the mystery robot in ripples and waves, a distortion that in the space of a few seconds has claimed everything in sight. Quint has to blink a few times before his optics feed him anything that makes sense, and he quickly realizes that that’s because that everything is… Inverted?

The blues of the sky and ocean are a menacing orange, and the sand on the beach, once a bright expanse, is now a jarring dark navy. The worst part isn’t the visual disorientation, though; there’s something about this space that feels wrong, like every thought Quint has is somehow echoed on a frequency he can’t perceive. He’s a robot, and robots don’t have out of body experiences unless their core programming has gone horribly wrong.

He may not have literal gut feelings, but he’s got a hunch that this is about to go sideways. He activates his teleporter, and -

- nothing happens.

“I can’t!” he says, alarmed. He tries to summon his armour, but nothing happens. He sends for Sakugarne, but he’s met with silence. “Something’s blocking -”

He cuts himself off, because as he surfaces from his own troubles, he finally gets a look at Bass.

He’s seen Bass surrounded by weird flames once before, those green-white ones from when he’d made his big entrance yesterday. This is different. Bass is wreathed in purple, and like everything else here, it feels wrong. It’s like he’s literally projecting anger and an underlying tinge of something more uncertain, an anxiety, and it’s coming off of him in waves. Quint feels like he’s drowning in it.

There’s no one but them left on the boardwalk, tables and chairs left askance.

“You’re infected,” the red robot says, his first words since arriving. The voice is garbled and - ironically - robotic. “The readings were right.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Bass demands, over the sound of his fully charged buster.

“Infected? ” Quint asks, at exactly the same time.

The robot doesn’t answer either of them. Instead, it charges. Quint dives to one side and Bass jumps to the other as the concentrated stream of plasma cuts through the wood and paint under their feet and throws up the smell of charred wood. Bass fires back.

The shot is much bigger than Quint had anticipated. He’s seen Bass’ buster fire at full charge, poor Tengu Man, and this purple-tinged wave of plasma is almost twice the size. The red robot and Quint both have to throw themselves off of the boardwalk to avoid being struck, and Quint feels the heat as it rushes past. He stumbles on the sand, but his hands catch on a sudden solid surface. Treble is under him, teeth bared and growling ferociously in the mystery robot’s direction. He’s got a purple glow about him, too. For a second Quint is overwhelmed as he feels a crashing wave of angerconfusionprotectiveness pass through him at the touch.

His head whips up, and he sees Bass land hard on the sand, cursing as he places one hand out behind him to catch himself. He must not have been expecting the kickback, Quint realizes.

“This field is doing something weird!” he calls out, as Bass regains his footing and dashes away from another slash from the red robot.

“Tell me something I don’t fucking know!” Bass yells back, jumping backwards to get some air and spraying the robot’s position with auto-fire plasma. It’s just as affected by whatever is happening to Bass, a powered-up volley of shots leaving a scorched trail on the sand. It’s a stark white on the inverted landscape.

But while he’s firing, the aura around him diminishes, almost like...

“It’s that purple stuff!” Quint says. “I think it’s feedi-” his eyes widen and he twists out of the way of certain death as the mystery robot breaks off from the skirmish with Bass and dashes across the sand to take a swing at him.

“That’s enough out of you, Copy,” his attacker says.

“Treble!” Bass shouts, and Quint hears the high-pitched sound of his own boosters as he follows his opponent, “Keep him busy!”

Treble snarls, snapping and jumping in and out of the beam sabre’s range as he keeps the red robot occupied enough for Quint to put some distance between them. What he doesn’t expect is that Bass makes a beeline for him, and he squawks in surprise as Bass scoops him up and slings him over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” Quint says, bracing his hand on Bass’ back and trying to turn his head around.

“What does it look like?” Bass says, voice raised over the sound of rushing air as they dash along the beach. “I’m getting you out of the way!”

“But if Treble gets hurt and you can’t fuse, you won’t be able to fly,” Quint protests. “And he doesn’t have a ranged weapon that we’ve seen, so-!”

“Who the fuck knows what that Evil Energy would do if we fused!” Bass snaps. “We could both explode at this fucking rate!”

“Evil - what? ” Quint says. “Do you know what this is?!”

“Look, it’s a long fucking story and we don’t have time, I absorbed it -”

“You absorbed something called Evil Energy? ”

“Yes! It was powerful and -”

“On purpose?!”

“Look, just -”

“It’s called evil in the name -”

“Shut up! Dammit, I don’t have time to explain it!” Bass says, throwing Quint down on the sand roughly. He knows at a glance that they’re outside the radius of where friendly fire would be likely to catch him. The sand here is giving way to rocks and dirt and what is just totally bizzare to look at right now vegetation.

Quint scrabbles to his feet, mouth open to say something else, but Bass is already dashing back into the fray.

His heart sinks. Which is alarming, because he really is feeling the physical sensation in his chest that he’s sure a human would call their heart sinking. His hand flies up to his chest and he watches the fight unfold in front of him.

Bass and Treble have the edge, but Treble clearly took some damage while Bass was busy rescuing Quint -

I’m a burden.

- and now he’s just jumping in and out of the fray, snapping and snarling, a distraction at best -

Just like me.

- as Bass tries to keep his distance and struggles not to hit his partner with his vastly increased input. And it’s only getting worse. As the tide turns against them, as Quint can see Bass’ frustration and desperation mounting, the purple aura just gets more intense. Its flames lick up from his body and everything around him gets dimmer, with the exception of the red robot’s shining blade. It’s a blue-white beacon in the darkness, and each stab and slash gets closer to home.

I’m useless.

Quint clutches his head. The presence is so intense. He’s sinking. Spiralling.

Why can’t I ever win?

I don’t understand.

I’m not even strong enough to win against this guy.

I was made for this.

Is this even what I want?

Quint gasps.

Why am I such a failure?

These aren’t his thoughts anymore.

This place… Somehow…

Quint grits his teeth and picks up a rock. He bounds forward.

He runs past Treble, who lays deactivated and out of power, sparking in the sand, as the red robot holds Bass down with a boot, sabre arm raised. Bass’ wild red eyes still flash with defiance, even though he’s clearly having trouble struggling out from under him.

“Time to take out the trash,” he says, disgust clear even through that harsh filter, before plunging the blade downwards -

- just to stop mid-swing as the rock Quint throws rebounds off of his helmet with a harmless plink.

Slowly, the robot turns to face him.

He’s totally unarmed, and his hands are shaking, but they’re balled up into fists at his side and he’s standing tall despite the fact that the air itself feels like it’s weighing him down.

“Get away from him!” He yells.

“Quint,” Bass wheezes, alarm apparent in his voice, and the robot above him goes totally still.

“No…” the robot says, raising a hand as if to reach out. “You’re -”

The aura around them suddenly changes as Bass’ hands shoot up and grab the robot’s boot.

“Don’t -”

The oppressive air suddenly lifts -

“- you -”

- the dimmed atmosphere brightens so suddenly that its intensity hurts to look at -

“- fucking -”

- the purple flames around Bass snuff out and he’s suddenly bathed in white-green fury -

“- TOUCH HIM! ” Bass roars, and he’s up on his feet and he hucks the red robot with one ferocious swing of his arm.

The robot lands on his feet and slides a few feet on the sand, shielding his eyes.

“Justice energy!?” he exclaims, and Quint can’t help but take one horrible moment out of shock to wonder when his life became so totally absurd. “That’s - impossible! How -?”

“I don’t care if you’ve been talking to Duo or what,” Bass steps in the space between them, buster out. His voice is low and cool, dangerously so. “But I don’t give a shit. You leave or I will kill you.”

There’s a standoff, for a few seconds that seem to stretch out into eternity.

Then there’s a beeping sound, and the robot brings one - shaking - hand up to their earpiece.

“Yes?” he says, “No - what? No! I can’t leave! You don’t understand, he’s right here!”

Quint sees the tense line of Bass’ shoulders shift as he puts together what’s happening.

“Proto - Fine,” the robot says, voice clipped. He looks around Bass and Quint gets the distinct feeling that it’s him that’s on the receiving end of a stare as he says, with chilling certainty, “I will be back for you.”

Then he reaches for the button on his chest, the world rights itself, and by the time Quint gathers himself again, the mysterious red robot is gone.

Bass lowers his buster arm, wincing as a cut that got through the armour on his arm sparks.

“What the fuck just happened?” he asks, grimacing.

Blues slips through darkened halls. The Chronos Institute is, so far, disappointingly banal; most of its space is devoted to offices and meeting rooms, and the main laboratories are filled with machinery constructed to conduct delicate particle experiments. His brief foray into those rooms hadn’t yielded anything of interest, but that’s not what he’s here for.

Shadow Man’s assessment of heightened security was accurate. Blues has disabled several security drones already, and to get in past some of the outside sensors in the first place he had to get creative. It would have been a walk in the park for Shadow Man, he’s sure. It’s hard to beat something like his unique warping ability, unless you happen to have a strong light bulb on hand (Shadow Man takes Bright Man’s existence as an affront).

The thing about the strengthened security that’s giving him a low sense of unease, though, is the fact that everything he’s seen so far seems… normal. Blues isn’t an expert on temporal physics, but in his experience important science projects have certain signs about them. Coffee stains. Clutter. A dramatic looming presence in a large darkened room that slowly amps up the overhead lights when you walk in. Okay, that last one might be exclusive to his bias working with world-class roboticists, who are all a little bit nutty in their own way and almost unfailingly share a penchant for showmanship. But the point still stands. He’s been here for nearly ten minutes and all he’s seen is smoke but no fire.

He comes upon a side office and peers in, almost out of obligation.

And there’s the fire.

Every available surface is an absolute mess. It’s stacked with papers and components, a large number of which Blues immediately recognizes as robotics-related. There, in the middle of the room, where the mess emanates from in waves, is a desk where there sits a computer.

Bingo.

He slips in, shutting the door behind him gently. It clicks softly, and he maneuvers around the mess (a difficult task with such large boots) to get to the desk. The desktop is already on, but in sleep mode. He slips a tiny drive in the port and wiggles the mouse before leaning back to watch the program on the drive do its work. The login screen is bypassed, and the files start copying over.

He’ll have time to look at them later, but he takes the opportunity to dig around the directories and sate his curiosity now.

They’re all encrypted. Blues wrinkles his nose. That’s not something he can bypass on the fly. But the filenames…

Time Skimmer. D-Area Emitter. Mk V Combat Suite. E-Energy Countermeasures. Retrieval Project.

His eyes narrow as the mouse pointer hovers over the most inscrutable title.

R-Shadow…?

There’s a clnk as something presses against the back of his head, shaking him from his focus on the screen.

“Hello, Proto Man,” a woman’s voice says.

Blues goes still.

“You’re probably wondering what it is that I have pointed at you,” she continues. “It’s an industrial grade plasma cutter. Designed to punch right through thick metal sheets.”

It’s an older woman, he gathers, from the timbre and pitch. Not quite at Dr. Light’s age, but maybe middle aged.

“It’d go through inactive armour, maybe,” he says, slowly.

“Do you trust your systems to take the shock?” she asks.

If he was a human, his blood would run cold. She can’t be implying what he thinks she is. She couldn’t possibly know.

“I’m having bad luck with people sneaking up on me today,” he says, cordially. His hand inches towards the small drive.

“Don’t,” she says. The pressure on the back of his head redoubles. There’s a rustle of movement from behind him and a small burst of static, the opening of a comm channel. “I need you back here.”

There’s a pause, and Blues dares to turn his head, slowly, steadily, just enough to get a glance at the woman out of the corner of his eye. Just as he thought, she’s a human… somewhere in middle age. He’s never been good at pinning down specifics in humans. The woman has greying fair hair, pulled back into a ponytail. It’s too dark, even with the screen’s glow, to see the colour of her eyes, but they’re too light to be brown. She’s wearing a lab coat that has a smattering of coffee stains on it. Despite the situation, Blues feels oddly validated.

“You’re the one that hired me, aren’t you?” he asks, and he isn’t sure whether the hard line of her mouth is because of his question or whatever response she’s getting over the line.

“It’s an emergency,” she says, into the comm. The pressure on the back of his head holds steady. Blues admires her nerves. “It’s Proto Man. He’s here.”

There are a few more tense moments. Blues considers his options.

With teleportation, the cavalry is only moments away. Blues knows he has to act fast. He whirls around, knocking the tool of out the woman’s hand. She gasps, presumably on instinct, and in that moment of chaos, he grabs the drive and teleports out. In the moment before he dematerializes, he hears the sound of some else warping in.

Then he’s on the other side of the world, on a rooftop in the city clutching a data drive in his hands. He’ll have to make a few more jumps, he thinks, to be safe, before he returns home.

With every answer he digs up, there seem to be twice as many questions waiting to be asked, all leading back to the first.

Who the hell is Quint?

They reappear in Bass’ bedroom, Treble’s limp form held in Bass’ arms. Quint watches as he places the deactivated support unit on the ratty mattress with an uncharacteristically soft look on his face. He feels a wash of sympathy towards the taller robot, who looks more like his apparent age in that moment than Quint has ever seen him.

Which is why he’s totally unprepared for Bass to turn and fly at him, pinning him to the wall. Quint lets out a choked gasp, face mere inches from Bass’ terrifying mask of rage. His red eyes are hot coals, burning with the intensity of his gaze.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Bass shouts, hands splayed on either side of Quint’s shoulders. He gives him a shake and Quint winces as he bounces off the metal wall behind him. It takes a moment of heated silence for him to realize that Bass is waiting for his answer.

“I-” he starts, but apparently he’s waited too long because Bass cuts him off.

“I was fine,” he snarls. “I didn’t need your help. I don’t need your help!”

“He was about to kill you!” Quint sputters, eyes wide. “You can’t seriously think-”

“And what the fuck did you think throwing a rock was going to do to save me?” Bass snaps, leaning in so far that their noses are touching.

There’s something else in Bass’ eyes. Quint is so close that he feels like, even though, he’s covering it with anger, there’s some kind of desperation lurking in there.

Quint balls his shaking hand into a fist at his side.

“I didn’t,” he says, trying to stop the tremor in his voice. “I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, except that my best friend was going to die, okay?”

Bass’ hold on him loosens fractionally, and his expression is blown wide with shock. Quint continues, emboldened.

“I just… I couldn’t stand by, Bass!” he says, swallowing. He screws his eyes shut. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t let it happen. I know it was stupid, okay? I know that. But no matter what, if you’d died… I couldn’t let that happen.”

The pressure on his shoulders goes slack and he feels himself slide an inch or two down to the floor. When he finally gathers the courage to open his eyes again, he looks up to see Bass’ eyes averted. He’s crossing his arms, but it’s different than normal somehow. Not defiant, but just… Uncomfortable. Like he’s hugging himself.

“Me too,” Bass says, quietly.

Quint feels an unfamiliar wetness at his eyes and he brings up a hand to wipe at them. He guesses, distantly, that all that time in the ocean topped up his reserves. He sniffs wetly and Bass’ eyes refocus on him in alarm.

“Are you crying?” he asks, even as the tears stubbornly overflow Quint’s eyes and he gives up trying to contain them. Liquid tracks down his cheeks and he nods mutely.

Bass looks totally bewildered, and Quint realizes he probably has no idea what to do in this situation. The thought is sad, but Quint huffs out a choked laugh anyway. There’s still barely any space between them, even though Bass has withdrawn from pinning him from the wall, so Quint just leans forward and hugs him tightly.

Bass goes stiff, but doesn’t make any move to remove him. Quint rests his head against his chestplate and just lets the tears fall.

Then, after a minute, Bass seems to make some kind of decision and unfolds his arms, awkwardly closing them around Quint’s shoulders and drawing him in.

“If this’ll get you to stop crying,” he says, but there’s no bite to it.

“Th-thanks,” Quint murmurs into Bass’ upper middle.

They stay that way for a little while, and Quint’s tears slowly abate. He’s left feeling raw, but Bass’ arms around him are anchoring. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, which are sort of fidgeting and his fingers are running a small back-and-forth groove on Quint’s back. It’s not standard comforting protocol, but maybe it’s something that could be improved with further practice?

And oh, that was the wrong thing to think. He’s sure the idea of instructing Bass on how to cuddle, hands-on, is an entirely inappropriate thing to be thinking about right now.

Quint gives one last firm squeeze before pulling away, a maneuver that also fails, Bass shooting him a confused look and still holding on for an awkward amount of time because Quint forgot to factor in the lack of hug exposure he’s had in the past. When they do untangle, Quint sinks to sit on the floor and Bass slides down next to him.

He hadn’t really gotten a good look at Bass’ facial expression throughout all of that, given his position. Right now, Bass looks pensive. Thoughtful. His eyes are fixed on empty space.

Quint follows his gaze, however empty, and sighs.

“That weird field…” he says. “I dunno if it worked both ways, but… I could sort of feel you.”

There’s a shifting sound behind him, and he thinks Bass might be looking at him, now.

“Feel me?” he asks, tone guarded.

“Like… I think I could feel what you were feeling, at least a little. It got stronger when the purple stuff started getting out of control at the end.” Quint says. “That’s impossible, right?”

“It is,” Bass says, gruffly. “What exactly… did you feel?”

“I felt like…” Quint pauses. He should probably put it delicately, he thinks. “I felt like I couldn’t do anything at all, even though I was supposed to be able to.”

“Sounds like something you’d feel, not me,” Bass huffs.

“Yeah…” Quint pulls up his knees and hugs them to himself. “I thought it was me, at first, but then it was feeling like, like I didn’t even know what I really wanted, and that’s not me.”

“You know exactly what you want, huh?” Bass’ voice shifts a little as he talks. He’s turning away, Quint thinks.

“Yeah,” Quint says, stealing a glance over at Bass’ profile. He feels a tug, and if he imagines for just a moment like he’s in that field again, he thinks that it might come from where his heart would be. “I know what I want. My problem’s more… I can’t have it.”

Bass exhales, sinking even further until he’s slouching and folded in on himself.

“That’s so goddamn embarrassing,” he says. “I’m gonna scrap that robot next time I see him. He’s gonna be a red smear on the fucking pavement when I’m done with him.”

“Maybe we should try and find out why he came after us, first,” Quint says. “And what that field was. And, uh, that reminds me. Evil Energy?”

Bass groans, putting his hands over his face.

“Okay, first off, when Wily was handing that shit out he was not calling it Evil Energy, okay?” he says. “That’s what that weird alien fuck Duo calls it.”

“Yeah, I don’t really… know all that much about Duo,” Quint says, relaxing his posture. Bass shuffles back up to straighter sitting position, too. “‘Cept that he’s another alien robot? How many of those are there, seriously?”

“Him, The Stardroids, Shadow Man…” Bass shrugs. “Too goddamn many.”

“Shadow Man is an alien?” Quint asks, frowning.

“Yeah, he’s some kind of ancient alien robot Wily dug up when he and Light were looking for those energy crystals way back when. So the old man decided to refurb him up as a ninja because who the hell knows what goes on in that head of his?” Bass rolls his eyes.

“He seems pretty happy as a ninja,” Quint hums. “I guess it fits the shadow jumping theme, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Bass says. “So anyway, Duo’s got this like, superpowered hand that has blue fire on it. And I guess his job is to hunt down Evil Energy or something, but I’ve still got it and last time I saw him in person he mentioned I had Justice Energy and left like a total idiot.”

Quint frowns.

“Didn’t the red robot say that it should be impossible for you to have Justice Energy?” he says. “And he was using a blue beam sabre, right? It seemed like it didn’t get affected like everything else when it started getting dark.”

“You think he’s Duo’s lackey or something?” Bass says.

“I dunno,” Quint says. “Maybe? Anyway, that field thing he turned on seemed to do something with the Evil Energy, right? So it’s definitely related.”

“I want to know why he wants you,” Bass growls. “Because none of that has anything to do with you at all.”

“Yeah,” Quint sighs, leaning back and letting his head rest against the wall. “That’s a good question.”

“Are you hiding some Justice Energy in there?” Bass says, reaching over and poking him sharply in the side. Quint squawks and squirms away.

“Nuh uh!” he says.

“You’d like it,” Bass grins. “Given that it’s blue and shit.”

Quint pouts.

“Not all of it, obviously,” he says. “Yours is green, isn’t it?”

Bass exhales and frowns.

“There’s no way that’s Justice Energy. Duo’s is blue, that stupid sword was blue. Plus, I’ve always been able to do that.”

“Well, maybe yours is green and that’s fine,” Quint says. “And maybe you’ve just always had it ‘cuz you’ve always been a good person.”

Bass shoots him a look, somewhere between reproachful and something slightly more indecipherable.

“Well, deep down, anyway,” Quint shrugs and smiles despite himself.

“Fuck you,” Bass makes an expression that Quint would almost call a pout and shoves him. Quint huffs out a laugh and beams at him, which just seems to make his face screw up even more.

“But… If I got to choose my colour of Justice Energy it’d definitely be blue,” Quint adds, solemnly.

“Of course,” Bass shoves him again. “If you love that colour so much why don’t you fucking marry it?”

“I’m a robot and robots can’t marry?” Quint offers.

“That’s your reason?” Bass looks unimpressed. Quint laughs.

“Don’t make fun of my forbidden love!” he says, shoulders shaking.

Bass shoves him again, hard enough to send him sprawling sideways to the floor. He laughs harder.

Later, when Quint is gone and all there is is Bass and the silence in his room, he reaches over and strokes Treble’s side. It’s a pointless gesture. He should be starting on repairs already.

He remembers Proto Man’s parting words from so long ago.

You only care about petty things like fighting to be the best.

But Mega Man is different. He cares about the future.

The future.

He never really understood that until now.

Quint could have died. In that moment, the only thing that had mattered was the future.

Bass picks up his tool kit and places it on his workbench, pulling Treble’s damaged side closer. He needs to get these repairs done, and fast, because there’s other work to be done.

When Quint returns to the Mega Man Killers’ hideout, despite everything that’s happened, he feels light on his feet. He only jumps at two shadows on the way, and, in his defense, they were very scary shadows that looked, in the corner of his eye, like someone might be sitting in them.

Man, he’s got to do something about this whole being-watched-by-a-ninja situation.

The other three look up from a game of what looks like poker as he waltzes in the door. Punk elbows Ballade, who Quint guesses must not have been doing so hot based on his expression (and winnings pile), and waves.

“Hey, how was the surf’n’turf?” Punk asks, “We could use a break. Ballade’s almost down to betting his memory chips over here.”

“Har har,” Ballade says, leaning back in his chair and looking cross. “One of you has got to be cheating.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Enker says. He doesn’t sound too committed to the truth of the statement.

“Oh, well we…” Quint starts brightly, and then he pauses. And looks around at the three of them. And then his face falls as he realizes that this story probably isn’t going to go over well. His hands come together in front of him and he fidgets, suddenly nervous. “Well, we, uhhh…”

Enker and Punk share a look, as Ballade’s expression darkens considerably.

“I think now might be a good time to do reconnaissance for that requisition,” Enker says, putting a hand on Ballade’s shoulder. “I could use a hand.”

“Yeah, you know me, I’d be useless for that,” Punk agrees. “I’m all spikes and noise.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ballade gives both of them the stink eye in turn before standing up. “Let’s get going.”

Enker and Ballade leave in a stream of light, leaving only Quint and Punk.

“O… kay?” Quint says, making his way over to the table opposite Punk. He carefully pushes aside Enker’s pile of energy capsules.

“Oh, Quint,” Punk sighs, reaching over and patting him on the head. “I forgive you because you’re stupid and mean well.”

“Gee, thanks,” Quint pouts. “I haven’t even told you what happened yet.”

“So what happened?” Punk leans forward and props his elbows on the table in an uncouth motion.

“Well, I mean…” Quint sighs. “We kinda almost… died?”

“What?!” Punk sits up ramrod straight. “What do you mean ‘you almost died’? You were at the beach! ”

“We got attacked!” Quint throws up his hands. “By that robot that attacked Enker, I think. The one with the beam sabre.”

“Oh, oh, that is not good,” Punk says. “Sheesh, you are a magnet for trouble. But you’re not damaged?” he asks, looking Quint up and down.

“He used some kind of weird field that stopped me from teleporting, or getting my armour,” Quint says. “So I got sidelined while Bass did all the fighting. It was… it was really close.”

“Damn,” Punk says. He brings a hand up to what, in a kinder world, would be his chin. “I guess I gotta give him credit. There’s not a scratch on you. Enker’s not gonna be happy, though.”

“He saved my life,” Quint says in a small voice. “That’s like… the second time.”

“So you’re alive and he likes you,” Punk says. “What’s eating you?”

Quint pauses to gather his thoughts before he speaks, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

“It’s just that, uh… I feel like he’s done way for me than I have for him,” he says. “I don’t know how to pay him back.”

Punk rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, that’s not how these things work, Quint,” he says. “It’s not about keeping a balance sheet.”

“I know!” Quint says. “But I wanna do something nice for him, and I don’t even know where to start. He can steal just about anything he wants, really, and he doesn’t seem to be super into food or anything so even if I could cook, which I can’t, I’m actually kinda banned from kitchens for life-”

“Whoa, whoa,” Punk puts up his hands. “Are you seriously more worked up about this than the fact that you almost died?”

“I already got that outta my system,” Quint bites his lip. “I bounce back from that kinda thing. I’ve kinda had to.”

“... You’re banned from kitchens for life?” Punk asks.

“Punk…” Quint sighs.

“Okay,” Punk says. “Walk me through what he likes.”

“Uh, well,” Quint starts counting on his fingers. “He likes being strong, and fighting, and video games, but that kinda falls into the stuff he can get, and I think he likes going places, even if he acts all grumpy about it, and he likes Treble…”

“What kind of video games?” Punk leans back.

“Oh, he likes Strategy RPGs,” Quint says. “Like the ones with the grids and turn-based combat, you know?”

Punk hums thoughtfully.

“And he likes hanging out with you,” he says, and Quint rubs the back of his neck.

“I-I guess he must, otherwise he would’ve told me to go away by now.” Quint says.

“Well,” Punk says, straightening. He holds up a finger. “I think I have something that’s just crazy enough to work.”

The department store is chock-full of humans, with their comings and goings creating a rhythm of movement that Blues finds fascinating. Sometimes, he sits on rooftops and just watches the city go by below him, the flow of traffic and people an orchestra to the senses. If he’s being honest, he vastly prefers to watch from above, rather than participate. He’s a lone wolf that way.

Today, though, he’s got business down among the humans. Or, rather, Shadow Man does, so he’s along for the ride.

Shadow Man is holding a movie in each hand, two action flicks, and is reading the back of the packaging with a detached level of scrutiny. He’s out of armour, messy dark brown locks falling into his face almost but not quite low enough to be a hazard to his vision. He’s got the back of the unruly mane tucked into a small ponytail, a hairstyle that rather ironically gives him a distinct look among the more fashion-forward humans around them. His outfit blends in better. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and a light blue overshirt with knee-length khaki shorts appropriate to the heat outside.

To Blues’ knowledge, nobody else gets to see this side of the ninja ‘bot. He’s not sure when they fell into this level of intimacy, honestly. It had been a long and gradual road. Well, definitely sometime after the kissing started.

“... -o you think is better?”

Blues shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks between the two movies, which are now being held in front of him. Without really thinking about it, he points to the one whose title he recognizes. It might be a sequel. Shadow Man hums and discards that one, placing the spurned box in the cart next to several bright pink anime box sets. Blues makes a small noise of offense from the back of his throat and Shadow Man smiles coyly.

“You have poor taste in action films,” he says, as though that could possibly mollify the grave offense that he has committed.

“Better taste in spy thrillers,” Blues shoots back, stretching and putting his arms up behind his head.

“Fitting,” Shadow Man says, checking his phone briefly before starting off towards another section. “Aren’t those the ones where things inevitably go south in the middle of an operation?”

“Hey, I retrieved the data just fine, thanks,” Blues says, weaving around a display in the middle of the floor to catch up.

“Tell me again about the part where a geriatric woman got the jump on you and almost shot you in the head?” Shadow Man smirks.

“Okay, first of all, she wasn’t geriatric,” Blues huffs, coming up to the side of the cart and lacing his fingers in the holes on the side. “And second of all, it was all totally under control.”

“I completely believe you,” Shadow Man says, stopping in an electronics aisle and sizing up some tablets.

“Anyway.” Blues leans back against a concrete pillar, a support that goes all the way up to the cavernous roof above. “Even without decryption, we found some things out.”

“We don’t really know much more than before,” Shadow Man points out. “Unless it’s in the encrypted files, we still have no record of where Quint came from, aside from his ties to the Institute. I did check some employment records, and the woman who attacked you -”

“That just sounds undignified,” Blues says. Shadow Man levels him with a look that rather tells him that that’s the point before continuing.

“- the woman who attacked you, Dr. Smith, has been working there for several months,” he finishes.

“She managed to trash that office pretty fast.” Blues whistles appreciatively.

“More importantly, it’s unusual for someone to be hired straight into her position,” Shadow Man says. He picks up a tablet and tosses it in the cart. “And I did some digging around related firms and found no record of her anywhere, so no prior related experience unless she worked with a government in secrecy.”

“That’s… odd,” Blues frowns.

“It is,” Shadow Man agrees. They steer towards a section prominently taken up by video games, both contemplatively silent. He checks his phone again before tilting his head at the cases.

“Punk thinks he can put in an order for Quint without me knowing,” Shadow Man says, pulling out a fighting game with a number of colourful and diverse characters on the front cover. “That’s cute.”

“Huh,” Blues says. “Rock got that game too. He hasn’t stopped talking about it for weeks.”

“I don’t see the appeal,” Shadow Man says, scanning the back of the packaging. “Competitive play takes hundreds of hours of practice to become competent at minimum.”

“Just takes a certain mindset, I guess,” Blues shrugs. “Too bad there’s nothing useful about knowing Quint and my kid brother have the same taste in video games.”

“I wish,” Shadow Man says. “I’d have him dead to rights.”

The game goes in the cart with the other merchandise, and they head to the checkout.

“You know,” Blues says, leaning over the side of the cart as they stand in line, “I don’t understand why you don’t just steal all of this stuff.”

“Does your brother know you go around advising robot masters of larceny?” Shadow Man says.

“I’m not condoning it,” he holds up his hands in front of himself defensively. “Just asking.”

“What exactly would the point be in winning prize money in a death-defying kart race if I didn’t use it?” Shadow Man says.

“Winning prize money in a death-defying kart race that you cheated in,” Blues mutters.

“It’s not my fault you were too busy making sure Bass didn’t kill your brother to actually participate,” Shadow Man says with a ghost of a smile. “Maybe if you’d just trusted his ability to take care of himself for once you wouldn’t have to run around playing spy games to pay the bills.”

“Low blow,” Blues says with a smile as Shadow Man starts unloading his cart at the checkout. “Anyway, you don’t understand. Rock has the survival instinct of a lemming.”

“So do you.” Shadow Man rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean, last week he told me he wanted to ask Ba-”

“Do you have a points card with us today?” The man at the register interrupts their conversation in a voice nearly catatonic with ennui. Shadow Man goes through the process of checking out and they leave the store carrying bags.

“So what’s this about a meetup?” Blues asks, as they step out of the store and into the throng of people in one of the city’s busiest districts.

“I have a contact that might be able to get us a hookup with someone who can break the decryption,” Shadow Man says. He’s sticking to the edge of the crowd like, well, a shadow. Blues finds his lips quirking up at the thought.

“And that would be?”

“Well, I don’t know, I think that this summer season is all total trash,” Plug Man says, holding up a box set and inspecting it. “Except Pretty Janitor Momoko. The animation quality varies so much by episode, though. It’s like, what, did they spend all of their budget on the first episode?”

“Uh huh,” Shadow Man says, stone faced.

“And they’ve caught up to the manga now, so who knows what kind of garbage filler episodes they’re going to put in. There’s already a whole beach episode that totally wasn’t in the original. I mean, it’s nice to see the girls in swimsuits, but it didn’t do a thing for the plot.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, we should definitely get more shows like Doki Doki! Panic Workplace,” Plug Man says, dutifully pronouncing the oddly placed punctuation. “It was a breath of fresh air in the midst of a sea of bland romances, you know? Just way more relatable to have actual twenty-somethings navigating a blooming relationship instead of high schoolers getting on each others’ nerves and making doe eyes at each other.”

“I mean, you’re a robot,” Blues says. “Aren’t both of those -”

Shadow Man kicks him under the table.

“... But I can see what you mean,” Blues intones.

Plug Man, unlike them, either doesn’t have a human-looking form underneath his armour or just doesn’t bother trying to pretend he isn’t a robot. The crowd in this section of the city, a district devoted mostly to entertainment of a certain kind, doesn’t seem to care overly much. Blues is starting to get the feeling that it has something to do with the purple Light-bot being a regular at some of the surrounding establishments.

“Can you get the data to Galaxy Man?” Shadow Man asks, holding up a tiny drive. “I require his services in decryption as well as his discretion.”

Plug Man seems to come back down to Earth as he takes the drive, humming.

“Well, you know, the man can’t go around just letting anyone use his supercomputer brain for free,” he says, drawing out the last syllable hopefully while dragging his eyes from the drive to Shadow Man’s impassive face.

“I thought as much,” Shadow Man says, pulling out a box from their bags. “Limited edition Momoko figure, promotional art summer festival style.”

Plug Man stills, eyes locked upon the colourfully-decorated box.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he says, “A haaaard bargain. But I’ll need one more thing.”

“What else could you possibly want?” Blues asks.

“Well, see, a while ago I asked Splash Woman for a favour, and she ended up owing Shade Man for some kinda incident at karaoke, and Shade Man already owed Snake Man for that time with the bats, who owed Toad Man on account of getting caught messing with him, who owed Clown Man who found out about it and set up a trap involving a series of jack-in-the-boxes, who owed Magic Man for the supplies, who owed Sheep Man for some reason no one knows about and are generally speaking too afraid to ask, who is friends with Top Man.”

“What do you want,” Shadow Man says.

“Well see I have a convention to attend this weekend but Top Man asked Sheep Man asked Magic Man asked Clown Man asked Snake Man asked -”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Blues cuts in. “What do we have to do?”

“Well, Top Man asked Sheep Man to play in a game of -”

“Dangers and Destinies?” Bass blinks down at the book Quint is holding up under his nose. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a strategy game!” Quint says, beaming. He flips the book open to a page with a picture demonstrating some kind of grid-based combat mechanics. Next to it there are columns and columns of text. “Except on paper instead of a video game. I heard about it and I thought it might be something you liked.”

They’re sitting in Bass’ room, Bass busying himself buffing out the last of the scorch marks on his armour. Quint is curled up with Treble, who had seen fit the moment he entered to pounce on him and drag him back to the mattress to use as a pillow. Aside from having to hold himself at an odd angle to avoid the support unit’s sharper bits, Quint doesn’t really mind. He’s just glad that the wolf hadn’t been hurt badly enough to be out of commission for more than a few days.

He also thinks that it’s adorable that Bass finished repairs on his dog before even starting his own. Those took a few days, too. All in all, it’s been about a week.

Bass is sitting cross legged on the floor next to the bed working at his removed armguard with a buffing tool. He’s looking at Quint like he thinks he’s one light bulb short of a Bright Man.

“Why would I do that on paper? ” Bass asks, mystified. “That’s the whole point of a computer, doing the math for you.”

“Well yeah, but see, it’s co-op!” Quint says. “Everyone makes a character, so that’s like a unit, and each person controls their own character, and there’s a person called the Game Master who controls the bad guys. And the neutral guys? All the NPCs.”

Bass scoffs.

“So not only do I have to do the math but I have to put up with other people’s screwups and I have to listen to some fucking yahoo talking for ten different people?” he says.

“Well yeah, but you get to make your own guy, and there are tons of stats and options and stuff,” Quint says. He pulls a sheet of paper out of the book where it had been serving as a quasi-bookmark. “I made a Paladin, that’s his class. And he can fight stuff, but he also has healing. I think it’s his job to go around and fight evil or something?”

Bass’ eyes skim over the piece of paper with disinterest.

“You’re so predictable,” he says. “What are you gonna do next, give him a dog? With a spring on its damn back?”

Quint pulls the paper back and hugs it to his chest, pouting.

“Oh my fucking - give me that,” Bass says, and after a brief struggle, he emerges victorious with the character sheet in hand. “Paladin mount, dire wolf, plus two bonus to jump. You’re shitting me. Why is that a thing?”

“I might’ve asked for it special,” Quint says, fidgeting. “Punk helped me find the rule for swapping things out.”

Bass picks up the book and flips to the Paladin section with a scowl. There’s another minute or so of furious flipping and text-scanning before he glares at Quint over the top of it.

“You gave up the ability to ride your fucking mount for a jump bonus? Are you fucking with me? That’s going to kill your initiative. And what about the mounted combat attack bonus?” he says. “Seriously, you’re just throwing damage away.”

“I guess I need help making a good character,” Quint says, trying and failing to hold back a grin.

“Ugh,” Bass says, slamming the book shut and tossing it aside. “If you’re going to fail that hard without me, I guess I’ll have to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Quint feels a pleasant rumble as Treble growls something.

“Fuck you!” Bass says, and Quint can’t help but laugh.

Bass goes at the scuff on his armour with renewed vigour, and it doesn’t take him more than another few minutes to finish up. Quint whistles in appreciation as he holds up the now-gleaming piece.

“You’re so good at doing your own repairs,” he says. “How’d you even learn it?”

Bass shrugs, refitting the gauntlet on his wrist and flexing his fingers experimentally.

“Books and shit. Trial and error,” he says. “It was a pain in the ass, but after the old man decided to shut me off for ‘upgrades’ while he was pulling one of his stupid world domination plans to get me out of the way...”

“Man,” Quint says, “That’s actually kinda funny. He’s, like, afraid of you.”

“He should be.” Bass grins, wide and toothy. Quint smiles back, and momentarily Bass’ expression seems to soften. He turns away and runs a hand over one head fin, reaching for his toolbox again. “Speaking of which, get over here.”

“Huh?” Quint says, even as Treble uncoils from around him to allow him to shuffle forward.

Bass takes his left hand and for a breathless moment Quint isn’t sure where this is going. But he pulls over his little workbench and perches Quint’s gauntlet on it. He opens up a panel and starts fiddling.

“Uhhhh?” Quint says.

“Shush,” Bass says, face pinched in concentration. “You get in way too many fights to not have your fucking buster. That shit at the beach is not happening again.”

“You’re putting back my weapons?” Quint squeaks.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” Bass glances over at him with a trace of annoyance. He looks back down at the circuitry inside Quint’s buster and tsks. “Hah, just like I thought. The old man’s a hack as usual . He just threw down a jammer and called it a day.”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t’ve been able to make heads or tails of it,” Quint pouts.

Bass rolls his eyes and reaches over for a different tool, then returns to his work.

“I thought you said you stopped fighting after the thing with Cossack,” he mutters, after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“I did,” Quint says.

“This is way more sophisticated than I would’ve expected from that,” Bass says, pausing to stroke his chin.

“Well,” Quint sighs, “Dr. Wily may have gone straight, but, uh, after what happened in the energy crystals incident, dad never really totally trusted him again. So every once in a while he’d tinker with my combat functions, improving stuff…”

“Heh,” Bass grins into Quint’s arm. “So he has it in him to not be a naive idiot. Good to know.”

“Dr. Cossack might’ve had something to do with it,” Quint says, “Our families got pretty close over the years. Which is kinda weird, ‘cause I don’t think they’re even as close as that here?”

“Fuck time travel,” Bass makes a face.

“Yeah, that’s about how I feel.” Quint laughs.

“Yeah, except you won’t say ‘fuck’.” Bass pokes him with a free hand.

“I’d never!” Quint says, scandalized.

“What, because you’re so morally fucking upright?” Bass snorts. “What’s up with that?”

“I lived with Roll for forty years,” Quint intones.

“Oh,” Bass says, pausing. “Yeah, I can see it.”

“I can still see her broom in my nightmares…” Quint stares off into the middle distance. Bass lets out a startled laugh.

“You don’t dream you fucking idiot.” He grins, lightly shoving Quint’s shoulder. Quint grins back.

With very little aplomb, Bass snaps the panel he’d been working on closed.

“There you go,” he says, “You’re not a sitting duck anymore. You’re welcome.”

Quint’s mouth forms a little ‘o’ as he lifts his arm. With a click, his buster forms, and he turns it one way and then another. The computer side of his brain reaches out and he can feel the restored access to his Variable Weapons System.

“It worked!” Quint chirps, quickly banishing the buster and jumping forward to hug Bass. “Thank you!”

“This is gonna be a thing, isn’t it,” Bass grouses, awkwardly hugging back.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Quint smiles up at him. Bass looks away, clearly embarrassed.

“Whatever,” he says, and Quint tries and fails to stifle a delighted laugh.

“Hey. Finhead.”

Bass and Quint are on their way down one of the many hallways of Skull Fortress when it happens. They both turn their head at the declaration, which comes from down a side-corridor.

Copy Mega Man - the real Copy Mega Man, Quint can tell, because he’s sporting red eyes - crosses his arms menacingly. Or, at least, as menacing as you can get when you’re modeled after someone with pinchable cheeks.

“Oh, looks like the old man finally got around to rebuilding you,” Bass says, with a sneer.

“Watch your back,” Copy says, ominously, before turning with a swish of his purple scarf and striding away. Bass and Quint watch him go until he’s disappeared around a corner.

Quint hesitates before speaking.

“So uh… I guess you didn’t kill him for real after all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Tch,” Bass glares at the space where the purple-scarfed robot was standing. “I should have. But…”

“But?” Quint asks.

“It’s hard,” Bass says, quietly. “I couldn’t… he looks too much like him.”

“Oh,” Quint says.

He’s unprepared for the massive stab of jealousy that follows that simple admission. Biting his lip, he tries to push it down. But it’s like it just gets spread around, underlying every other thing he thinks about.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he says. He even manages not to let his voice waver too much. Bass’ eyes slide over to him, obviously holding a question, but Quint just answers with a shrug.

As they continue on their way, he tries and fails to push down one thought.

How much of how he treats me is because of how I look like Rock?

Shadow Man’s first experience with the game Dangers and Destinies is as such:

He and Blues show up an hour early to make characters with Top Man. He doesn’t mind, honestly. For the services they’ve procured, he could be facing far worse than spending time with his brother and boyfriend, even if he’s never been interested in Top Man’s hobbies.

Blues is his usual self. He irritates Top Man with his steadfast refusal to sit still and listen to an explanation of the basic rules. It brings a private smile to Shadow Man’s face. He has long since made peace with the oddity of finding such behaviour endearing.

Somehow, after all of this, they sit at the table (an unusually nice and solid one, for the fortress, which the Top Man’s regular group had enlisted Shadow Man to procure some time ago) with character sheets. Blues has opted to play some sort of magic musician. Shadow Man would be dishonoured to play anything but the ninja whose fate he now holds in his hands. There are dice scattered about the tabletop, a gridded mat with dry erase markers in the centre, and Top Man sits behind a screen at the head of the table.

This is going to be easy and painless, Shadow Man thinks. Later, he will be kicking himself for ever entertaining such a notion.

Things start going off-track when they hear familiar voices approaching from down the hall.

“- else is playing in this stupid thing anyway?” Bass’ unmistakable condescension catches Shadow Man’s ear, and he glances at Blues, who looks just as startled as he feels.

“Oh, Charge Man, I think?” Comes Quint’s answer. Blues, who doesn’t know Quint by voice, is still in the dark, but Shadow Man sits up straight and laces his fingers together. He has to fight from breaking out into a grin.

“Charge Man?” Bass says. The scoff is audible.

“I dunno, Punk said something about railroads -” Quint says, turning around the corner into the room and stopping dead in his tracks. “- oh.”

“Hello, Quint,” Shadow Man says with a calculated mild tone and a half-smile. He’s gratified when Quint’s expression falls, but the next reaction is… interesting.

Quint catches sight of Blues and his mouth falls open in what is unmistakable as outright distress. He looks like he might bolt, but then Bass barrels in after him, by sheer volume blocking the exit and forcing Quint to stumble forward.

“Oh, great,” Bass says, on catching sight of them. Shadow Man notes that he’s holding a stack of books, which is a hard thing to reconcile with Bass’ image. He turns his head to Shadow Man specifically. “Hey dickhead, I’ve been told that stalking is a no-no, so get lost.”

“Uh, actually, they’re playing with us,” Top Man says over the top of his Game Master screen. He sounds apologetic. “It was… a teensy bit hard to find someone who was willing to play, er, with you. Given your reputation.”

Shadow Man watches with interest as Bass seems to notice Quint’s obvious discomfort.

“Hey,” he says, without the usual edge to his voice, “You want to ditch?”

Shadow Man and Blues exchange a glance. Shadow Man is even more surprised when Quint shakes his head quickly, gathering himself.

“No, it’s fine!” he says. “It’s just a game, right? We already made our characters and everything.”

“Hrmph, yeah, speaking of which,” Bass says, pulling out two sheets of paper and practically throwing them at Top Man. Top Man fumbles in the receiving but straightens out the pages and holds them up to read. He skims over the first one, nodding to himself.

The second sheet provokes a more interesting response. He starts skimming over it, makes a face, and then starts reading it very closely . He looks up at Bass with something between disgust and, curiously, begrudging respect.

“You’ve never played before?” he asks, handing the sheets back to Bass, who along with Quint is settling into the chairs opposite of Shadow Man and Blues.

“Nope,” Bass grins.

“This is the most disgusting build I have ever seen in my life,” Top Man says. “I think I need to rebalance my encounters.”

“Bring it on,” Bass makes a show of clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I wouldn’t’ve expected you to make a wizard, though,” Quint says, leaning over into Bass’ personal space to get a better look at his sheet. Bass scoffs, making no move to push the smaller robot away. Shadow Man takes mental notes.

“It’s the strongest class,” he says. “Just stand in front of me and take hits, paladin.”

“Hey, what are we, mashed potatoes?” Blues cuts in.

“I guess if you’re so fucking keen on getting cut in half again you can jump in front too,” Bass grins. Shadow Man can’t see Blues’ eyes through his visor, but from the twitch downwards at the edge of his mouth, he guesses that he’s narrowing his eyes.

“We’re all on the same team here,” Shadow Man says, loving this, loving every moment of it. “This is a cooperative game. Try to keep things civil.”

“Yeah,” Quint says, and then more quietly, to Bass, “When did he get cut in half?”

“He got better,” Bass waves him off, but Quint is frowning down at his spot at the table. This clearly isn’t lost on Blues, who is stealing curious glances at the green robot.

Top Man clears his throat, a function that Shadow Man has never understood giving to a robot, and starts speaking.

“Okay, since everyone is ready, let’s get going,” he says. “So you all meet in a tavern…”

“Shouldn’t we know each other already or something?” Quint says, and Top Man sighs.

“You can know each other already if you want,” he says, “that’s fine.”

“Bass, we should be friends!” Quint says, and Blues audibly chokes down a laugh. Bass glares at Blues and then throws up his hands.

“Okay, sure, we’re friends or whatever,” he says, and then jabs a finger in Blues’ direction. “But they can go to hell.”

“Fine,” Blues says, putting a hand on Shadow Man’s shoulder. “Then we’ll know each other, too.”

“The Unseen Secret Akiyoshi has no thought to spare for friendship,” Shadow Man says evenly. “His mind is consumed only by revenge for his fallen master.”

“Not a single thought for the playful wiles of the travelling minstrel who just so happens to pop up everywhere he goes?” Blues says, with a smirk, and Shadow Man closes his eyes. This is a battle of attrition, but he has already lost, for he is weak.

“Ew, get a room,” Top Man says, and Shadow Man opens his eyes again to take in the irritation of his brother, Bass’ impatient indifference, and… Quint making a face like he’s gagging on a lemon?

That requires investigation.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” he says.

“Right,” Top Man grits out. “So both of your little twosomes meet in a tavern. The innkeeper says -”

“I start a bar fight,” Bass says, boredly pushing a twelve-sided die around.

“Wait, wait,” Quint says, holding up his hands as Top Man visibly restrains himself. “I think this is like the bar part in the one game, this is where we get the quest!”

“Well then we should get to the damn quest already. I want to fight something,” Bass says.

“Gee, it’s almost like someone is trying to give you a quest,” Top Man mutters.

“Are we hearing this?” Blues asks.

“I’m sitting in the corner,” Shadow Man says. “Are there shadows?”

“Sure, there are shadows,” Top Man says into his hands, which are holding his face. “There’s a totally dark corner in an otherwise well-lit public establishment.”

“He does need them for his thing,” Blues says.

“Seriously? Did you give your character magic shadow jumping too?” Bass gripes.

“My ability to pass through shadows is not magic,” Shadow Man says. Blues, the traitor, snickers.

“Right, it’s ‘passing through a sub-dimension where data takes physical form and the rules of space are malleable’,” he says, putting up finger quotes.

“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean -”

“What does it look like?” Quint asks, with such urgent earnesty that everyone, even the haggard Top Man, takes pause to look at him. Bass has an odd look on his face.

“What?” Shadow Man says.

“What’s it look like when you’re in there?” Quint repeats. “I’ve seen you hang around in one shadow before, so it’s not an instant teleport, right?”

“It looks… different,” Shadow Man says, and is surprised to find Quint nodding along.

“Fascinating. So if you’re quite done,” Top Man says, pinching his nose, “the innkeeper has some goblins to tell you lot about.”

After that rocky start, they settle into the groove of the game. The general premise, they find out, is that goblins are infesting the land from an unknown source. As a group, they’re supposed to find out where they’re coming from and stop them.

There are definitely some hiccups along the way, though.

First off, there’s Bass. Top Man’s reaction at the beginning starts to make sense the moment that they actually engage in combat. His spells, some of which he has to crack open several different books from his pile to explain, make short work of every single enemy they come across. He tries to order the group around constantly, a trait which would make the experience totally unbearable if it weren’t for Quint acting as buffer for his more ignominious impulses.

Quint, whose choice of character is fascinating. Shadow Man doesn’t know enough about him to be sure how much of the good-hearted paladin is genuine, but the choice - and his actions, trying to talk their foes down before fighting them even if it makes Bass visibly annoyed - speak to an underlying truth that hasn’t yet been grasped.

And, of course, there’s Blues. Shadow Man is enjoying himself well enough, much more than he expected. Blues, on the other hand, is on his phone texting half the time, is barely paying attention except to exchange barbs with Bass, and, most frustratingly, holds things up by not knowing what to do on his turn.

The most surprising thing about Blues’ behaviour is how strongly Quint seems to take exception to it.

“Can you put that away?” he says, after yet another combat round ticks over to the bard and Blues looks up from his screen blankly. “You’re really slowing things down for everyone.”

“Sorry,” Blues shrugs, putting it down on the table. “I, uh…” he searches his sheet. “I do a Song of Battle.”

“You did that last round, idiot,” Bass says. “The effect lasts three rounds. Pick something else.”

“Geez, alright,” Blues says, picking the red six-sided die that represents his character up and moving it next to a bigger, twenty-sided die on the grid. “I guess I’ll just hit this guy.”

“That’s the goblin bandit leader!” Quint leans forward. “If you do that he’ll probably attack you next round and you’ll get hurt!”

“So?” Blues shrugs. “It’s just a game. Relax.”

“I’ll warp into a shadow behind him on my turn and perform a stealth attack, since we’ll be flanking,” Shadow Man says, and that seems to mollify everyone.

Everyone but Quint, who is not-so-subtly still frowning at Blues. He’s tapping a finger against his other arm in a picture of irritation.

There is definitely something that he’s missing, Shadow Man thinks.

They’re halfway through a battle towards the vast bridge where they’ve discovered the Portal to the Elemental Plane of Goblins has opened when Shadow Man receives a text of his own. He makes sure that his turn isn’t for another few minutes before covertly scanning the contents of the message. It’s from Galaxy Man, a simple few words with a file attached.

GM: First file decrypted.

Time_Skimmer_Analysis(1).pdf

Looking up, he sees Bass arguing with Blues over something called “action economy”. Estimating that that little tiff is probably going to last a good few minutes, he opens the file and starts skimming (heh) through.

He becomes so absorbed that he very nearly jumps when Blues elbows him.

“Hey, how come you get to be on your phone?” he says, a playful tease. He hesitates when Shadow Man returns the jab with a completely serious expression.

“Excuse us a moment,” Shadow Man says, dragging a confused Blues off through the door in one smooth movement.

When the door closes behind them with a click, Blues cocks his head and crosses his arms.

“What gives?” he asks.

“I just received a file from Galaxy Man,” Shadow Man says in hushed tones, holding up his phone. “An analysis of the Time Skimmer. It’s a device that was stolen along with Quint from the Chronos Institute, way back then.”

“Time Skimmer?” Blues asks. He lowers his voice to match. “What is it supposed to be?”

“According to Dr. Wily, it was supposed to be a time machine,” Shadow Man says. “He claimed at the time that it was a failure, of course, so I didn’t pay it any mind.”

“You’re not seriously implying…” Blues’ arms slowly uncross.

“Think about it,” Shadow Man says. “Quint has no known origin beyond that we know he came from the Institute. He’s spoken of a strong bond with a creator who supposedly left him here to rot. A mysterious woman with no past shows up out of nowhere affiliated with the same institute and hires someone to retrieve him.”

“That’s crazy,” Blues says. His lips form a hard line as he frowns. “... But… it would explain…”

“Would explain what?” Shadow Man asks.

“She knew something she shouldn’t have,” Blues says.

“What was that?” Shadow Man frowns.

“Nothing,” Blues says, quickly. “It’s… don’t worry about it.”

“I see,” Shadow Man says. “It’s also worth noting that he’s been giving you dirty looks all afternoon.”

“He’s probably just still mad about the thing with Ballade,” Blues smirks. “Though if anyone should be mad it would be me.”

“You do have that effect on people,” Shadow Man says. Blues snorts. “But that’s not it. The Time Skimmer in its original form wasn’t supposed to be a mechanism for travel. It was for detecting and monitoring alternate timestreams. Splits in causality. This report hypothesizes that Wily modified the original machine extensively.”

“How could they know that?” Blues asks. “If Wily junked the original.”

“I don’t know,” Shadow Man admits, “but this report was authored by one Dr. Smith. Our mystery woman.”

They both fall into a contemplative silence. It’s quickly broken as Bass opens the door next to them, one hand over his eyes.

“Are you two done making out?” he asks. “We’re still playing a fucking game here.”

“We’ll be right along,” Shadow Man says. Then, because he’s not one to miss an opportunity to spite someone, he pulls Blues into a deep (and audible, thanks to Blues’ moaning) kiss.

Bass makes a noise of disgust and retreats, slamming the door.

When they return, the grid map has been set up for the final confrontation on the bridge.

“How’re we supposed to close the portal?” Quint asks, and Shadow Man isn’t sure whether he’s speaking in-character or not but figures the question is pertinent either way.

“You see what looks like a goblin magic user surrounded by a fresh wave of elite goblin soldiers,” Top Man says, adjusting his screen. “They’re casting some kind of spell. Bass, your character can tell that it’s keeping the portal open.”

“Kill all of them,” Bass grins. “My kind of solution.”

“What does the alignment on your sheet say again…?” Quint peers over, and Bass scowls and covers it up with his hands.

“Neutral,” he says. “Don’t you dare try and talk to them, you’ll just get us surrounded like last time.”

“What exactly is stopping you from just walking all over them with that chain shocking spell you used last time?” Shadow Man asks.

“I’m almost out of spells,” Bass huffs. “I’ve got two explosive bursts and then I’m down to the basics.”

“Shouldn’t we have gotten the chance to rest up before this?” Blues asks, a lot more focused since they came back. Shadow Man finds it odd, but then, if he wants to pay attention to Quint, he’s got to pay attention to the activity Quint is engaged in.

“Maybe someone wanted the final battle to be an actual challenge,” Top Man mutters under his breath.

“There’s nothing for it but to engage them on even footing,” Shadow Man says, calmly.

“Also,” Top Man says, “they’ve spotted you.”

The battle is fierce. The strategies that they’ve relied upon to win the fights before this one seem to be headed off by the enemy ahead of time. Bass is livid as his first explosive burst fizzles out in a surprise anti-magic field that somehow isn’t affecting the goblin caster’s efforts. Shadow Man thinks that it’s pointless to get upset over it, right up until he’s informed that the portal’s light is negating the shadows cast by the sun. At that point he’s sitting there pondering if the best way to destroy his brother emotionally would be physical or social sabotage.

Soon enough, they’re in dire straits, surrounded by the enemy on all sides, out of healing, and low on hit points. And not even close to the portal, to add insult to injury.

“This is bullshit,” Bass grinds out, flipping through his books as though there’s some obscure rule there that might see them out of this. “Hey, I’ve been counting hits, and these guys have way more fucking hit points than they’re supposed to!”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Blues asks.

“There’s no such thing as cheating when you’re the GM,” Top Man says reproachfully.

Quint is looking at the map with a pensive expression, stroking his chin.

“Hey, what kind of bridge is this?” he asks.

“Oh, the kind with pillars under, I guess,” Top Man says, distractedly. “It’s pretty big.”

“And some parts of it are collapsed, right? We’re right next to one.” Quint points at the map where several holes are outlined in red. “You can see under?”

“Yeah, but overall the stability -” Top Man starts.

“Where are the beams?” Quint asks.

Top Man sighs, reaches over, and quickly sketches a few circles interspaced on either side of the arena on the grid.

“Bass,” Quint says, turning to the ebony robot. “Are there rules for wrecking objects?”

“Yeah, durability,” Bass mutters, picking up the main book and flipping to what Shadow Man presumes is the correct section. “Deal enough damage and it’s destroyed.”

“What’s the durability foooor, say, a stone pillar?” Quint asks, a smile spreading over his face. Bass, who has caught wind of what’s going on, slowly grins into the pages of the book.

“Looks like it’s not a whole hell of a lot,” He says. “Not compared to my spell.”

“If you destroy the bridge, I’d like to point out that you will fall to your deaths,” Top Man says.

“We would, if we shot the burst straight down,” Quint says. “But it has range before it explodes, right? It got to the guy before but it fizzled. But it fizzled twenty feet from him, you said, and if the twenty feet is a field all around, and the bridge is high enough to kill us…”

“It’d have to be at least thirty feet high to kill us guaranteed,” Bass says.

“... Then Bass can shoot the beams under him where the field doesn’t reach and the damage from falling will kill him guaranteed!”

Top Man glares between the two of them and then sighs.

“It’s your turn,” he says at Bass, sourly.

They roll it out, everyone leaning forward to watch the results. As the last die falls and spins, and settles -

“Yes!!” Bass pumps his fist. “That’s enough! Suck it!”

“The burst explodes, destroying the beams holding the bridge up under the goblin warlock,” Top Man says, with a resigned tone. “He screams and falls to his death, ending the spell. The portal starts to close.”

“We won!” Quint says, and in the most bizarre display Shadow Man has ever seen, him and Bass exchange a high five with huge grins on their faces.

“But,” Top Man says, “That blow has destabilized the bridge. It’s starting to collapse outward from the point of detonation. It’ll reach you in two rounds at the rate it’s going.”

“Oh,” Quint bites his lip. “We’re still surrounded.”

“There’s no realistic way to fight our way out in time,” Shadow Man says, frowning. He scans his sheet for answers. “I can get away, but it would provoke attacks from them on my way out, and leave you all behind.”

Social humiliation it is, he thinks. Top Man will suffer for this indignity. The Unseen Secret Akiyoshi must live to avenge his master.

“I can do it,” Blues says, and all heads turn to him.

“You can do what?” Bass scoffs. “You’re a bard. Have you got some secret attack item up your sleeve?”

“I’ve got a song that keeps close enemies from attacking or moving as long as I’m not attacking or moving,” he says. “I think it’s for last-ditch defense. But they’re all in range.”

“But then you have to stay in place,” Quint says, a note of alarm in his voice. “The bridge is collapsing!”

Blues shrugs.

“I guess I’ll just have to sacrifice myself,” he says.

“That’s not - there has to be another way!” Quint says, fists clenching in front of him. He’s shaking, Shadow Man notes with some confusion. “You can’t die! ”

“It doesn’t matter if I die,” Blues says. “It’s just a -”

“Why don’t you ever think about the people you’d leave behind?!” Quint shouts, jumping to his feet.

The room goes dead silent.

It takes Quint a few moments, but he seems to realize himself and sits down stiffly.

“I-I mean, my paladin says that,” he says in a quaver. “In-character.”

“Uh… Have three hundred experience points for roleplaying,” Top Man says.

Shadow Man glances over at Blues. He’s gone ramrod straight in his seat.

Something is wrong.

“We should pause this and continue another time,” Shadow Man says, standing up and putting a hand on Blues’ shoulder. “When everyone is feeling more at ease.”

“But we’re almost done -” Top Man starts, but withers in his seat at the look Shadow Man throws at him. “- yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll get to everyone with the schedule for next time.”

Blues practically has to be pulled out of his seat. Shadow Man steers him around the corner and then through the shadows. They emerge in Shadow Man’s room, where Blues finally breaks off. He leans heavily against the wall with one hand.

“He knows,” he says, so quiet that Shadow Man almost misses it. “How does he…?”

“Knows what?” Shadow Man asks. He’s starting to get frustrated. “Is this the same thing that that woman knows?”

Blues just looks up at him and swallows.

“Blues,” he says, “Are you keeping something from me?”

“I -” Blues says, “- I gotta go.”

“Blues,” Shadow Man steps towards him, and he steps back.

“I’m gonna go,” Blues says, and then in a flash of teleportation he’s gone.

Shadow Man stares blankly at the spot that he occupied not a moment ago.

They rush down the hallways from the room they’d played in, Quint holding his head in his hands and setting the pace as he run-stumbles forward. Bass jogs to keep up, and it seems that his mind is doing the same.

“Quint,” he says, finally putting in that final sprint and grabbing Quint’s shoulder. All of a sudden, Quint stops, and Bass almost runs into him as his boots skid on the metal floor. “Quint? What the hell was that? ”

“I’m sorry,” Quint says, posture folding in on itself. “I-I’m really sorry! You were having fun and it was almost over and I couldn’t even keep it together -”

“Keep it together?” Still keeping the hold on his shoulder, Bass walks around to face him from the front. “Keep what together? I thought Shadow Man was going to be a problem, but you blew up at fucking Proto Man. Isn’t he…?”

Quint looks up at him with quivering lips and with a start Bass realizes that, fuck, he’s crying again.

“I’ll explain,” he says, “In, in private.”

Bass doesn’t usually bother with teleporting inside the fortress, but he doesn’t hesitate to take them back to his room. Treble looks up from the bed at the intrusion and stands up to move as Bass guides Quint to sit down on the edge of the mattress.

“Okay,” he says, settling on the floor across from him. “Now explain.”

Quint sniffs, reaching up to remove his helmet. Bass is mystified by the action at first, but he realizes as Quint starts scrubbing away at his eyes with hands the impracticality of a visor in such a situation. Of course, now he’s looking right into those pained blue eyes of his, which so easily pull on his heartstrings.

Quint looks down at his lap.

“Blues has a defect in his power core,” he starts softly. “It’s been there since he was created. Kinda the downside of being a prototype, I guess. His body… his weapon systems… they can’t handle a lot of stress the same way a normal robot can. It’s been… patched, before, by Dr. Wily, but it’s still flawed.”

“He still goes around fighting all the time,” Bass frowns.

“He’s stubborn,” Quint says. He’s biting his lip, hands fidgeting. “But… the flaw is fatal. His core is unstable, a-and one day it’s gonna kill him. Could be today. Could be years from now.”

The tears which had been wiped away before return in full force, streaming down Quint’s face. Bass sits there, frozen. Unsure of what to do.

“Proto Man’s gonna bite it…?” Bass says, the words coming out of their own accord. It’s hard to imagine. Real death among robots is so rare. They can be rebuilt from practically nothing, as long as their control chips are retrieved.

But Proto Man is a prototype. The first of his kind. It’s not hard to imagine that he predates the modular design of their systems.

“Bass…” Quint swallows, and then very, very quietly, he says, “I came from thirty-seven years in the future.”

Oh.

“Fuck,” Bass says. He wavers for a moment, but then he reaches out and pulls Quint into a tight embrace. He’s stiff at first, probably not expecting the gesture, but then he’s wracked with a sob, and then another, and then he’s holding on to Bass for dear life as he shakes and cries into his shoulder.

It takes a few minutes for the crying to subside enough for Quint to speak again, and when he does, his voice is coarse and he’s saying it right into Bass’ shoulder, quiet, shaky voice amplified by proximity.

“I-I never even got to know him,” he says, “Dad said that he could’ve been fixed. That there w-was a risk that he’d die anyway but there was a chance and h-he wouldn’t t-take it!”

Bass thinks of how close Proto Man is to Rock, the few times he’s seen them interact. He doesn’t have a stomach to turn but he feels… a disgust. A deep-seated disgust. He squeezes Quint closer to him, a fiercer protective feeling chasing it.

“I’m sorry,” Quint says, “I… I don’t like thinking about it. It’s in the past, b-but then…”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” Bass asks.

“‘Cause I… ‘cause I ruined your game,” Quint says. He sniffs and swallows. Bass spares a single thought for how much he’s going to have to clean his armour later, but quashes it. “I really thought you’d like it. I wanted to… to do something nice for you, for all the nice th-things you’ve done for me.”

Bass has no reference point for the feeling that overtakes him. It bubbles up past disgust and surprise and rushes past protectiveness and grows and grows until he doesn’t feel like he can hold it all inside anymore. It’s fragile and strong and cold and warm. It brushes away any thought it comes into contact with, quieting his mind and focusing it on one person in one point in time, this moment and this embrace.

“Don’t…” Don’t cry anymore. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. His words are soft, breathless.

“But -”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, more firmly. “It’s just a stu- it’s just a game. We can play it again some other time.”

“You still want to?” Quint asks.

“Yeah,” Bass says.

“Okay,” Quint says. He’s still holding onto Bass like a lifeline.

“If anyone gets blamed for fucking it up it’d be your shithead of a brother,” Bass says, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Quint says. He sniffles.

They stay like that for a long time.

Eventually, Quint leaves. Right up until the moment that he puts his helmet back on, Bass can see in his eyes that he’s still haunted by the burden he’s been carrying.

That look is familiar. He’s seen it before, on another face, at another time. He was new, then, but robots have a good memory. He still remembers every detail of the day he met Rock.

At the time, he’d been too focused on sizing up his combat ability, too busy playing his role to notice the sadness that those blue eyes carried. The wariness. The hope. The strain, stretched almost to the snapping point. The desperation, later, in those heartstopping moments when Bass had watched him press his buster against Wily’s face and seriously consider pulling the trigger.

When he sees Quint in his more haunted moments, it’s like he’s seeing double. Like the shade of Rock is standing next to him, looking at him with the same desperate blue eyes that he saw years ago.

And it stirs up feelings. But sometimes, Quint stirs up feelings, all on his own, and he’s not seeing double, but sometimes he is and Bass hates this, hates this so much.

He sighs into his controller, hunching up his shoulders as he flips through the unit screen. He pauses on one in particular.

Mega Dweeb
Bomber / Lv. 87

They’re sorted by level. He flicks the cursor over by one. The sprites are identical in all but colour palette, so when he changes the screen, all that changes is all that is blue becomes green.

FUCK YOU
Bomber / Lv. 87

“Damn it,” Bass says, putting the controller down with more force than necessary and covering his face with his hands.

It’s too complicated.

He hears Treble growling, and his head shoots up. Someone’s coming down the hall.

He jumps to his feet, trying to wipe the conflicted expression off of his face with his hands. When the knock comes, he thinks he probably looks mostly composed, or at least just baseline irritated. He opens his door.

And immediately tries to close it again.

“Not so fast.” Ballade shoves his boot in the door, bracing it with his hand. “We need to talk.”

“The hell we do,” Bass says, gritting his teeth as he pushes back. Unfortunately, armoured boots are very effective door stoppers. Ballade, who is actually bulkier than Bass if you get down to it, forces his way in, only to jerk back as Treble snaps at him.

“Eugh! Keep your dog under control!” he says, and Bass snarls.

“Wolf,” he says, “and why the fuck should I? You’re trespassing.”

“Look,” Ballade says, “We need to talk. Quint told us what happened.”

“Shouldn’t you be bothering Proto Man?” Bass snaps. “Or fucking Shadow Man? I’m pretty fucking sure that I didn’t do anything wrong this time.”

“You didn’t,” Ballade says, voice tight. “Which is why I’m here.”

Bass seethes. He’s in no mood for this right now. Treble, always sensitive to his moods, growls even louder. The sound consumes the small space that is his room, but Ballade holds his ground.

“What. Is your. Point,” he says.

“I’m here because I care about Quint. I care about him a lot,” Ballade says. “And, contrary to everything I thought was possible, so do you.”

“What, do you want me to admit it?” Bass throws up his hands. “Yes, fuck, I care about him. Thank you, Sherlock fucking Holmes, for this excellent deduction. Nobody could have possibly fucking noticed until you shoved your ugly fucking mug in here and -”

“I’m in love with him too, you idiot.”

Everything grinds to a halt.

“What?” Bass says. His mouth hangs open after the word tumbles out, like it’s expecting something to follow. But there’s nothing to follow.

He suddenly envies the Bass of five minutes ago, who thought that things were complicated. He kind of wants to strangle him, too.

“I’m not -” Bass starts, “- I’m not in love with Quint.”

Ballade sighs, a long and drawn out impatient sigh punctuated by rubbing the part of his helmet over his forehead with his palm.

“I think you and I are much more similar than we’d care to admit,” he says. “Maybe in love is too strong a description, in your case.”

“Just - stop talking,” Bass says, baring his teeth. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to tell you that it took me so long to realize how I felt that it was too late to do anything about it,” Ballade crosses his arms. “And I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

“Why the fuck would you care,” Bass says.

“Because you’re the reason it was too late!” Ballade snaps. “I hate you. I hate you so much, because you won before you even knew there was a contest!”

“What?” Bass resists taking an involuntary step back. Anger is rolling off of Ballade in waves.

“He likes you,” Ballade grits out. “He likes you, and even though I hate you, I won’t watch a repeat of what happened to me because I want him to be happy.”

Bass doesn’t say anything to that. His mind is working on overdrive, putting the pieces into place. The comfort of Quint’s presence. Their easy back and forth. The pull to be closer he’d felt in the water. The surge of power that had welled up from deep inside, pushing away the darkness when Quint’s life had been in danger. That feeling he couldn’t name, the all-consuming growing bubbling feeling from not an hour ago.

Fuck.

Ballade is right.

He doesn’t know if he can call it love. He doesn’t know enough about love - never paid attention enough - to know if this is it, that thing that people talk in circles around and write poems about or whatever they do. But it’s something, an attachment, a pull, a desire not to ever let go.

It’s an extremity of emotion that rivals the single-minded obsessiveness that he’d lived and thrived on for so long.

“Well what am I supposed to do about it?” Bass asks. It’s not a question he would have ever let slip to someone like Ballade under any other circumstance. He curses himself for revealing this kind of vulnerability.

“Seriously?” Ballade looks completely unimpressed. Bass restrains himself from punching his stupid face in, and Treble’s growling once again reaches a crescendo.

“Just -” Bass’ hands ball up into fists. “- just get lost. If you’re going to be an asshole then good fucking riddance and let me think.”

“Fine,” Ballade says, and starts for the door. His eyes flick back just as he’s leaving. “Oh, and… don’t you dare hurt him.”

“Piss off,” Bass says, slamming the door shut as soon as the other robot is clear.

Ballade’s footsteps retreat up the hallways and out of earshot.

Bass sinks to the floor next to Treble, hand coming up automatically and stroking the wolf soothingly between the ears.

He looks back at the TV screen, where two bomber units are displayed side by side in the unit menu.

“Fuck,” he says, leaning into Treble.

The quaint little house, surrounded by its white-picket fence which backs up on empty grassland, is an achingly familiar sight. Blues tries to avoid coming here, for that reason and a few others. When he meets Rock, he usually makes arrangements to do so in the city, but on occasion, usually when he knows his creator is out at a conference, he’s been lured to sit on the couch in the living room and content himself watching his brother play the video games he loves so much, or to play a scoreless game of soccer in the yard.

Dr. Light isn’t at a conference right now, but Blues is here anyway. He needs the grounding.

Why don’t you ever think about the people you’d leave behind?!

Usually because it leads him to do stupid things like this.

He finally gathers the courage to knock on the door. It’s answered promptly by Roll, who has a portable vacuum in one hand and is wearing a pink apron over her standard red dress. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of him.

“Oh! Blues!” she says, and then cocks her head to the side. “Is everything alright? Rock’s not here at the moment.”

“Kalinka’s always bugging me about how I never come home to dinner.” Blues shrugs disarmingly, and Roll’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh,” she says, a hesitant smile lighting up her face. “Well, you’re more than welcome. Come in, I was going to start dinner in a few minutes anyway.”

She moves aside to let him in, and he enters the belly of the beast. The belly of the beast, as it were, is tastefully decorated in a western style. The most notable thing about the Light household is that every single surface is immaculately clean. Roll takes to her built purpose with what Blues can only call fanatical devotion. He knows that the fact that Rock won’t let her clean his room is a continual sore spot between the two of them.

On the way to the kitchen, they pass the door which leads down to the underground labs where Dr. Light spends most of his time. By his absence, Blues infers that he’s probably down there working on something or other.

They get to the kitchen and Roll starts measuring out rice. Blues takes a seat in the breakfast nook and tries not to feel out of place. This state of affairs continues for a few minutes before Roll breaks the silence.

“So,” she says, not looking up from her work. “What’s wrong?”

Blues, who was running circles on the table top with his index finger, freezes.

“Wrong?” he asks.

“You never come for dinner,” Roll says. “Especially not out of the blue.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see my little sister,” he says, and she finally looks over and makes eye contact.

“You never want to do that, either,” she says. Blues winces.

“Comfort of home?” he tries, and Roll stops what she’s doing, puts her hands on her hips, and spins to face him, expression strict.

“Blues Light, we both know you aren’t comfortable here,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it or not?”

The words die in his throat. He does want to talk about it, he realizes. It’s not just guilt that brought him here on autopilot, though that’s a large part of it. But if he tells her, he’s opening up a whole new can of worms.

As he works out his thoughts, Roll wavers in her posture and sighs. She turns back to dinner prep, walking the few short steps to their fridge to retrieve some vegetables.

“You know,” she says, arranging them on the counter, “Don’t tell Rock or dad, but sometimes it’s really hard. To be the one everyone goes to to pick up the pieces.”

Blues blinks.

“I love them, and I’m glad to help, but…” she pauses, taking a peeler out of a drawer. “It wears a person down. I have to keep people’s secrets, and then talk to the people those secrets are about, and never let anything on. It’s not my place.”

“Roll…” he says, a deep dark fear clawing its way from the corner of his mind to prominence.

“Even then, I…” she pauses in her work, resting both hands and their contents on the counter. “... I wish you’d trust me.”

“You know,” Blues says, and he has to physically resist the urge to bolt. He knows he’s tensing up.

“I know,” she says.

“How long?” he asks.

“A long time,” Roll says, giving up entirely on peeling and turning to face him. Blues swallows. “Dad gets upset about it sometimes.”

“Does Rock…?”

She shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “He doesn’t know.”

Blues lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He looks at Roll, whose eyes are wet. She’s standing tall, though, back straight.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” he asks, feeling small in comparison.

Roll brings a hand up to her cheek, leaning her head into it.

“Because then I would never see you at all,” she says, matter-of-factly.

He feels a stab of guilt and looks away, because she’s completely right and he knows it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” Roll says, and some of that wetness from before has escaped. She’s got a tear or two tracking down each dry cheek. “Will you still stay for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Blues says. He reaches up and puts a hand on hers. “I’ll stay for dinner.”

They don’t end up talking about it any more than that. But by the time Blues hears Rock barrel into the house, dinner is just about ready and he feels better. It’s fragile, it’s got an underlying rawness to it, but he’s feeling better. Dr. Light, Roll has confirmed, is too busy with whatever he’s working on to come up for dinner. This is a common enough occurrence that Roll only makes a minor fuss about it before moving on with plating. Blues is setting the table as Rock enters.

When he catches sight of Blues his face lights up like a Christmas tree and he runs forward to throw his arms around the older robot.

“Blues!!” Rock says. “You didn’t say you were gonna be here!”

“My ways are mysterious,” Blues says, smirking.

“Rock, I swear, if you forgot to take off your shoes again -” Roll’s voice echoes in from the kitchen. Rock freezes and pedals back from the hug, looking down at his very present sneakers.

“Oops,” he says, flashing a sheepish grin before running back towards the door. Blues can’t help but chuckle as Roll’s head pokes out of the kitchen as his footsteps retreat, eyes narrowed.

“Cut the kid some slack,” Blues says, hands in his pockets. “He’s saved the world how many times?”

“He doesn’t get infinite credit for that,” Roll grumbles, ducking back in and then reemerging with a big bowl of rice. “Anyway, you’re not the one who has to mop.”

“Exactly how many passes does saving the world buy you?” Blues asks, popping in to help. He carries out a plate of chicken and puts it on the table. “Is there a conversion rate from saving little brothers?”

“You know, if you have the time to jump in when he’s almost defeated and throw him an E-tank,” Roll sniffs, “maybe you could stand to be there when the battle starts more often.”

“You say that like I have a tracker on him,” Blues says, holding a hand over his heart like he’s been wounded.

That is in fact false. Shadow Man, on the other hand, keeps close tabs on the comings and goings of the fortress and will often give him the heads up when his little brother has gotten in over his head.

His smirk falters at the thought of Shadow Man. He’ll be wanting answers, Blues is sure. And with the way he is, he’s not going to rest until he gets them.

That’s a problem for later, Blues tells himself. I’ll figure out how to tell him.

“Back!” Rock runs in, now sockfooted. “Can I help?”

Roll shakes her head, putting down the last dish from the kitchen onto the tablecloth with a dulled ceramic tnk .

“No, everything’s ready,” she says. Blues spies a dish already sitting in the kitchen, presumably to take down to Dr. light after they’re finished.

“Sorry,” Rock says, walking his way around the table to sit at what must be his customary place. “Thanks for dinner.”

They all sit down and start to work through their portions. Blues doesn’t see the point, honestly. Roll’s cooking is good, but to him, three robots sitting around a table and participating in a totally unnecessary act of consumption seems like a pantomime of humanity. He keeps the sentiment to himself, mostly because Rock takes to it with gusto.

“Man, this chicken is really good!” he says, and Roll visibly tries and fails to hang on to her earlier irritation in light of flattery.

“Thanks,” she says, giving in to a pleased expression. “It’s a new recipe. Kalinka sent it to me.”

Kalinka. Suddenly, Blues remembers something important.

“Hey, Roll,” Blues says, conversationally. “Kalinka said you knew something about Quint and Bass.”

Roll stops with her fork midway to her mouth. Her eyes flick over to Rock, whose expression is immediately curious. Very curious.

“Bass and… Quint?” Rock tilts his head, and then stuffs more rice into his mouth. “Who’s that?”

Roll kicks Blues under the table and shoots him a glare. Blues raises a quizzical eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, sharply jerking her head towards Rock.

Right.

“You know, that robot from the Chronos Institute,” Blues says, clearing his throat. “Green, yea tall, visor?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen him in a long time,” Rock says, around a mouthful of food. He swallows sheepishly when Roll looks unimpressed. “What’s up with him and Bass?”

“Theeeey’re…” Blues warily eyes Roll. “Uh, working together, I think. I heard a rumour that he joined the Mega Man Killers.”

“The Mega Man Killers?” Rock bites his lip. “That’s not like Bass at all. He’s all about doing stuff himself. Though…”

“Though?” Roll leans forward.

“I guess I did see him with Copy Me a while ago,” Rock says. “That was weird.”

That’s weird, Blues thinks. The only person Bass has been hanging out with lately is -

He drops his fork.

“Shit,” he says, and he clambers out of his seat fast enough to avoid Roll’s scandalized kick under the table. “I have to go.”

“Blues, what-?” Roll starts, but he’s gone before she can finish.

Quint isn’t really paying much attention to the cards in front of him. As a result, he’s losing pretty badly. Dully, he registers that Enker looks almost concerned, which should be a warning bell, but of course that hasn’t stopped him from taking most of Quint’s ante. Punk is harder to read by his very nature, of course, but they keep exchanging glances.

Ballade is out. He left for some reason or another after Quint unloaded his tale of woe. He hopes he’s not going to bother Bass or something. Bass had held him for almost an hour, letting him cry it out until he was quite literally out of tears. Personally, Quint thinks he deserves a medal.

He should feel better, he guesses, but instead the sharp sadness has just dulled to that familiar state of numbness. Based on previous experiences, he probably just needs to ride it out. Spend time with people and try not to spiral. Not add any additional stress to the pile of things he needs to process.

The door flies open. For a moment, Quint thinks it must be an enraged Ballade, but it’s not Ballade.

It’s Blues.

Everyone jumps to their feet, weapons drawn, and Quint has to resist forming his buster now that he has access to it. He calls on Sakugarne, instead, and grips the familiar handles with shoulders hunched.

“Hand him over,” Blues says, and there’s a dangerous note in there that Quint has never heard before.

“Not a chance,” Punk says. “Get lost, Proto Man.”

They’re going to fight in this confined space, Quint realizes with alarm. Over him. And no matter who wins, he loses.

“Wait,” he says, stepping forward. “What do you want, Blues?”

“I think you know what I want, Rock.” Blues says. Quint tenses, and he bites his lip. He glances back at Enker, who’s sporting a downright murderous expression.

“Let’s talk,” he says, turning back to Blues.

“Not with them here,” Blues says, head turning minutely to regard Enker and Punk.

“Do you really think we’re about to just let you -” Enker starts.

“Enker,” Quint says, “Let me talk to him. Please.”

There are several tense beats of silence.

“Okay,” Enker says, finally. “But if you don’t come back, I’ll consider it an open warrant on him.”

“That’s fine,” Quint says, even as Blues opens his mouth to speak.

He walks up to Blues and puts out his hand, leaving Sakugarne behind.

Blues takes it, and they leave in a stream of light.

They reappear on a cliff overlooking Skull Fortress, which Quint thinks is just typical. As soon as they hit ground he lets go of Blues’ hand, turning around and looking up at the starlit sky. There’s no moon out tonight, so it’s especially dark. He sighs and takes off his helmet. The absence of the darkened visor helps, a little, and he turns back to Blues with a flinty expression.

“Rock -” Blues says, reaching out.

“Don’t call me that,” Quint says, hands closing into fists. “What do you want, Blues?”

“What do you mean, what do I want?” Blues withdraws his hand. “I’m here to get you out of here!”

Quint presses his hands against his forehead, choking out a sound somewhere halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Now?” he says. “Seriously?”

“Ro- Quint,” Blues says. “I didn’t - I didn’t know. If I’d known I would have come.”

“Well it’s too late, okay?” Quint says. He sinks to the ground, sitting on the edge of the cliffside and dangling his boots over. He looks very hard into the distance, at the fortress.

“You’re still my brother,” Blues says, and Quint has to fight not to bite down on his lip because if he did he thinks he might bite it off .

“What did that matter when you died? ” he says, and Blues stills behind him.

When he finally replies it’s very soft.

“When did it happen?” he asks. Quint really does laugh then, a bitter, hysterical sound that ends off in a choked exhale.

“I can’t believe you,” he says. “When? Who cares when? Just you, ‘cause you wanna know how much time, how much time you have left, right?”

“I didn’t mean -”

“Well here’s an if I’d known, okay, Blues?” Quint’s head snaps around and he sees Blues unsure on his feet. He’s shifting his weight like he isn’t sure how to stand. “If I’d known you were dying I would have found you, and I would have, I would have gotten to know you. I already mourned you! But now you’re here and he’s gone and I still h-have the same questions, but you’re not really him. How am I supposed to move on ?”

He ends off with his face in his hands.

He hears a shuffle, and then the sound of Blues sitting down beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I d-don’t believe you,” Quint hiccups.

“I know,” Blues says, putting an arm around him.

“If you’re sorry, why don’t you get fixed?” Quint says, very softly. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s why he never told you,” Blues says.

“Because he was being stupid?” Quint sniffles.

“Because I can’t stand the idea of my brother hating me.”

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t ever hate my brother,” Quint whispers. “I miss you.”

Blues squeezes him, and they stay that way for a while, underneath the stars.

“We can still leave,” Blues says. “You could stay with me.”

Quint sighs. The suggestion aches. Part of him really wants to go. He allows himself to picture it, for a second, even though his loyalty programming makes his head hurt for it. Finally finding out where his brother lives. What he does to stay afloat. Getting to know him. Tango lazing around and not trying to kill him. Maybe… seeing Roll again. Dr. Light, even.

But then he would never see his little TV in the corner, or watch Punk get mad (but not really) as Enker cheats him out of maintenance duty hours. He would never joke around with Ballade again. He would never get to ask Ballade what’s so interesting about that series of books he’s been into lately, or find out how Punk found out about Dangers and Destinies, or watch more soccer games with Enker.

He wouldn’t be just a ten minute walk from Bass. He wouldn’t get to see Bass master fighting games to the point where they both win just as often as the other. He wouldn’t get to be half-pinned half-cuddled with Treble. He wouldn’t get to spend more time in Bass’ arms. He wouldn’t get to, maybe, someday, see that intense gaze closer than he’d ever dared, before his own eyes flutter closed, and...

He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, “I have a life here now. I’m not Rock anymore. I’m Quint.”

“You’re really okay with that?” Blues asks. He sounds incredulous. “You’re working for Wily.”

“I know,” Quint sighs. “But even if I didn’t have the loyalty programming bugging me, I think this is what I’d choose. I can’t just leave them there. They’re my family.”

“What do I tell your other family?” Blues asks, gently.

“Don’t tell them,” Quint winces. “They’d just try and get me back if they knew, right?”

“Yeah,” Blues says.

“I suppose that runs in the family,” Shadow Man says. Quint and Blues both whip their heads back in alarm.

Shadow Man is standing there, arms crossed. Blues stumbles to his feet.

“How long-?” he says.

“The whole time,” Shadow Man says, icily. Everything about his demeanor is cold.

“Shadow Man, wait,” Blues says, reaching out. “I was going to tell you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says, and starts stepping backwards. He dissolves into the darkness, voice fading as he leaves his final words. “Don’t follow me.”

Blues stands there with his hand out, lips parted. Quint stands, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Blues...”

“Go,” Blues says, letting his arm fall and rest against his side. “I need some time alone.”

“Okay,” Quint says, shoulders falling. “If… If that’s what you want.”

Ballade is back when Quint returns. He looks on edge somehow. Quint, who is at this point completely emotionally exhausted, doesn’t say a word before walking over and throwing his arms around the much larger robot in a hug. Ballade stiffens, clearly shocked, but he doesn’t take long to throw one arm around Quint in return.

“Are you okay?” Quint asks, and Ballade jerks out a startled laugh.

“You’re asking me? ” he says. He jerks a thumb over at Enker and Punk, who look wholly confused with the proceedings. Quint wonders how Enker would react if he was hugged and figures it isn’t worth the risk to life and limb to find out. “They filled me in on what happened. What about you?”

Quint pulls away and sort of hugs himself instead.

“Um,” he says. “Not great. Really terrible, if we’re being honest. Blues wanted to take me away, y’know? And we talked, and he’s not gonna, and other stuff happened, but it doesn’t really have to do with me, so...”

“You seriously talked him out of taking you?” Punk lets out a low whistle, somehow, despite not having lips. “We’re not going to have to deal with the Light brigade?”

“Well, yeah,” Quint says. “Wait, did you think you were gonna have to rescue me?”

“It was a distinct possibility,” Enker says.

“But how’d you have even known where I was?” Quint tilts his head. “It’s not like he would’ve taken me to Dr. Light’s house.”

Everyone in the room suddenly has somewhere else to look, except Enker, who holds Quint’s gaze like a challenge.

“... You put a tracker on me, didn’t you?” Quint frowns.

“As if I was going to entrust you to Bass without keeping tabs,” Enker says. “I’m your commanding officer and you’ve been making a habit of disappearing. Sue me.”

“Stalking isn’t cool,” Quint makes his way over to the table and collapses on one of the folding chairs. It creaks threateningly. “How many people’re gonna need to get that memo?”

“If it makes you feel better, I only intend to check it if I think you’re in danger,” Enker says. “Now get up, we’ve got training to do.”

Quint doesn’t feel like it. He really doesn’t feel like it. But it’s an order, and thinking about arguing gives him a headache, and maybe training could help get his mind off of everything anyway.

“Sure,” he says, pulling himself to his feet.

It’s undeniable to Quint that he’s become closer to his team over the last few months. He would never have hugged Ballade like he had earlier out of the blue like that prior to all of this, and he hadn’t been lying when he told Blues that they were, essentially, his family now.

Which is why it’s so frustrating that none of that seems to translate to the battlefield.

As usual, the other three are a well-oiled machine. And as usual, Quint and Sakugarne just have nothing to add but being a distraction. It doesn’t help that they’re fighting swarms of drones, which are highly mobile and difficult to hit with a pogo stick. He has his buster now. If he could just use it without worrying about what Enker would think…

In his frustrated distraction, he doesn’t heed Punk’s warning call. He looks up just in time to catch a swooping Batonton to the face, knocking him off of Sakugarne and noticeably draining his armour’s power resources. He lands on the ground shoulder-first, and that hurts. A choked cry escapes him, and he tries to scramble to his feet to locate Sakugarne.

The others reposition themselves naturally, forming a triangle around him as he recovers himself.

“You alright?” Ballade calls over his shoulder.

They’re protecting him. Last time, they hadn’t bothered, had they?

Things really have changed between us, he thinks.

Enker grunts as he absorbs several bolts of plasma from hovering drones, and Quint feels a flare of determination. His restraint snaps.

His buster forms over his hand and he jumps past them and into the fray.

The motions come back to him almost startlingly easily, considering how long it’s been. He weaves between the myriad of enemies with slides and graceful jumps, dealing out blast after blast. Their numbers thin quickly, and Sakugarne, freed from their attention by Quint’s distraction, hops towards him. He grabs hold of the pogo stick’s handles and they bounce off of the ground, soaring. At the apex of their leap, right into a field of airborne bots previously out of easy reach, he lets loose. They hit the ground at the same time he does, deactivated.

It goes silent. Abruptly, he realizes that there are no enemies left. He’s panting, cooling system glad of the intake of cool air after the strain of combat.

He dares a look over at the rest of the Mega Man Killers. They’re stunned.

He smiles, sheepish. The confidence he’d had just a moment ago is evaporating.

“Soooo…” he says, “Bass gave me my weapons back.”

“I can see that,” Ballade says.

Enker, recovering himself, lets out a long-suffering sigh. His javelin disappears to wherever he keeps it and he massages his forehead with both hands.

“That idiot,” he says. Quint bites his lip.

“Bass isn’t an idiot,” he protests.

“He should have considered that I’m obligated to report this to Dr. Wily,” Enker outright snaps. Quint flinches. “And you should have saved it for a truly dangerous situation!”

“I… I just, you’re always protecting me,” Quint says. “I don’t want to be a burden anymore! I want to protect you guys, too!”

“You haven’t thought this through, Quint,” Enker says. He starts walking, closing the distance between them. “I’m a Mega Man Killer. In any real situation, who am I going to need protection from?”

Quint looks away. He hadn’t thought it through.

“Mega Man,” he says. It’s a miserable admission. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to find Enker right in front of him. His expression is stern.

“With your capabilities so limited, no one could expect you to fight him head on. But this complicates things,” he says. “Could you really do it?”

Quint jerks away from Enker’s hand, turning away.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right. As usual.”

“Quint -” Enker says, terse. But Quint shakes his head.

“I’ll, I’ll think of something to do,” he says, backing up a few steps. “I just need to clear my head, okay?”

“Quint -” Enker starts.

“Let him go,” Punk says, coming up behind him. “He’s got a lot going on.”

Enker frowns.

Quint takes the opportunity to make his way quickly to the door and slip out before anyone can say anything else.

Blues listens to the wind whistle through the badlands below him and to the rustle as it pulls on his scarf. He looks at Skull Fortress like it could give him the answers he needs, but its visage, barely visible in the naked starlight, just taunts him. Absently, his lips part, and he whistles. It’s a haunting tune, but its familiarity brings comfort.

A streak comes down from the sky into the fortress. That’s odd; Shadow Man (the thought stings) usually keeps him apprised of the robot masters’ activities, and no one should be returning right now.

He follows.

Quint’s feet just take him towards Bass’ room automatically. He starts out at almost a dead run, but a little “Saku!” of distress slows him down, and he turns to see Sakugarne struggling to keep up in little hops.

“Oh,” he says, stopping entirely to let the little pogo stick catch up. He rests a hand on one of its handles, and it bounces up and down in place. “Were you worried about me, little guy?”

“Sakuuu,” it says, and Quint can’t help but smile.

“You’re a weird pet,” he says, starting off at a walk again, “but you’re cute.”

“Saku,” it says.

“Maybe I should’ve just stuck with you,” he sighs. “Then everyone wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Saku!” it bounces a little higher next to him.

“I wonder if you can even understand me?” Quint mumbles, turning a corner. He doesn’t expect the solid body that he runs into, causing him to stumble back a few steps.

“Watch where the fuck you’re -” Bass starts, and then cuts himself off abruptly. “Oh. Quint.”

“Hey,” Quint says, catching himself and getting a good look at Bass’ face. He’s got that super intense look in his eyes again, and under it Quint feels stuck in place.

“Uh, I was just -” Quint says.

“I was looking for you,” Bass says, at exactly the same time.

They both stop and awkwardly wait for the other to speak. That stretches on for an uncomfortable few seconds before Bass takes the initiative.

“Are you okay?” Bass asks. His posture is weird, Quint notices. He’s not standing tall and arrogant as usual, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. They’re clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I’m really, really not,” Quint says, with a wry smile and a half-hearted shrug. “What about you?”

Bass makes a noncommittal grunt and jerks his chin back in the direction he came from.

“D’you wanna talk about it in, uh, my room?” he says. There’s something strained in his tone, and Quint is surprised when it parses as nervousness.

“Sure, but…” He cocks his head to the side. “Are you really alright? You sound weird.”

“Weird how?” Bass asks, immediately defensive.

“Saku!” Sakugarne pitches in, and Bass’ gaze snaps to it with a frown.

“Hey, I’m not even sure if it knows what we’re saying.” Quint rests a hand on the centre of the handles and pats.

“It’s creepy,” Bass huffs. He looks around, wary.

“Uh, Bass?” Quint says. Seeing Bass like this, his own problems suddenly seem far away. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s… wrong,” he says, and swallows. He’s looking at Quint again, as if everything else is fading away. Like he’s completely focused on him.

Quint feels a pang of longing. Is he just imagining seeing the same thing mirrored in Bass’ expression?

“It sounds like something’s bothering you,” he says, taking a step closer, moving without thinking.

“That’s different than something being wrong,” Bass says. Quint frowns in confusion. He hesitantly reaches out and puts a hand on Bass’ forearm.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks. He looks up into Bass’ eyes, and sees something in his expression shift.

That’s all the warning he gets before Bass is kissing him.

He comes in lips-first, hands following to moor themselves on Quint’s shoulders as he pushes forward hungrily. It’s clumsy, and inexperienced, but Quint hears himself make an embarrassing whining sound anyway as his eyebrows shoot up. Almost of their own accord, his hands move to hold onto Bass’ gauntlets.

They’re so close. Bass’ lips are warm, and Quint finds himself kissing back, gently guiding their position so their noses aren’t getting in the way of each other, tongue darting out to brush his lip, a silent request to deepen the kiss. Bass obliges with a muffled affirmation, a half-groan half-grunt that is more satisfying than Quint ever could have imagined -

- a kiss which had been left to his lonely imagination, he remembers with a sudden crashing clarity, for a reason.

He pulls away, no, pushes away, and it feels like cutting off a limb. If the act itself hurts, Bass’ reaction is heartbreaking. He just looks… Stunned. And confused. And hurt. Quint swallows.

“Bass,” he says. The words come out in a jumble. “I’m not… I thought you, and Rock…?”

“I like you,” Bass says. His voice quavers, in a way Quint has never heard before. “Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s...” Quint says, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not that simple. H-how’m I supposed to know that you don’t just like me because I’m him but… easier?”

“How am I supposed to know that? ” Bass asks, frustration finally edging its way into his tone, hiding away the hurt. “What does that matter?”

“Because that’d mean you still like him!” Quint says, feeling his own anger welling up. He looks up to find Bass still rooted to the spot, emotions warring over his face. “And I’m not him! ”

“But you kissed back,” Bass says. It’s an accusation. “You wanted it.”

“I do want it,” Quint says. His hands are shaking. “But I don’t want it if I have to ask myself if you’re looking at me and seeing someone else!”

Bass recoils as if he’d been struck.

It takes Quint a second to spot it. The cheek markings obscure them, but one by one, the tears start to fall. Bass is crying.

He feels his determination crumble. He reaches out.

“Bass,” he says, pleading.

Bass smacks away his hand.

“Fuck off,” he says, and turns away. He activates the dash boosters on his boots and Quint is buffeted by the backdraft as he attempts to follow.

“Bass, wait-!” he cries.

But Bass is already gone.

Quint stares down the empty corridor, crushed.

“I’m so stupid,” he whispers.

What has he done?

Then an excruciating electric pain spreads from the base of his neck and he doesn’t have time to wonder anything else, because he’s out cold.

Enker steps out of Dr. Wily’s lab in a fugue.

“Quint has regained access to his weapon systems, sir.”

He doesn’t register the changing surroundings as his feet take him back to the Mega Man Killers’ hideout.

“What?! How did this happen?”

There’s a dull ache in the back of his cranium, the consequence of his emotional reaction.

“It seems that Bass restored them. If I may, his loyalty programming is still more than intact. He expressed interest in -”

It conflicts with his loyalty programming.

“Feh. That bothersome tin can. Kill him. Maybe Bass will learn where not to meddle for once.”

“... Kill Quint, sir?”

“You heard me.”

“He’s a member of my team.”

“Are you questioning me, Enker?”

“... No, sir.”

There’s no loophole to be found in the order. Dr. Wily was perfectly clear. When he gets back, when he sees Quint, barring some large-scale emergency, he has to do it.

As he approaches, he’s going through different scenarios to carry out his orders with the least pain for everyone involved when he hears an unusual cacophony of voices. Mostly one voice, over and over. He opens the door to a scene of chaos.

“Sakugarne!” Punk is wielding a chair like a lion tamer and prodding at the pogo stick, who’s bouncing on and quite frankly ruining the surface of their only table. “Stop it! Get down from there!”

“Saku! Saku! Saku! Saku! ” It repeats, over and over, timed with each bounce.

“Where the hell is Quint?” Ballade asks. He’s standing off to the side and looking annoyed. “I mean… I know where he probably is, but I’m gonna have to go get him if this keeps up.”

Sakugarne turns to Ballade and bounces off the table, landing in front of him and bouncing around him frantically.

“SAKU! Saku saku!”

Enker closes the door behind him and sighs.

“It’s obviously trying to tell us something,” he says. Sakugarne bounces over to him, hopping up and down in place as though in affirmative.

“Oh, great,” Punk lowers the chair. “What is it, boy? Did little Timmy fall down the well?”

“I don’t think it has a gender,” Ballade says. “And who is Timmy?”

“You need to get out more,” Punk says, shoving the chair back in its place at the table. “Or read something less highbrow.”

“Maybe you should get some class,” Ballade shoots back.

“Enough,” Enker says. He kneels, and Sakugarne stops bouncing, instead swaying slightly in place as he meets its mechanical eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Sakuuu,” comes the response.

“One for yes and two for no,” he says.

“Saku.”

“Did something happen?” he asks.

“Saku!” it hops once in place and falls silent.

“Did something happen to Quint?”

“Saku!!” it says, and Punk and Ballade exchange alarmed glances. Enker frowns.

“Did someone attack him?!” Ballade rushes over.

“Saku!”

“Shit,” Punk says. “Is he still functioning?”

The little robot falls silent, making a few little hops in place.

“That’s definitely a yes or no question,” Ballade says. “What gives?”

“Maybe it’s not sure,” Enker says, bringing up a hand to his chin and stroking thoughtfully.

“Why wouldn’t it be sure?” Punk asks.

A fragile hope blossoms, and Enker keeps his expression even as he speaks.

“Has he been taken somewhere?” he asks, and when the little pogo stick gives the affirmative he has to bite back a sigh of relief. As it is, his shoulders relax. The others, of course, have a different reaction.

“Damn it! I bet it was Shadow Man! That creep!” Ballade growls, hands balling into fists.

“Saku saku,” says their only witness. Ballade deflates.

“Bass?” he tries, and Punk rolls his eyes.

“Why would it freak out about Bass taking him places?” he says, arms crossed.

“Saku saku.”

“This would be so much easier if it could just talk,” Ballade says.

Enker sighs.

“But it can’t, so we’ll have to work with it,” he says. “Even if it… takes some extra time.”

“Proto Man? It’d make sense,” Punk tries, and throws up his hands as he gets a negative response. “Any robot master? Freakin' Mega Man?”

“Saku sakuuuu,” it says, and they all fall contemplatively silent.

“You’d better look at the tracker,” Ballade says.

There’s no excuse not to. Enker pulls out a small screened gadget and clicks through some menus.

“It’s… disabled,” he says, rising worry warring with another bout of relief. “He’s not good enough to have disabled it, and the only other person we know that’s good enough to make that alteration who Quint knows is Bass.”

“But Bass didn’t take him,” Ballade says.

“Which leaves us with no leads whatsoever,” Enker says.

And thank goodness for that, he thinks. It earns him a sharp stab of pain, and his hand twitches. Punk glances down at the motion and back up at Enker’s carefully impassive face questioningly.

“Hey, what were you out doing again?” Punk asks.

“Nothing of consequence,” Enker says.

Quint’s perception as he regains consciousness is limited to darkness and residual pain that blossoms out from the nape of his neck. His internal clock says he’s been out for almost twenty hours. He groans. It’s not just that, either. There’s a funny tickling around there too, like the skin has been pulled back and something is plugged in there -

He gasps and his whole body flies up to sitting position, hands pawing at the back of his neck. There is something plugged in there, and he feels different, like something’s been changed, and the last time he was in this position his entire life was being ripped from him. He’s panicking so deeply that when someone puts their hands on him and starts talking, trying to push him back down, he doesn’t even register what they’re saying and pushes back.

The cord comes free and his attacker falls backwards with a yelp, but Quint falls off the hard surface of what must be a workbench. A bump on the way down informs him painfully that he’s not wearing his helmet.

“Nononono,” he hears himself say, covering himself with shaking hands and curling up. “Please don’t-!”

“-e’s freaking out! ” he finally registers what the voice is saying, and his breath catches in his throat because that voice is achingly familiar.

There’s another worktable next to the one he was on top of, and he’s tucked in the gap between them, a space big enough to walk in. He catches sight of the tops of a familiar red gauntlet and boots.

Blues…?

Gulping thickly, Quint forces himself to straighten and then to grasp the edge of the first worktable, pulling himself to peer over the top of the table’s surface.

It’s the red robot from the beach. The grey device on the back, the chestplate, the pauldrons, the rest of the armour is all instantly recognizable. But the robot’s helmet is off, and now, with dawning realization, he recognizes them.

He recognizes her.

“Roll?” he croaks. Roll, who had been yelling to someone who isn’t in the room, turns to meet his eyes.

“Rock,” she says, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. Her eyes are brimming with tears. “You remember me?”

“Of course I…” he starts. And then stops as the implication hits him. His words seem to jam on the way out of his throat because there are so many of them trying to get out. “Y-you’re, you’re my… ”

She crosses the distance between them, pushing the worktable out of the way and tearfully embracing him.

“We finally found you,” she says, squeezing him like she might never let go.

It’s her. It’s his Roll.

But how?

Bass returns to his room just long enough to stem the flow of tears. He slams the door behind him and collapses to his hands and knees just inside, teeth gritted and bared as he tries to will his vision to stop being blurred. Droplets fall to the floor under him.

Treble is in front of him in a moment, nudging the top of his helmet with his snout and whining. He looks up and the wolf licks a stripe up one side of his face, like getting rid of the accumulated moisture there could somehow ease the pain. It does, a little. Just a little. Bass throws his arms around Treble and buries his face in his support unit’s side.

He’s never felt anything like this. It’s a howling, relentless pain. There are parts of it that are familiar, like shame and embarrassment. Loneliness. But the biggest part of it isn’t really a thing at all so much as the sudden and devastating absence of a thing. He hadn’t realized how big he had let hope get, until it had been ripped away. All of the things it once crowded out with the sheer power of its presence are crashing back in all at once.

He’s never cried before.

“Fuck Ballade,” he says into Treble’s side. Treble growls his agreement. Bass thinks he might agree with anything Bass said, which also makes him feel a little better.

The tears stop falling, after a while, but the feelings stay behind. They seem too big for his room, so he leaves, Treble at his heel, in a stream of light.

The sight that greets him when he reforms is the back of the Light household past a field of greenery. It’s hard to make it out, though, because it’s dark. If they’d chosen a colour other than white he might not be able to make it out at all, if all the lights in the windows were out. Things like time of day don’t particularly matter at the fortress, but here, it’s evening. Some time past dinner.

Which means that Rock is almost certain to be home.

Bass clenches his fists as he realizes that he left the communicator back in his room. Going back feels like it would be admitting defeat. Would he be able to come back again after that? He’s not even sure why he’s so certain it would be so hard. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only in reality a few minutes, he forces himself to put one foot in front of the other and start walking. The field under his feet and its wild growth gives way to a perfectly-manicured lawn and then to a paved pathway, to steps and then to a welcome mat.

He raises his arm, and hesitates. He’s still in armour, and knocking on the front door of his archenemy. He flashes into street clothing. There’s nothing to be done about Treble, but it’s enough of a symbolic gesture.

Or is he just stalling?

Whatever.

He knocks.

There’s an instant commotion from inside. Rush barks up a storm, and he hears indistinct voices murmuring, before he hears thumping hurried footsteps approaching the door. Bass hunches his shoulders, because that could only mean -

“Blu-” Rock throws the door open, already mid-word. The one syllable that escapes him seems intensely relieved. He stops dead when he sees Bass, though, wide-eyed. “Bass?”

“Is Roll here?” Bass averts his eyes. It’s so hard to look at him right now. Why couldn’t he have had the decency not to be the one to answer the door?

“Roll...?” Rock asks, confused. “Well, yeah, she is, but…”

“What did Blues do?” Roll marches up behind Rock, visage a terrifying mask of rage. Rock takes one glance back and clears out of her way, pressing himself up against the doorframe.

“Wha- Blues didn’t do jack shit,” Bass says, stopping himself from taking a step back because he’s not afraid of a damned maid no matter how upset he is. Roll looks him up and down and her expression softens to a frown, eyebrows pinched together.

“Come on,” she says, taking Rock by the forearm and guiding him back into the house with one arm and waving Bass in with the other. Rock seems totally bewildered and follows the unspoken command without any struggle.

Bass enters the house, Treble behind him. Roll looks back and winces as his sharp claws clack on the hardwood, but meets Bass’ eyes and seems to find her resolve again.

“Rock, Bass and I are going to talk in my room,” she says, depositing the brother in question in the living room and doubling back towards a set of stairs that leads up to a second floor.

“What?” Rock protests. Bass can feel his eyes on him and skulks backwards from the doorframe until he knows he’s out of sight. “This is- since when are you two-?”

“Rock,” he hears Roll say. “I will explain later. I promise.”

“Okay…” he hears Rock say. He sounds bewildered, disappointed. Bass’ jaw clenches.

Roll sweeps out of the living room to collect him and he follows her up the stairs, resolutely not looking back. They come out to a hallway filled with doors. Bass has seen the first floor, during his previous stays here when he’d had a temporary alliance with the Lights, but these are private quarters. Roll leads him to what he guesses must be her room and they go inside.

He’s not prepared for how much pink there is in here. The aesthetic, soft and ornate with pinks and whites and reds, punctuated by neatly-organized stuffed animals and pillows, is completely alien to him. He isn’t sure where to stand. Roll seems to sense his discomfort and pulls a chair up from under a desk to face the bed. She takes a seat on the bed itself and gestures to the chair. Bass sits down and Treble curls up around the legs protectively.

Roll leans forward, an earnest expression of concern on her face.

“What happened?” she asks.

He opens his mouth to answer, or maybe he doesn’t, because he can’t seem to get started.

“I-” he says, and then swallows. He feels like his emotions are overflowing, again, and he doesn’t want to cry. He won’t cry.

And how is he supposed to explain this mess without telling her everything?

“It’s okay,” Roll says, more gently. “Take all the time you need. Or don’t, okay? We can just say nothing if you want.”

His resistance crumbles, and the tears start flowing again. He pushes his palms up against his eyes and tries to stop them, but they escape anyway.

He tells her everything.

It takes probably an hour, between how difficult it is to get the words out and just how hard it is to explain the inherently convoluted nature of the situation. For a lot of it, her eyes are wide as saucers. But she doesn’t stop him, except to ask for a small clarification here or there.

By the time he finishes telling her about Quint’s rejection, his eyes are dry. It still hurts. It hasn’t stopped hurting. But some of the weight of it lifts.

“Oh, Bass,” Roll’s eyes, on the other hand, are misted up. She has a hand over her mouth, and she lowers it to reach over and take his. “I’m sorry. That’s an awful spot to be in.”

He doesn’t reject the gesture.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asks, looking down at his hand in hers. “I don’t know anything about this crap. He was… he was right. I don’t know what the fuck I feel. I don’t know how I’m supposed to figure it out or even if I do, I don’t know how to prove it to him.”

“Bass,” Roll says, with slow certainty. “If he’s anything like Rock, and I know he must be, then he hasn’t given up on you.”

“He pushed me away,” Bass says. He’s too tired for it to be a genuine snappish remark, but there’s some bite to it anyway.

“You care about him, and he cares about you,” Roll says. “I know it really hurts, but don’t you think that when you see him again, both of you will want to work it out?”

He wants to cross his arms, but one of them is occupied. He settles his free hand on Treble’s head, between the ears, instead.

“I’m just -” he starts, and then stops.

“You’re afraid he won’t?” Roll supplies quietly.

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Bass says, and that one does come out as a full snap. Roll flinches back and he immediately feels bad. He squeezes her hand. “Fuck.”

“Bass…” Roll sighs. “It’s okay. You can take your time if you don’t want to face it right away. Would you like to spend the night?”

“Sure,” he says. The alternative is going back to the fortress, and his room, where Quint very pointedly knows he’ll probably be. “Isn’t your dad going to have a problem with that?”

“What dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Roll says primly. “As long as you don’t, oh, destroy the house, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re never going to let that go,” Bass grouses. It feels good to grouse this way, somehow. A momentary relief.

“Never.” Roll smiles. She squeezes his hand one more time before letting go. “I’ll set you up in the guest room.”

Bass nods, and Roll stands up. There’s sounds of movement out in the halls, and she narrows her eyes.

“Darn it, Rock,” she says to herself as she heads toward the door, “You know Rush isn’t allowed up here.”

Bass is left awkwardly sitting in her room, scratching Treble behind the ears.

Roll gets him settled in the guest room with remarkable efficiency. She even asks him what kind of pillow he prefers. What kind. Bass didn’t even know there were different kinds of pillows. Pillows are pillows, right?

It only takes a few minutes and he’s situated on the bed, alone with Treble. He’s not lying down. He doesn’t feel like going into sleep mode just yet. If he does that, the time here he has will be gone and he’ll have to face the next day.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he says, assuming it must be Roll.

It’s Rock, instead, who pokes his head in. He’s biting his lip.

“Hey,” he says, quietly.

“What do you want?” Bass asks. Rock stays with just his head crossing the threshold and fingers wrapped around the doorframe, sheepish. Bass sighs. He’s too tired for this shit. “Are you gonna come in or not?”

Rock darts in, closing the door behind him very slowly with the knob still turned in one hand and only slowly letting go once the door is closed in place. The maneuver isn’t soundless, but it’s clearly meant to be stealthy. He turns to face Bass, hands clasped together and fidgeting.

“I, uh…” he says. “I was eavesdropping. I’m sorry.”

“You were what? ” Bass’ shoulders tense into a solid line.

“I’m sorry!” Rock whispers loudly, wincing and looking over his shoulder. “I just, y-you seemed so upset. I wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t think…”

“So what are you here for?” Bass asks. He’s keeping his tone down. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to keep his tone down. He should be yelling. “Come to rub it in my fucking face?”

“N-no,” Rock says, “Of course not! It’s just…”

“Just?” Bass says.

“It’s really selfish of me, but…” Rock gulps.

“Out with it.” Bass frowns.

“I’ve really wanted to... for a long time...” Rock says, slowly. He’s looking at the floor. “I wanted to, um, ask you out.”

Once again, in a sickeningly familiar fashion, everything grinds to a halt.

“What?” Bass asks. “Like. On a date?”

“Yeah,” Rock says. “I-I know, you probably don’t -”

“Sure,” Bass says, gripping the sheets very tightly.

“Huh?” Rock looks up, wide-eyed.

“Sure,” Bass says, looking up at the ceiling. “Why the fuck not.”

“He could be with Bass,” Ballade says. He’s leaning back in his chair with his boots up on the table. Enker would tell him to put them down, but after the damage Sakugarne did, they’re going to need a new table anyway.

“For a whole night and the entire morning?” Punk doesn’t shake his head, because he can’t, so instead he goes for an abortive full torso-shaking gesture followed by giving up and flashing a thumbs-down. “And if that was true, why would Sakugarne be freaking out?”

Ballade makes an interesting face, somewhere between disgust and pained. Enker raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying we’ve basically covered the whole fortress by now and Quint isn’t here, and neither is Bass,” Ballade says, tone guarded. “What else are we supposed to think?”

“You’re just thinking about it that way because you’re jealous,” Punk snorts, and Ballade reaches over to take a swing at him, but he steps back deftly and dodges it.

“Ballade,” Enker says, focusing his gaze on Ballade. He keeps his tone even. He’s fully aware that the effect is unnerving. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

Ballade shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“We need to find Quint,” Enker says flatly. “It’s unacceptable that he’s unaccounted for, after all that has happened.”

“I might have talked to Bass.” Ballade ducks his head. “About… well… not screwing it up like I did.”

“Oh geez.” Punk slaps a hand to his approximation of a forehead. “Way to light the powderkeg! They could be anywhere from gone fu-”

Enker coughs and shoots Punk a look.

“- gone making out, to running away together, to just dead!”

“They’re not dead! ” Ballade grits his teeth, shifting his legs off of the table to get a better vantage from which to take another swing at Punk.

“What if Bass just couldn’t handle it?” Punk makes a wide gesture. “Just got stuck in a logic loop. I can’t love anyone, I’m a prick, boom, poor robot. There goes his head.”

“Okay, first off, we are literally all robots,” Ballade says, “and second off that’s not even a logic loop -”

“Focus,” Enker cuts in. “We know that barring some outcome we haven’t thought of, he’s not in the fortress. Where could he be?”

“He couldn’t have gone off on his own, since his loyalty programming would prevent it,” Ballade says. “He could be with Bass, he could have been taken by Proto Man after all, someone else with equivalent rank to Enker could have ordered him, he could have been kidnapped by someone else...”

“Hey, who do we know who has an unhealthy interest in Quint and is generally shady?” Punk says.

They all exchange a knowing look. Ballade’s face slowly but surely splits into a grin.

“I’ve been meaning to teach that sneaky little asshole a lesson,” he says.

Quint doesn’t pull free from the hug for what feels like forever, but when he finally does, his voice is raw and he wishes he had tears left to cry. Roll, on the other hand, has all of the waterworks going.

“How?” his first, all-encompassing question finally forces its way out of him. “You - my future - you shouldn’t’ve kept existing! I changed things by being here!”

“You never exactly time-travelled,” a new voice says. A blonde woman steps out from behind a big tarp over some kind of machine. “Well, you did, but you technically moved to an alternate reality that was near-indistinguishable from our own that was at an earlier point in their timeline.”

She’s a little older than he remembers, hair greyer, sporting a few more wrinkles, but he recognizes her instantly all the same.

“Kalinka!” he gives Roll one last squeeze before letting go and running over to embrace his old friend. He’s shaking. “I-I can’t believe it. You… you came.”

Kalinka wraps her arms around him in return.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she says, closing her eyes. “A lot has happened.”

Quint looks around. There’s no one else in what he’s now alert enough to recognize as a makeshift laboratory in a warehouse.

“Is it… Is it just you two?” he asks. “Where is dad? Is he okay?”

He watches as Kalinka’s face falls, and she looks over his head to exchange looks with Roll.

“There’s a lot we need to catch up on,” Roll says, coming up behind him and gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Shadow Man lies in bed in the dark. He should probably be sulking in a way more appropriate to his ninja-ness, like on a cliff overlooking a dark forest in the rain or something. He can’t be bothered to make the effort, though, and dark foreboding cliffs don’t have his collection of plush frogs, which may or may not all have names, one of which he is holding to his chest. The rain would probably be bad for the fabric anyway. It’s damp enough as it is.

His phone buzzes for approximately the fifteenth time today. He’s been ignoring it up until now, each time feeling a little worse. It’s probably Blues. He probably wants to talk. He probably wants to make excuses about lying to him for years.

He curls up with his back to the phone. It buzzes again. He shuts his eyes tightly.

It buzzes again, and his resolve finally breaks. He turns around and picks up the phone, still keeping one arm wrapped around the ever-loyal Kaeru.

The lock screen surprises him. There is one message from Blues, so short that the preview text is able to convey it in its entirety.

PM: I’m sorry.

The rest of them are all from Galaxy Man. In all of his sulking, he’d forgotten that there were still other files that the space-based robot master was working on decrypting for them.

He has nothing else to do and is eager for the distraction, so he opens the first file and starts reading.

By the time he gets to the latest file, he’s sitting up and taking in the text with rapt attention. At some point he stopped holding on to Kaeru, the frog plush laying forgotten on the sheets.

That’s approximately when his door explodes inwards. Literally explodes, with a boom-CRACK. As Shadow Man jumps to his feet and summons his armour, the Mega Man Killers minus one pour into his room uninvited.

“Hey, Shadow Man, hope you don’t mind us dropping by,” Ballade says, chipper.

“Get out of here,” Shadow Man hisses in response. “I’m in no mood for this.”

“Oh, well if I’d known you weren’t in the mood,” Ballade scoffs, walking over and trying to throw a massive gauntleted arm over Shadow Man’s shoulder. He ducks out of it, and just as he means to slip into the shadows, Enker flicks the light switch and the room is fully lit.

“Nice try,” Enker says, infuriatingly calm.

Shadow Man takes a deep, steadying breath and studies the three of them. They’re acting with bravado, but Ballade’s expression is an obvious front, smile too wide and eyes somewhere else.

“I suppose you’re looking for Quint,” he says.

“So you do know where he is,” Punk says, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You took him, didn’t you?”

“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Shadow Man says, without missing a beat. “But he’s tangled up in something much bigger than you understand.”

“Then make us understand,” Ballade snarls.

Shadow Man looks around between the three of them, narrowing his eyes in annoyance as Punk openly and without regard pokes around at his possessions.

“You’re unlikely to leave if I don’t tell you what I know, aren’t you?” he says. It’s more of a statement than a question.

“You’d be correct,” Enker says.

Shadow Man sighs.

“The first thing you have to understand is how the Time Skimmer actually works…”

“So when Wily came to the future, it wasn’t his future at all,” Quint says, perched on the worktable he’d been lying on a few minutes previous. “It was… a possible future?”

“No, no,” Kalinka sighs, “I know it’s complicated, but that’s not exactly it.”

She’s sitting in a ratty swivel chair, probably salvaged from the trash. Roll is still standing around in armour, which is a weird sight. Now that he’s looking, he sees why they mistook her for a male robot - the chestplate and pauldrons totally alter her look. She kind of looks like another robot with Roll’s head pasted on.

“I hate time travel,” Quint laments, glancing over at Blues’ still-unconscious form on the table next to him.

“The Time Skimmer -” Kalinka starts.

Blues wakes up. Everyone knows he’s woken up because he shoots up from the worktable clutching his chest, gasping. Quint isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone wake up that way, and everyone in the room flinches, except for Roll, who flinches and activates her beam sabre.

“Whoa!” Quint holds up his hands, swinging his legs over the table so he can slide over closer to Blues, who has reflexively activated his buster in return and has in the span of less than a second entered a stand-off with Roll. “It’s okay! Blues, it’s okay. It’s just Roll and Kalinka.”

“Quint?” Blues asks, finally seeming to fully enter consciousness. He lowers his buster, and his head turns back to Roll. “Roll?”

“It’s a long story,” Quint says, hands still hovering.

“We’re from Quint’s time and we took him back from Wily. You tried to stop me so I took you, too,” Roll says. She has not deactivated her beam sabre. Quint sends her a consternated look.

“Okay, so it’s a short story so far, but they’re about to give me the rest of it,” he amends. “Roll, he’s not going to hurt us.”

“More than he already has,” she mutters, and the blue energy dissipates back to its source. Blues’ shoulders slump and he reforms his hand.

Kalinka clears her throat, and they all turn to look at her.

“Can I continue?” she asks, politely but firmly.

“Sorry, Kalinka.” Quint says.

“Kalinka?!” Blues’ mouth drops open. “But you’re -”

“Old?” She asks, looking unimpressed. “Kalinka from the future, in case you weren’t keeping track.”

“I thought you weren’t from the future after all,” Quint says, scratching his head.

“Rock…” Kalinka sighs. “I’m simplifying it.”

“Quint,” he corrects her automatically. “And weren’t you just about to un-simplify it?”

“Why would you still call yourself that?” Roll’s brow creases and she frowns. “I thought we got rid of the junk Wily put in your head.”

“I did,” Kalinka says.

Quint’s eyes widen. He thinks about it, and now that he’s had it pointed out, he can feel it. He doesn’t feel the compulsion to obey orders that have been given by Enker, and thoroughly traitorous thoughts towards Wily aren’t met with any sort of pain. A quick check on the machine side of his brain confirms it. All traces of Wily’s meddling are gone.

“I’m free,” he whispers.

“Heh,” Blues smirks, patting him on the back. “Should’ve known Kalinka’d have it under control.”

“Still…” Quint frowns. He looks up at Kalinka, and then at Roll. “That doesn’t change what I’ve gone through. I’m just… not Rock anymore. I’m Quint. So, I know it’s weird, but please call me that instead.”

Roll’s lip quivers, but after a moment she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “If it’s that important to you. But you’re still my brother.”

“Of course!” Quint says, moving to hug her. “That’ll never change.”

“That’s what, three families now?” Blues observes with some amusement.

“What?” Roll asks.

“So the Time Skimmer,” Kalinka cuts in.

“Right,” Quint nods, hurriedly rushing back to his listening seat.

“It was so named because it was meant to be a device for observing alternate possibilities,” Kalinka says. “Splits in the timeline caused by quantum fluctuations. The researchers at the Chronos Institute realized, after some time using it and making observations, that they were actually seeing alternate realities.”

“But Wily used it to go to one?” Quint asks.

“Dr. Wily is a brilliant man,” Kalinka sighs. “He has an almost supernatural knack for figuring out impossible problems. Teleportation technology, for instance, wouldn’t be where it is if he hadn’t solved some of the fundamental problems with it while working with your father. When the Wily of this world applied his intelligence to figuring out the Time Skimmer, he was able to make the jump from observing alternate realities to finding them selectively and then using some of the same principles to actually travel there.”

“It was supposed to be impossible,” Roll says, quietly. “When you went missing, no one jumped to the conclusion that you’d been taken by a time traveler. We blamed our Wily, for a while, but when it became clear that he hadn’t done it, we had no leads. We thought you were dead.”

Quint bites his lip.

“But then… why are you here?” he asks.

“Because, a few years after you went missing, they came,” Roll says, with a far-off look in her eyes.

“Aliens?” Punk scoffs. “That’s crazy.”

“Are you attempting to joke with me?” Shadow Man says. He’s gravitated towards a pillar and is leaning against it with his arms crossed. “You do know that I’m not of terrestrial origin, correct?”

“I’m just saying,” Punk huffs.

“I’ve got to side with him on this one,” Ballade says. “We had a meeting with the Stardroids like three months ago. Mercury tried to steal my pen. He called it communism.”

"That's Anarcho-communists for you,” Punk says. "Though you could argue that violates the non-aggression principle. Personally I think they're fundamentally missing the idea that people enjoy the safety of the nation-state.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

“Wh-” Ballade starts.

“I’m called Punk, not Pop.” Punk says. “Of course, going too far the other way leads to -”

“Okay, political science lesson over. We’re talking about aliens,” Enker says.

“You get to those if you go on about politics long enough,” Punk reasons, but a withering look from Enker shuts him up.

“As I was saying,” Shadow Man says, “the reports I read painted a grim picture. Do you remember Duo?”

“Not personally,” Ballade says. “He’s considered an ally of Mega Man, he’s from space, and he helped defeat Dr. Wily twice, both times when exotic types of energy were involved. That’s what I remember from the reports.”

“He’s a member of a sort of interstellar task force,” Shadow Man says. “They were developed in response to an invading force who harnessed a very dangerous energy which they came to call ‘Evil Energy’.”

“And you know this because…” Enker raises an eyebrow.

“Because I was originally a scout for this invading force,” Shadow Man says flatly.

“What? But Dr. Wily found you in a bunch of ruins.” Punk says. “Space ruins.”

“The war that Duo fights has been going on for a very long time,” Shadow Man says. “Its soldiers are robotic. We certainly don’t age. In any case, I was deactivated for a lot longer than I was active beforehand.”

“So what you’re saying is that your old bosses caught up with Earth in the future,” Ballade says.

“Based on the weapon development notes I read, yes,” Shadow Man says. “They were all designed to counteract Evil Energy, and made reference to a full scale invasion.”

“What is Evil Energy, then?” Ballade strokes his chin. “I remember that the robots Wily put it in got… erratic.”

“To understand that, you have to understand cyberspace,” Shadow Man says.

“Calling bullshit,” Punk raises his hand. “You made that up.”

“I’ll keep it simple so you can understand.” Shadow Man sighs. “It’s sort of a sub-dimension that exists alongside this one. It’s possible for electronic signals and technology to interact with it and create an impression there. It doesn’t have the same rules of spacetime as our world does. It was exploited by both my creators and Duo’s to achieve faster than light travel, but it’s possible to do other things. Create labyrinths out of the architecture of a computer. Step in and out of it to move from one place to another. There are some life forms that are actually native to it.”

“And Evil Energy is…” Enker says.

“Malice given form, essentially,” Shadow Man says. “Every robot is connected to cyberspace, in a way. Those of us who are developed enough create a bigger impression, making warps in the fabric there. They found a way to use that to generate power in the ‘real’ world, using an element called -”

“- Force metal,” Kalinka says.

“Force metal?” Quint asks.

Roll raises her sword arm.

“Dr. Wily developed it,” Kalinka says, smiling wryly. “Another one of his impossible leaps. It’s an energy source unlike any other. We discovered that, wielded by a robot, it could generate immense amounts of what the invaders called Justice Energy.”

“We didn’t realize that it could just as easily make more Evil Energy, in the wrong hands,” Roll says. There’s a deep sadness to her tone. “But the two counteract each other, so we still use it.”

“Bassnium!” Quint says, leaning forward suddenly.

“Bassnium?” Roll asks, sadness abandoned for total confusion.

“Bass’ core is made of an element that Dr. Wily discovered, and he does that green flamey thing, and you said,” he pitches his voice down in an impression of the voice modulator Roll had been wearing, “‘That’s impossible!’ when he got up and switched flame colours.”

“Sorry, did I miss something?” Blues asks, what Quint can see of his expression totally mystified.

“Roll almost beat Bass a bit ago when we were at the beach,” Quint says. “But we didn’t know it was her.”

“Can I get a front row seat for when he finds out?” Blues asks, a grin overtaking his face.

“Blues,” Quint chides, and then he pauses, because… Bass. “... I dunno if that’s going to be for a while,” he says, ducking his head. “he’s probably never gonna talk to me again.”

Blues cocks his head to the side just slightly, and Quint imagines that he’s raising an eyebrow.

“Bass likes you more than I’ve ever seen him like anyone,” Blues says. “Which, in hindsight, is pretty weird. There’s no way he’s never going to talk to you again.”

“He kissed me and then I pushed him away ‘n said he probably just liked me because he liked Rock,” Quint says miserably. “Then he ran away.”

There’s a pause.

“Well, you’ll always have us - OW!”

Quint looks up to see Blues rubbing his shoulder and Roll’s arm moving back to her side.

“Oh, you’ll always be there, will you?” she asks, with no shortage of venom. Blues winces. She turns to Quint and hugs him. “Ro- Quint, I’m sure it’ll be okay. He’ll calm down and then you can talk to him, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Quint hugs her back. “Aren’t you here to take me back home? What am I going to do then?”

Roll doesn’t say anything, and the silence drags on for long enough to become uncomfortable.

“Roll?” he asks, dread gripping him.

“We’re not here to take you back home,” Kalinka says, very quietly. “We’re here because we lost.”

“To get you, because he discovered the Time Skimmer, and…” Roll swallows thickly, and squeezes Quint tighter. He feels wetness on the side of his neck. “We were going to use it to get help. To get you, and to regroup, but he found it and now he’s following us.”

“He?” Quint asks. “Who’re you talking about? Wily?”

Roll shakes her head, and Kalinka’s expression turns even darker than before.

“The leader of the invading forces, the Dimensions,” she says. “A traitor. His name is -”

“- R-Shadow,” Shadow Man says, looking between all of the assembled Mega Man Killers. “And he’s stronger than any of us can imagine.”

“R-Shadow?” Quint asks, frowning. Roll casts her eyes away, withdrawing in on herself.

“He’s… he was… our brother,” she says. “He wasn’t always called that. That’s what he named himself when he joined their side.”

“But Blues -” Quint starts, but Roll shakes her head.

“Not Blues,” she says, and swallows.

“When the Dimensions came, the world needed a hero,” Kalinka says softly, picking up the thread. “Roll stepped up, but one person wasn’t enough. They didn’t play by the same rules that Wily always did. Dr. Light wanted to give her backup, and to give the world hope again. So… he created another robot like you, to take up the mantle of Mega Man.”

Quint gasps.

“He… he replaced me?” he says, voice small. “But… dad wouldn’t…”

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns around. It’s Blues, grim-faced.

“Yeah,” Blues says. “He would.”

“He wasn’t meant to replace you as my brother,” Roll says, “as you. Just to put on the armour and fight.”

“But I asked to be Mega Man!” Quint says. “I wanted to protect people! You can’t force someone to be Mega Man!”

“Maybe that’s why it didn’t work,” Roll says. She sits down on another work surface and slumps, posture defeated. “Or maybe I wasn’t good enough to keep everyone together when they needed it. Or maybe being made as a combat robot just… I don’t know.”

“He was made with the plans for your upgraded combat armour, which Dr. Light had kept updated all of those years just in case something like Wily ever happened again,” Kalinka says, once again swooping in just as it looks like Roll might be trailing off. “He was built with a force metal core, which would hypothetically make him even more capable than Roll, who only has it built into her weapon. It’s an incredibly difficult substance to work with. The workarounds we had to put into her sabre to get it to work meant that she doesn’t even have room for a buster mode or a variable weapons system.”

“All so you can use it to… beat Evil Energy,” Quint says. “Is that what the field is for? The one that makes things go funny? ‘Cause it just seemed to make Bass stronger.”

Roll sighs.

“That’s a long story,” she says. “It’s called a dimensional area. It’s kind of superimposing cyberspace onto the real world. It’s a double-edged sword; Evil Energy is stronger there, but it’s also less controllable. And Justice Energy also does a better job of cancelling it out, and you can’t escape it by teleporting. So… even if it can give the opponent an advantage, we still use it against them.”

“Who exactly named it Justice Energy?” Blues asks.

“It wasn’t us,” Roll says. “That’s what they called it.”

“But you used it against Bass,” Quint says. It comes out more accusatory than he’d intended, but he sticks his lip out and owns it. “You almost killed him!”

“We thought he must be one of the Dimensions! Or this place’s version of them,” Roll protests. “The energy readings were so close to what we saw back home. How was I supposed to know he was your friend? Or that he could do whatever the heck that was? ”

“What, were you just... scanning for energy readings?” Blues frowns. “What have you been doing all this time? You’ve been here for months, right?”

Kalinka runs a hand through her hair and sighs.

“It took us time to get set up, first of all,” she says. “Do you think illegal warehouse laboratories pay for themselves?”

“From experience? No,” Blues concedes.

“Wait, do you have a secret lab?” Quint side-eyes him.

“If I told you it wouldn’t be much of a secret,” Blues smirks. “So you took time to get your identities set up. And at no point did you think to go to Dr. Light? Or your father? ”

Kalinka and Roll exchange a look.

“We actually did go to papa,” Kalinka says, mildly put out. “He said that Dr. Wily must be running out of ideas and turned us away.” She allows through her natural accent in what Quint figures must be mocking imitation of Dr. Cossack. “Huh! Daughter from the future? Oldest trick in the book! ”

“Yeah, okay,” Blues says. “That sounds like him.”

“The timeline has changed so much from the splitting point that we didn’t have much to prove who we were,” Roll says. “And Dr. Light… we did some digging and found out that he’d been in contact with Evil Energy, too. That and there’s, well…”

“You should show them,” Kalinka says.

Roll nods and presses the insignia on her chestplate down again, and the world goes funny. This time, though, as the wave of inverted colour expands, it reveals something else. Hanging in the air above them, in the vaulted space below the ceiling of the warehouse, there’s a space - a rip in space, really - where light just seems to stop. It’s some kind of black maw, purplish at the edges. It’s erratic at the edges, moving like a living thing. It hurts to look at.

“What is that?” Quint gasps.

“Portals?” Ballade echoes the word, feeling it out with his mouth like he’s chewing on something and has discovered a texture that makes him want to spit the whole thing out. Shadow Man nods.

“Nine of them,” he says. “Most around Symphony City, where the Chronos Institute is located. One above Lightlabs.”

“The same Chronos Institute that developed the Time Skimmer,” Enker says, more of a statement than a question. Shadow Man nods.

“Argh,” Punk says, bringing a hand up to execute an approximation of a face-palming maneuver. “There’s no way that Quint isn’t tied up in all of this. That kid is just a magnet for trouble.”

“They were trying to retrieve him,” Shadow Man says. “Given the available information, it’s apparent that the woman using the alias Dr. Smith is someone he knows from his timeline.”

They all seemingly take a moment to think that through. Ballade wrings his hands.

“In that case,” he says, hesitantly, “would he even want to be rescued?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Enker sighs. “We have to find him. We can’t go against Wily’s will.”

“Assuming those portals are what I think they are, that may be irrelevant,” Shadow Man says. He avoids their eyes, focusing on the ceiling. “If R-Shadow has found a way to transport himself and his forces here, what can we do to resist them?”

Kalinka rises from her seat, taking hold of the edge of the tarp covering the previously obscured machine. With a flourish, the Time Skimmer is revealed. Quint would know it anywhere. If he had nightmares, he’s sure that it would have been a prominent fixture in them. It’s a capsule, sort of. It has a door, and inside, he knows, there is space for the aspiring time traveller to sit.

The dark portal pulses above them, directly above the machine. It casts an eerie light across everything, like reflections off of the waves in a pool, but purple and ragged at the edges. Combined with the inversion, they may as well be in a nightmare for all that the space resembles the lab of a few moments before.

“After R-Shadow became corrupted by Evil Energy and switched sides, we lost ground quickly,” Kalinka says, resting a hand on the machine’s side. “Dr. Wily, who had always sought to prove his innocence in your disappearance, had quietly put together the pieces and tracked down the plans for the Time Skimmer. He had a near-working model by the time the Dimensions showed up. When everything seemed hopeless, he presented us with a way out: a path to the world you’d been taken to, and two seats that needed to be filled.”

“Dad was too old,” Roll says, distant. “Dr. Wily, too. We were the obvious choice.”

“So we arrived here,” Kalinka says. Her gaze trails upwards to the portal, expression darkening. “But we didn’t realize that we could be followed. Not too long after we established ourselves, the portals started opening. They’re undetectable unless you’re using dimensional area technology, for now. We had to jury rig a lot of systems just to study them safely. But they’re dripping with Evil Energy, so given what we know…”

“It could only be R-Shadow,” Roll finishes.

“So that’s why you were stealing components,” Quint says, in absence of anything else to say. Truthfully, his mind isn’t so much on Enker’s run-in with Roll as it is focused on the implications of their story.

Dr. Light is… his father is…

He bows his head.

“This is too much,” he says, quietly.

“Oh, Rock,” Kalinka’s voice softens. He hears a shuffle of feet and there are arms around him in a second. “I’m sorry.”

“Quint,” he corrects, mumbling into the space between them. She squeezes him harder.

“Roll,” he hears her say, “we’ve seen enough. Could you…?”

“Of course,” Roll says. There’s a click, which Quint recognizes as the sound of her pressing the button on the front of her chestplate.

Nothing changes. The funny feeling that accompanies the dimensional area, that strange out of body feeling, persists. Quint raises his head to see Roll pressing the button again, perplexed. And once more.

“It’s not working,” she says, slowly.

Kalinka lets go of Quint, standing in place with a slowly dawning expression of horror for a moment before rushing to a terminal. She opens some kind of program and her eyes widen.

“It is working,” she says, “your dimensional area generator is off.”

“But then how-?” Roll asks.

Kalinka looks upward, and everyone follows her gaze.

The portal is pulsing faster, its frayed edges resolving into a more defined shape. It looks less like a rip, now, and more like an opening.

“They’re almost here,” Kalinka says, voice filled with dread.

“What do you mean, what can we do to resist them?” Punk scoffs. “We fight them. Obviously.”

“Do you remember the Stardroids?” Shadow Man narrows his eyes. “Their armour was near-impenetrable to conventional weaponry.”

“Are you saying that your former employers have similar defenses?” Enker asks, frowning.

“Not necessarily,” Shadow Man says. He briefly wishes that his arms were uncrossed so he could cross them again for effect. “But they have access to a volatile and powerful energy, they haven’t been laid low and subjected to repairs within the limits of human robotics like Sunstar, and they’ve already taken over a version of Earth several decades forward of us. What makes you think we stand a chance?”

“Whoever said anything about standing a chance?” Ballade grins crookedly. “That’s never stopped us before.”

“More importantly,” Enker says, “Dr. Wily can’t take over the world if it’s already being taken over. If your judgement is correct, then we have to put aside all other objectives to stop this.”

“Yeah,” Punk says, giving Enker a narrow-eyed sidelong glance. “This is top priority.”

“You’re all fools,” Shadow Man grits his teeth.

“And your loyalty also stands with Dr. Wily,” Enker says flatly. It’s a challenge.

“Of course,” Shadow Man intones.

“Off to Symphony City, then,” Punk says, and stands there.

There’s a beat, and then he looks confused.

“Hey,” he says, “My teleporter isn’t working.”

Ballade frowns.

“Neither is mine,” he says. “That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Shadow Man walks over to his bed quietly and retrieves his phone. He quickly looks in the right places, and his worst suspicions are confirmed.

“Communications blackout in Symphony City,” he reads aloud, and then skims the supplementary information. “And teleports aren’t working in, or, if the conjecture is right, out.”

“Hey, you said that those dimensional area things blocked teleporters?” Punk says, uneasily.

“They do,” Shadow Man says, mouth pressing into a thin line. His eyes are glued to the news feed. “If these reports are accurate, that’s a reasonable conclusion. And it gets worse.”

“Oh boy,” Ballade grimaces. “What now?”

“It’s spreading,” Shadow Man says.

“- Quickly.” Kalinka adds, typing furiously. Everyone gathers around her, and her eyes are twitching from program to program, taking in and processing information at blinding speed. “It’s massive! At this rate, it will cover the entire planet within...!”

“I thought you used these areas as a weapon against these guys,” Blues says, with no small amount of alarm. “Why would they put one up ahead of them?”

“No teleporting, no way to gather forces,” Quint says. “And they power up just the same, but only Roll has a weapon that can use the boost. Everyone else is at a disadvantage.”

“He’s right,” Kalinka says. She rests her face in her hands, blonde-grey hair spilling onto the keyboard. “Back home, there were more weapons like hers. And there was a limit to how large we could make the field. But… the technology we developed to counter them… They’ve completely turned it against us.”

“That doesn’t look good,” Blues says, pointing at a flashing icon on the screen. Kalinka shoots back up to sitting straight, her fingers fly across the keyboard, and data flashes across the screen.

“I can’t be totally sure, but I think that something’s about to come through,” she says. When Quint tilts his head up questioningly, she shakes her head. “No, not in here. It’s one of the portals out in the city.”

“We need to be there,” Roll says, leaning forward over Kalinka’s shoulder.

“I agree,” Kalinka says. “But we can’t just leave this whole place unguarded. All of my research is here. If there’s any way to stop them, it’s somewhere in here. And our only way home…”

She glances over at the Time Skimmer, and it’s out of the corner of his eye, but Quint can just see her biting her lip.

“I’ll stay,” he says, cutting off Blues, who had just opened his mouth. “Roll can fight them the best, right?” he puts a hand on her shoulder. “If they get out into the city and no one’s there, they’ll kill a lot of people.”

“Go,” Kalinka nods to Roll. “You know I couldn’t be in safer hands.”

“Okay,” Roll says, and then launches forward to envelop the older woman in a hug. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Kalinka says, and they separate. Roll starts off out of the lab.

“What about me?” Blues is standing there looking torn between awkward and lost. Kalinka levels him with a look.

“I’ve heard that you do whatever you want,” she says, turning back to the screen. “Why stop now?”

Quint can’t totally read his expression, with the visor in place, but Blues’ mouth twitches downwards, parts as though to say something in return, and then presses back shut. He sways, turns on a dime, and runs after Roll.

Quint winces. He feels… hurt. But he has no reason to, right?

“We have to get over there!” Ballade says, slamming a fist against the wall. “Quint’s out there with no backup!”

“Agreed,” Enker says, frowning deeply. “But if we can’t, then we can’t. Unless someone with a non-standard method of teleporting happened to be available.”

He stares Shadow Man right in the eyes as he says the last part. Despite everything, Shadow Man has room to spare for the thought that Enker must practice that look in the mirror.

“There’s no point,” he says, hunching his shoulders and leaning more heavily against the pillar behind him. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“You don’t have to stick around to die on the front lines, you coward,” Punk growls. “Just get us there.”

“I suppose it will get you out of my room,” Shadow Man says, forcing himself to straighten. He walks over to Punk, settles a hand on the small surface area on his shoulder pauldron that isn’t occupied by spikes, and walks him into the shadows.

Symphony City greets them as he walks out from the shadow of the Chronos Institute, but not how he envisioned it. The shadows here are a blinding near-white, for one. There’s also something else, a sensation that’s almost familiar but alien, but that fades to the back of his mind as he beholds the portals.

They dot the skyline, immediately noticeable against the unnatural white expanse of the night sky, which is scattered with pinpricks of black stars. His eyes are drawn to them like beacons. One of them is churning and pulsating more brightly - darkly? - than the others.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Punk says. Shadow Man is inclined to agree. But something else is catching his attention. A speck in the sky headed towards the most active portal. Leaving a jet trail in a familiar pattern, just big enough to be…

He isn’t sure how he knows it, but he does, and the realization freezes him to the spot. That familiar-but-not sensation crashes back to the forefront and he knows with a chilling certainty that it’s Blues up there.

The wind whips by as Roll and Blues fly high above the city streets, billowing Blues’ scarf out behind him. It’s a tight fit on the P-Jet with the two of them (really just his shield with the boosters he’d attached some time ago activated; he’s not made out of money) riding in an awkward two-person surfboard conga line. He somehow managed to get stuck in back, holding on to Roll’s shoulders and trying not to get hit in the face with her hair.

The active portal is easy to spot. It’s bigger than the other ones, for one. It’s pulsating darkly, and some kind of electricity arcs from it to the lightning rods on the tops of nearby buildings. It’s hard to tell at the distance that they’re at right now how bad it is at ground zero, but he’s alarmed to note that people are crowding the streets.

It’s not like the dimensional area isn’t immediately apparent if you’re standing in it. Even without the portals they’d probably be seeing some degree of panic.

“If this keeps up, there are going to be riots!” Blues yells over the wind. Roll, who either hadn’t bothered to put her helmet back on or had forgotten when they left, turns to look at him and then downwards. When she looks back up, the lines around her eyes are tight.

“I know!” she says, at an equally high volume. Even so, it’s hard to hear her. “But we can’t do anything about it right now. If R-Shadow comes through and there’s no one there to fight him, it’ll be much worse.”

They didn’t play by the same rules that Wily always did.

Blues frowns. He’s not a huge fan of humans in general, but he hardly wants to see casualties on the scale that Roll is implying. Wily is predictable. He tends to focus on property damage and fear mongering. And even if Blues didn’t care, the first law of robotics is a siren song that cannot be ignored.

Roll hasn’t completely turned away from him - it’s hard to, totally, with the little foot space they have and the size of their boots. She’s surveying the gathering crowds on the street with deeply troubled eyes as they pass over. The expression looks wrong on her, Blues thinks with a deep sting of remorse. Those are soldier’s eyes. It’s bad enough seeing them on his brother, but they’ve been that way as long as he’s known him. Roll isn’t supposed to have to endure this.

Roll blinks, suddenly unfocused, and looks at him.

“What are you thinking?” she asks. There’s a sharpness to it, a tang of bitterness that sits wrong with Blues. He’s compelled, for once, to honesty. They’re still a ways from the portal.

“You’ve had a hard time,” he says.

“Of course I have,” Roll says, harshly. She breathes in deeply and then out again, in a sigh that’s lost to the whirling wind around them. “Everyone left.”

“I’m sorry,” Blues says. He squeezes her shoulders.

“Stop,” Roll says, tensing. Blues eases off obediently, and she hunches forward. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but it’s not about you. Okay? It’s upsetting to see you, and it’s upsetting that you’re just acting like you can just waltz in and act like our big brother, but I…”

Roll trails off, turning back to face the portal. Blues wipes away an errant drop of rain from his visor before remembering there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

He feels a deep pang of sympathy, a sorrow that seems almost physical.

“I can’t judge you, because I failed, too,” she says, almost quietly enough to be swallowed up by the noise around them.

“Roll,” Blues says, “I don’t know what happened, but I know that R-Shadow isn’t your fault.”

She doesn’t say anything. They’re closing in on their destination.

An insidious whisper from the back of his mind tells Blues that he could die right now, before they even get there. The image springs to his mind unbidden. His core could fail silently. He could fall off of the jet and into the streets below. Roll would have to check his body, figure out what had happened…

… and carry on without him.

He grips her shoulders a little more tightly.

Shadow Man is distracted.

Ballade is easily transported, even if Shadow Man’s mind is elsewhere. In that dimensional area, now that he’s attuned to it, he can just feel Blues’ presence lingering in the distance. Maybe he recognizes the feeling for what it is because he already knows about the workings of cyberspace, or maybe it’s because of his origins. Either way, when he returns to his room and reaches out for Enker and meets resistance, he’s startled out of his train of thought.

“You’re acting odd,” Enker says, pulling his wrist away and fixing Shadow Man with an unblinking stare. “Why?”

Shadow Man gathers himself and raises an eyebrow at the gilded robot.

“Why do you say that?” he asks, crossing his arms. He even manages to keep his tone empty of defensiveness.

“We may not have worked together, but you don’t have a reputation as a coward.” Enker tilts his head ever so slightly. “As a sneak, yes, but I think we both know there’s a difference.”

“And why should you care?” A frown tugs at the edge of Shadow Man’s mouth. “You don’t have a reputation as a busybody, either.”

“I’m curious,” Enker says. He takes a small step forward into Shadow Man’s space. “I told you directly that this is an emergency that should be considered top priority under Dr. Wily’s interests. And yet…”

He takes another small step. He’s right in front of Shadow Man’s face now, full intimidating presence coming to bear.

“... you act as though you have the choice not to go,” he finishes.

Partly out of pride and partly to avoid appearing weak, Shadow Man doesn’t move at all. He stares right into Enker’s eyes and clenches his jaw.

“Are you going to go and run to your overlord and tell him his loyalty programming didn’t take, little soldier?” he says.

Enker, mercifully, turns away and steps back, appearing to study the wall for a few seconds. It’s the wall full of shelving, with most of Shadow Man’s frog memorabilia. He refuses to feel self-conscious.

“Why are you still here?” Enker asks, still looking firmly at the wall.

“I may not be compelled to stay,” Shadow Man admits, because he’s clearly lost that battle, “but it is my home. My brothers are here.”

“And if you were ordered to harm one of your brothers?” Enker says. His gaze swings back around to Shadow Man. Shadow Man’s brow creases.

“Why would I ever be ordered to do that?” he asks, feeling as though he’s missed a beat.

“Indulge me,” Enker says.

“I would be in a difficult situation,” Shadow Man says. “I would have to find a way to trick my way out of it, I suppose.”

Enker makes a thoughtful noise, as though totally ambivalent to the answer. He turns completely back to Shadow Man.

“I suppose when this is over I will have to report what I’ve learned to Dr. Wily,” he says. “I would understand if you felt the need to attack me right now, but I’m expecting it, and we both know there are more pressing things going on.”

Shadow Man stills the hand that was going to draw a Shadow Blade.

“You’re right, of course,” he says, and reaches out, but Enker waves him off.

“Just a second,” he says. “I have to send a message.”

“Not to Wily, I hope,” Shadow Man frowns.

“No,” he says. “Just calling in a favour. No time to track him down. It’s done now. Let’s go.”

He reaches out to take Enker’s wrist, and they both dissolve into the shadows.

Earlier:

Bass doesn’t end up telling Roll what his day out with Rock is really supposed to be, though he thinks she must suspect. When she sees them off at the door, she’s shooting him scrutinizing looks in between petting Treble and letting him know in no uncertain terms that he is not allowed to stay in the house when Bass isn’t there. Rock seems nervous about the prospect of having the wolf trailing along behind them in the city, but Bass has been in enough crowds with his support unit to discover the fundamental truth of people in the city: as long as it was accompanied by someone that looks like they know what they’re doing, you could lead a literal space alien down the sidewalk and no one would give enough of a shit to stop you.

He’s nervous. Not just nervous, he’s uncomfortable. But this makes the most sense, right? If he goes on a date with Rock, surely he’ll be less confused about how he feels by the end of it? Rock keeps stealing glances when he thinks Bass isn’t looking, which is disorienting. Quint never acts nervous around him. The most he ever got was very justifiably afraid of being scrapped, and that faded away basically as soon as it became clear Bass wasn’t going to follow through on it.

He shakes himself mentally.

“Let’s go or whatever,” he says, stowing his hands in his pockets. Treble brushes against his leg. Rock nods eagerly and puts a hand on his upper arm, and they teleport away.

They land in an alleyway off of one of the thoroughfares of the city. Bass recognizes it, actually. They’re not far from the arcade.

“Sooo, uh, I was thinking we could get lunch first?” Rock steps back, bouncing a bit on his heels. “I dunno what to do from there, ‘cause I’m not sure what you’d -”

“The arcade,” Bass says, and Rock’s face lights up.

And Quint said this kind of info was useless, he thinks. The thought brings an unexpected pang of guilt.

“Oh, yeah, I love the arcade!” Rock says. He’s already heading out of the alley, but walking backwards like he thinks that if he took his eyes off of Bass he might disappear. “Do you like fighting games?”

“I play them,” Bass says, following along with Treble at his heel. They emerge onto a busy sidewalk.

“I love fighting games,” Rock says, as they walk. “I know it’s weird, ‘cuz I hate fighting, but they’re just games, you know, and it’s fun to practice and get better and play against other people.”

“Uh huh,” Bass says.

“This is the place up here,” Rock says, pointing up at a bakery. “It’s not really a lunch place, they mostly have sweets, but it’s not like we have to worry about eating healthy, right?”

“We don’t,” Bass says, and he grits his teeth as he berates himself for being tongue-tied. This should be easier. There’s something different about the flow of conversation here that’s tripping him up. Shouldn’t spending so much time with Quint have prepared him for this? Their banter comes so naturally now.

They end up grabbing some cookies. Bass smiles despite himself. It’s entertaining how excited Rock seems to be for such a simple treat, grabbing it and paying for it with an obvious impatience born of anticipation. Then he scarfs it down without any apparent thought, and the smile disappears from Bass’ face.

The arcade, as Bass noted, isn’t far. The walk there isn’t even unpleasant, Rock talking about this or that and filling the space that Bass’ short responses leave. Treble trots on his other side, seemingly indifferent about the situation.

“So, I’m gonna warn you, I’m really good at fighting games,” Rock says, as they approach the arcade. “I’m like, super good .”

“I’m sure you are,” Bass snorts. “But you’re gonna have to bow down, because I’m gonna pound you to dust.”

Rock laughs.

“There’s the competitive spirit,” he says. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re into them, too. They really seem like your kind of thing!”

Bass frowns. He wants to say, they’re not exactly my favourite. I like strategy games better. But Rock looks genuinely elated that they independently share an interest, and damn it, this was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? Why does it feel wrong?

They end up playing Future Fighter 21XX, which is good, because it’s the one he and Quint play most frequently at home. The arcade controls have a completely different feel to them than the controller, though, and Bass can almost feel his skill level fall down a few notches because of it. It’s frustrating.

Even so, he manages to win. Which is odd, because he knows that Quint has a lot more experience, but…

“I guess I’m still warming up,” Rock shrugs, looking totally unbothered by the loss.

Bass frowns.

“Then hurry the fuck up and get into it,” he says, gripping the top of the joystick.

“Okay, okay,” Rock says, flexing his fingers out in front of him before returning to the controls.

They play another set of rounds, and Bass wins again. At his frown, Rock just sends him a sheepish smile. Bass sets his eyes back on the screen and grits his teeth.

The next round, he plays intentionally badly. He still wins.

When the match is over, he spins on his heel, slamming a hand down on the cabinet. Rock jumps.

“You’re letting me win,” he snarls. From behind him, Treble growls to emphasize the point.

“I-I just thought you’d -” Rock starts.

“Just thought I’d what? ” Bass says. “Enjoy your fucking pity? Need my ego stroked?”

Rock fidgets.

“I just thought after all the times we fought, you’d feel good if you won,” he says.

Bass sees red.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow. Thanks. I’ll just take your fake fucking pity win and feel so much better about myself. Fuck you! At least Qu-”

He chokes on the last word.

At least Quint understood.

He hadn’t needed to be told, just listened. Or when he had, he’d asked.

By the look on Rock’s face, he can tell that they’re both intimately aware of what he had just been about to say. Bass casts his gaze away, and, by chance, it rests on an empty spot on the floor. There’s something familiar about it, and all at once he remembers why.

Grand Slam Racers Neo!? That one was so short-lived, we gotta hit that one!

They’d never played it, in the end.

Bass turns his gaze back to Rock, whose face is stricken. He looks unsure of what to say. And then Bass looks at him, and the pieces fall into place.

“Forget this,” he says, breaking into a brisk stride towards the exit and waving Rock off. “Come on, Treble.”

They get all the way outside before Rock catches up.

“Wait, Bass,” he says, voice tight.

“What is it?” Bass snaps. He’d been right in the middle of making the mental calculations to teleport. “Don’t waste my time!”

“I’m glad…” Rock says, and then takes a deep breath and exhales. He gives Bass a watery smile. “I’m glad that you were able to make a decision.”

“Ugh,” Bass says, curling his lip. He doesn’t feel the urge to stop those tears, not like Quint’s. “Save it -”

He’s cut off by an incoming message. It’s a simple text-based message, from Enker.

He needs you. Hopefully you’re a man of your word.

There are coordinates.

If he were human, he would describe the feeling that follows as something like hair-raising. His head whips around, and he sees the orange creeping across the sky.

“Change into armour,” he says, flashing into his own combat gear at the same time as he turns back to Rock. “ Now! ”

His tone must be convincing, because a startled Rock obeys him without a word. He’s not a moment too soon. The field is expanding fast, so much faster than last time, and they hear a confused uproar from the crowd around them as it engulfs the entire block.

“What’s going on?” Rock looks around, just as confused as the bystanders.

Bass doesn’t waste time. He fuses with Treble and grabs Rock by the arm, flying them up to the top of a nearby tall building and ignoring the squawk of surprised protest. When they settle up on top, granting them a view of the cityscape and the mountains beyond, Rock gasps.

The origin point of the weird field seems to be a deep purple point. It’s weird, because it’s not throwing out any light, but it draws the eye anyway.

“That’s my house,” Rock says, gripping the railing he’s leaning against. “It’s on top of my house?!”

Bass is torn for a moment. Roll is still at Dr. Light’s house, and she might be in danger. But already he can see the pinprick light of the Rush Jet flying towards them. Rock will be able to get back to defend his home.

Bass checks the coordinates Enker sent him and does a double take. They’re on the other side of the world.

He can’t teleport. Another attempt confirms that suspicion.

“Fuck,” he says. He takes one last look at Rock before taking off, boosters sending him sailing towards the beach. He hears Rock call something after him, but he’s not focused on that. The coastline opens up before him, and the ocean looks like it goes on forever.

But what he needs is on the other side.

He trails green fire behind him as he soars. There’s a boom as the air gives way around him, and windows shatter in the city below him as he streaks out from the mainland into the open sea.

“So there’s no way to contact them?” Quint fidgets. He’s not sure what else to do, hovering over Kalinka’s shoulder. She shakes her head. The computer monitor flickers and she swears in Russian, smacking it.

“No,” she says, “Dimensional areas really screw with systems not designed to work with them. I didn’t have time to... well… we just have to wait and see.”

“Hey, Kalinka…” Quint says.

“Yeah?” she swivels around in her chair to face him.

“It’s really good to see you again,” he says, with a half-smile. She returns it in kind.

“You, too,” she says. “It was -”

She’s cut off as the portal above them spews forth arcs of electricity. Kalinka screams as one connects with the computer she’d just been using a second ago, jumping forward from her chair and barreling into Quint. He holds out an arm to steady her as they both look up.

The figure bursts out of the portal with another wave of energy. He hits the ground with enough force to cause a brief rumble beneath Quint’s feet and decimate the concrete flooring, leaving a small crater. When he looks up with gleaming red eyes, it’s from behind a ghastly familiar semi-transparent visor on a helmet design that mirrors Quint’s. His entire design mirrors Quint’s, actually, save for the fact that it’s a dark blue, almost purple blue, and he has a red beam sabre humming as it protrudes from his buster arm. In the dust kicked up by his entrance it looks almost ethereal.

Upon seeing them, his face splits into a grin.

“R-Shadow,” Kalinka gasps, confirming Quint’s worst fears.

“Found you,” R-Shadow says, straightening to tower over both of them.

“Kalinka, run,” Quint says, forming his buster and repositioning himself in front of her. She doesn’t need to be told twice; she grabs something off of a table and makes a dash for the exit, but not before putting a hand on his shoulder and quickly imparting a few words.

“Be careful,” she says, and then she’s gone.

He keeps his eyes on R-Shadow, but his foe doesn’t move to stop her escape. He’s staring Quint down.

As the dust settles, Quint picks out a few more details about his foe. Because the robot’s visor is translucent, he can see that their facial structure is near-identical, which is creepy. He’s also taller than Quint, and he realizes with a start that the differences in faces can be chalked up to the fact that R-Shadow is clearly designed to look older than him, maybe the age Bass presents as or even older.

“I couldn’t have hoped for a better welcoming gift,” R-Shadow says, taking a step forward, and then two. Quint keeps his distance, buster up and trained on his foe. “I thought I’d have to track you down myself.”

“What?” Quint asks, grimacing. “I thought you were after them.”

“I am,” R-Shadow says, and then he grins again. He spins his beam sabre in place in the air, seemingly just for effect, before dropping catlike into a battle-ready crouch. “But this is personal. Mega Man.”

“I’m not -” Quint starts, but R-Shadow launches forward and he’s cut off as he slides out of the way of a red-tinted slash. He ducks behind a makeshift desk and returns fire.

Enker arrives with Shadow Man to find Ballade and Punk already strategizing.

“- but how’re we going to get to any of them?” Ballade says, gesturing at the inverted night sky full of what even Enker will call creepy purple portals. They’re dispensing figures, or at least they can see that kind of activity from some of the marginally closer ones. There are signs of a fight near at least one of them, flashes of blue and gold light off of the buildings suggesting the use of plasma weapons.

“Maybe if we make a big enough commotion they’ll come to us,” Punk suggests. He glances back as Enker steps into their ranks. “Oh, good to see you decided to join the party. Did you need to go to the bathroom before we hit the road?”

“Are we at a party or on a road trip?” Ballade asks, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mix your metaphors, man.”

“I was taking care of some things,” Enker says, scanning the horizon with a frown.

“Vague,” Punk says, with just the slightest tone of chiding. “Well, at least we know it’s really you.”

“Hey, maybe Shadow Man can get us over the- where’d he go?” Ballade asks. Enker glances back. Sure enough, their ride is gone.

“No idea,” he says. “We’ll have to adapt.”

Not too far away, a warehouse roof is blown open by a plasma blast.

“We could start there,” Punk suggests.

R-Shadow is strong, and fast. Quint isn’t a slacker, either, but he’s having trouble just dodging his opponent, much less getting in a good shot. They’re dancing around what very quickly has become the remains of Kalinka’s lab, hastily thrown together equipment pockmarked with plasma burns and slices. The Time Skimmer sits untouched in the middle of it all, miraculously, portal thrumming above it.

“When I finally kill you,” R-Shadow says, in between swipes, “I’ll be the strongest.”

Quint gets the sinking feeling that he’s only still alive because his opponent wants to monologue.

“I’m not even -” Quint says, and then has to roll to the side to avoid being cut in half. “- the strongest!”

R-Shadow’s grin turns into an icy mask of rage and the room darkens noticeably. Quint looks up, but the portal looks the same.

“Don’t be so humble,” R-Shadow growls, and lunges again. This time, he nicks Quint’s side as Quint slides out of range. He gasps, staggering as he regains his footing and clutching the wound. It hurts way more than it should, like against all logic it’s festering somehow.

He feels a stab of painlossjealousy, so vivid that he’s almost caught by another stroke of the sabre as R-Shadow bears down on him.

“When I beat you,” R-Shadow howls, “there will never be any doubt. I won’t be your shadow anymore. I’ll be Mega Man! ”

He presses forward, slashing back and forth as Quint backs up, dodging left and right. Quint stumbles on a component that’s been left on the floor and his eyes widen as the red sabre flashes towards him, but something flies between them and -

- boom-CRACK.

They’re thrown apart by the explosion, and Quint groans as he scrambles to pull himself up.

“Well,” Enker says, standing between Ballade and Punk in the doorway, which has been thrown open. He’s holding his javelin at the ready. Quint thinks he sees the figure of Kalinka behind them. “Good thing we’re Mega Man Killers.”

The streets are chaos.

On the bright side, the chances of riots has subsided substantially. On the other hand, humans are stampeding to get away from the invading robots. Blues wishes he could do more, but as Roll pointed out when they split up, defeating the attacking robots quickly will save the most lives.

The problem is that Roll is equipped with anti-evil-robot energy and has fought these things before, and Blues comparatively has a popgun and his wits.

Oh, and a shield, he amends, raising said shield to block a volley of bullets from his opponent, who is also a giant bullet, and has bullet hands. The fact that he looks completely ridiculous only makes it worse that Blues is having so much trouble scratching him.

And underneath the lively hum of his combat systems, it’s a ticking clock. He can only take so much strain before his power gives out. It already hurts, a dull throbbing pain throughout his entire body. The alternative, though…

He can still hear shouts and screams in the distance, the wail of the crowd punctuated by explosions and the sound of shattering glass.

Through the window on his shield, he sees his opponent suddenly look up, ceasing the assault on Blues. It’s hard to read, but he looks distracted.

Incoming orders, maybe?

The robot’s head, which doesn’t exactly have a neck, swivels around and after a second the body follows. He starts off plodding towards… Blues does a mental calculation.

The warehouse, he realizes.

He dives out of cover and into the robot’s way, buster charging.

Quint makes a beeline for his teammates as the atmosphere in the warehouse darkens even further to match the stormy expression on R-Shadow’s face. There are wisps of purple flame gathering and licking around him.

Now he’s sure of it, he thinks, remembering the fight at the beach and Bass’ green-white blazing turnaround.

The dimensional area - the energy - is reacting to his state of mind!

Too bad he has no idea what to do with that information.

“You guys,” Quint says, as he reaches them. His voice is heavy with relief. “You came!”

“Of course we did,” Punk scoffs.

“You’re a part of our team,” Ballade adds, grinning.

“We literally had to,” Enker says.

“What he means is he was worried about you,” Punk kicks Enker’s boot without any real force.

“So these guys are… trustworthy?” Kalinka says, looking between the three of them and then at Quint. He notices that she’s holding a welding gun, and that Punk’s torso armour is sporting a fresh burned gouge.

“Yeah,” Quint beams.

R-Shadow taps his boot on the floor loudly, and their heads all swivel to attention.

“You’re not the only one who can call for backup,” he says.

The background noise changes. There have been explosions and the sounds of fighting on top of the populace’s panic, but they pause, for a few seconds, and then resume. And then, slowly but steadily, they start getting louder.

“How many portals did you say there were in the city?” Quint asks out of the side of his mouth at Kalinka, not taking his eyes off of R-Shadow, who looks very, very smug all of a sudden.

“Eight,” she says faintly. “Seven outside of here. Assuming Roll and Proto Man are keeping one each busy…”

“That’s five incoming,” Ballade finishes, through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, did you say Roll? ” Punk asks.

“I’ll explain later!” Quint says. He places a hand on Enker’s gauntlet. Enker shoots him a questioning look, before his eyes light up with a spark of understanding. “If we stay here, we’ll get outnumbered, but if we split up now, we can probably still stand a chance taking them on one at a time.”

“And what about this guy?” Ballade fixes R-Shadow with a glare.

“It’s a one-on-one fight he wants. With me.” Quint grits his teeth. “I can handle him.”

“Are you serious? You were getting your rear handed to you just now,” Punk protests.

“Trust me,” Quint says. His armour changes colour from the bottom up, now blue and gold, as he switches to Enker’s Mirror Buster.

“Fine,” Enker says, turning to the others. “Let’s go! We’re moving against the clock.”

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about how to get to them now,” Punk says, as they retreat, taking Kalinka with them.

Quint and R-Shadow are left alone, the space between them almost immaterial as Quint feels the other robot’s presence like he was right there in front of him. It’s emanating, and now that he’s looking for it, he can feel the churning undercurrent of rage.

“Too bad your friends had to leave,” R-Shadow says. He raises his sabre. “I’m surprised you sent them away, though. You know you don’t stand a chance alone, right?”

Quint takes a deep breath and listens. Really listens.

I can’t stand feeling alone.

He lets the breath out and smiles. It’s shaky, but it’s there, along with a gossamer-thin thread of hope.

“Sometimes you’re not as alone as you think,” he says, bringing up his buster.

R-Shadow snarls and charges forward.

The ocean seems to go on forever. Bass curses it. He’s going fast, so fast, faster than he and Treble have ever gone before. The distorted sky hangs above and the sea sprawls below, though, unchanging even as he cruises above the sound barrier.

There’s something familiar, though, something he can feel in the distance. It’s pulling him. He doesn’t need the coordinates to know he’s going in the right direction.

Slowly but surely, Bass accelerates.

Blues flips out of the way of yet another volley, finding cover behind the corner of a building. The concrete facade is blown away in short order by the hail of bullets, and he thinks some of the structure must have taken damage, too - he can’t stay here for long.

The truth is that with every shot he fires, and with every chink in his armour, he comes closer to his limit. Even so, there are people depending on him. Not just the occupants of this city, but important people.

Isn’t it ironic, he thinks grimly, grabbing his shield and running out to face the alien robot head on, that the people he has to live for always put him in the position of risking his life for them?

He’s miscalculated the time between the enemy’s waves of fire, running right into a full storm of ammunition. He grips his shield and digs his heels in, but he’s being pushed back. From the inside, he can see it denting, and the sight window catches a bullet and shatters.

Just when he’s wondering if this is it, if this is how he goes, something catches hold of his knee just above the boot and pulls him down. He yelps, momentarily disoriented, because he’s pulled straight through the ground. By the time his mind catches up, he’s looking up at a familiar face.

“You’re such an idiot,” Shadow Man says. It’s a pissed familiar face, that’s for sure. Underneath it, he gets the feeling it’s tinged with something much more complex.

Blues looks around to catch his bearings. They’re still in the dimensional area, and judging by the soundscape of explosions, still in Symphony City.

“Yeah,” he says, attempting a smirk to lighten the mood. Judging by the darkening of Shadow Man’s expression, it doesn’t go over. He drops it, sighs, and starts to stagger to his feet. He’s pushed back down almost immediately.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shadow Man asks, hand still splayed out on his chest.

“I’ve gotta get back there,” Blues says, bringing up a hand to rest on Shadow Man’s. “I’ve got to stall that thing. It’s trying to get to the others.”

“The way you’re faring you’re not going to be much more than a speed bump,” Shadow Man hisses.

“I’ve got to try,” Blues insists. He tries to get up again, feebly, but Shadow Man is holding him down with one hand. The other is curled up into a fist.

“Are you not listening to me?” he says. “Don’t you get it? If you go back there and try to fight, you’re going to die. Does that even mean anything to you?”

Blues lets his head fall back and takes a shaky breath. The conversation is no longer about invading alien robots.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’m sorry doesn’t cut it! ” Shadow Man’s hand on his chest balls up the fabric of Blues’ armour and he pulls him in closer. “You - you never told me. If I’d ever looked into it, if I’d ever truly looked into you, I could have found out. But instead I trusted you.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” Blues says, weakly.

“Clearly,” Shadow Man bites out.

“I knew -” Blues says, and swallows. “- I knew it would be selfish to get attached, okay? I knew it every time. It kept happening anyway.”

“I’m glad to be so emblematic of your lack of self-control,” Shadow Man says, and there’s still bite to it, but Blues can see the real hurt lurking in the depths of his eyes.

“No,” he shakes his head, and a frustrated huff of breath escapes from between his teeth. “That’s not - what I’m trying to say.”

There’s a rumble from nearby, and they both turn their heads to look.

“How could they have…?” Shadow Man’s eyes narrow, for the moment returning to all business.

“I don’t know,” Blues says, trying again to scramble to his feet. He reaches for his shield, which had fallen to the side in the confusion.

“You’re still going to fight,” Shadow Man says, voice tight.

“I’d rather it be for something important,” Blues says, reforming his buster hand. The rumbles get louder.

“Like the family you just met,” he says.

“Like you,” Blues snaps. “This is the whole world on the line. Do you think I want to die?”

“You could have fooled me!” Shadow Man says, posture stiffening. “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just get fixed. Don’t you care about them? Don’t you care about…”

He looks away, jaw set in a hard line.

There’s a crash nearby. The enemy is almost upon them. Every part of Blues’ body hurts.

Blues takes a shaky breath and removes his helmet, tossing it to the side. He feels naked without the visor covering his face. He grabs Shadow Man’s shoulder and looks right into his startled eyes.

“I’m afraid, okay?” he says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “I’m always afraid. I could never bring myself to take the risk of going under on the table and dying tomorrow. I know I’ll die eventually, but I just - I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I know I’m a coward and I never told you because I thought you’d leave, and -”

Blues pauses, choking down the sudden lump in his throat. His eyes are wet. Shadow Man is stunned speechless, red eyes wide.

“- I wanted to spend the rest of the time I had with you,” he finishes, much more quietly.

There’s only another beat of silence between them before the alien robot bursts onto the scene from a side street, its sights trained on them. Blues brings up his shield, lowering into a combat stance between the robot and Shadow Man.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, briefly, as Shadow Man draws himself up beside him, Shadow Blade at the ready.

“You are,” he says, “such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Blues says, with a ghost of a smile.

“I’m still mad at you,” Shadow Man says.

“I know,” Blues says.

“And I expect your actual proposal to be much better than that,” Shadow Man says, as the robot’s hands start spinning, pointed at them.

“Sorry, what? ” Blues yelps as they jump in opposite directions to avoid the storm of bullets.

As they dive behind cover and Blues looks across the street to where Shadow Man is crouched behind a parked car, he swears he can see just the tiniest smile on the ninja’s face.

R-Shadow’s assault moves the both of them up and down the length of the laboratory as Quint dodges vicious swing after swing.

“Why aren’t you attacking?” R-Shadow asks, frustration clearly mounting as Quint slides out of the way of a downward slash. It hits the concrete floor and leaves a slagged black scar on the pavement. “Are you trying to stall for your friends to defeat my Dimensions? You won’t last that long!”

“Why did you do it?” Quint asks, jumping back to his feet and bracing himself on a ruined piece of machinery. “Why’d you join them?”

The room flickers.

“You could never understand,” R-Shadow growls, and lunges forward.

He brings his sabre down, and, at the very last moment, it meets a glowing blue shield in a shower of sparks. Quint feels the energy from the Mirror Buster’s absorptive properties crashing into his systems, along with a sharp spike of lonelinessbetrayalhurt.

Some of it stays behind even as the backlash from the shield flares outward and hits R-Shadow full-on in the face. He staggers backwards, clutching a cracked visor and clearly stunned.

“Please,” Quint says. He knows he could use the opening to switch back to his buster and attack, but he steps forward instead. “You’re my brother. Let me try!”

“I am not -” R-Shadow’s face warps into a mask of rage and he’s on the offensive again, dashing forward and forcing Quint to jump back as he slices the piece of junk he was bracing on a moment earlier neatly in half. “- your brother! ”

I was never good enough.

It’s clearer this time, and Quint barely has time to wonder if it’s because of the Evil Energy he absorbed before his mind is occupied by the more present task of staying on the defensive.

“You don’t have to -” he pauses to hop a step backwards as the sabre almost bisects him, “- earn it!”

“Shut up and fight me!” R-Shadow says, jumping back and brandishing his weapon threateningly. “Are you really foolish enough to think you can talk me out of this?”

He presses forward again and Quint brings up the Mirror Buster’s shield again, the two bright energies connecting in a shower of sparks. A wave of emotion courses through him and it nearly brings him to his knees with the intensity.

Do you have any idea how many people I’ve hurt?

Things can never go back to the way they were.

“I know what it feels like!” Quint cries out as R-Shadow disengages again. The gilded accents on his armour are littered with blackened spots where the Mirror Buster’s reflected energy struck.

“How could you?!” R-Shadow snaps. “You’re Mega Man! You’re the perfect saviour of humanity. Everyone loves you! ”

Everyone loves you.

It hits him harder than he could ever expect.

The look on Bass’ face as he’s pushed back.

The space between them widening so suddenly.

The hesitation, the uncertainty.

He’s thinking about Rock.

Quint feels like he’s drowning in his own thoughts.

R-Shadow draws back to strike again.

He’s going so fast. He didn’t even know the Treble Boost was capable of this kind of speed. He’s spurred on by that one point on the horizon, an invisible guide.

So why does Bass suddenly feel as though there’s more space separating them than ever before?

Quint barely brings up the Mirror Buster again as R-Shadow’s blade comes down on him. He gasps under the weight of the intent behind it. There aren’t any discernible thoughts, just a cacophony of hatred and all the myriad emotions behind it.

He buckles to his knees as the light in the room all but disappears. The churning purple not-light from the portal highlights their forms and… the Time Skimmer…?

R-Shadow pushes against Quint’s shield with his sabre, and Quint’s eyes widen behind his visor as the energy keeps coming… and coming. It wasn’t designed for this, he realizes. The Mirror Buster was designed to absorb bursts of fire from a buster, not a steady stream like this. He’s going to have to deactivate it eventually, or he’ll overload.

“I know what you’re doing,” R-Shadow says, just loudly enough to be heard over the crackle of the two warring energies. “The dimensional area… I’ve been around them my whole life. You can feel people.”

“You’re…” Quint grunts. “You’re in pain.”

“So are you,” R-Shadow narrows his eyes, and then raises his voice. “You’re so disappointing. All she could ever see when she looked at me was you and now here you are, and you’re so pathetic! ”

“You’re… You’re wrong! ” Quint yells, and he starts pushing, slowly but steadily, back to his feet.

R-Shadow snarls.

“You want to see how they’re doing? Those people who’re here for you, Mega Man?”

It’s a question, but R-Shadow doesn’t wait for an answer. The thoughts that Quint grasped at before were mercurial, so subtle that if he hadn’t been looking for them he might have passed them off as his own.

These are different. The images are being pushed into his head, one after another.

Roll facing down against two gigantic alien robots alone, her sabre, once a beacon, flickering in the darkness like a candle in the wind.

Shadow Man carrying Blues’ unconscious form as he desperately tries to get in an attack between volleys of machine gun fire.

Enker, completely surrounded, holding up his javelin stubbornly as he guards his fallen comrades’ bodies.

Quint gasps, closing his eyes tightly. The shield in front of him quakes as he fights to keep his hands still behind it.

They’re going to die, he thinks.

“Because of you,” R-Shadow says, as though finishing the thought. No, literally finishing the thought, Quint realizes.

“R-Shadow,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I don’t hate you!”

R-Shadow’s expression sours.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“I know that you can tell that I don’t,” Quint says, pushing back on the shield. “I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. I know what it’s like to feel like you aren’t who you’re meant to be!”

“I don’t care! ” R-Shadow pushes back, and the shield sprays plasma back into his face. The crack in his visor shatters, blowing a hole in one side and leaving the other ending halfway across his face in harsh jagged shards. “I won’t take this from you! ”

“I’m not Mega Man!” Quint pushes back with everything he has, even as his internals flash a warning at him. He’s going to overload. “I’m Quint! I’m never going to be Mega Man again, and that’s fine! You don’t have to be, either!”

He pushes all of that energy out through the shield, and the two of them fly apart. Quint lands on his feet, sliding back. Everything hurts, he acknowledges dimly.

But with all of the noise gone, there’s something at the edge of his perception.

It’s -

- Quint. Bass is sure of it now. His presence flares up like a bonfire.

All he can see is ocean, but the other side feels so close.

He could almost touch it.

“I’m sorry,” Quint says, as R-Shadow stumbles to his feet across from him. “What happened to you wasn’t fair. You never got a say. But I know that… I know that even if they were missing me, they loved you, too.”

“It didn’t feel like it!” R-Shadow yells. Quint can see a line of wetness down his cheek, under the shattered side of the visor.

“Feelings are complicated,” Quint says. “Sometimes people get lost in them, and it’s not fair! And sometimes they don’t know how they really feel until they talk about it! But if we could just talk about it, then…”

“It’s too late to talk about it,” R-Shadow says, shoulders sagging even as he raises his sabre again. “I can’t come back from this!”

“It’s not too late to talk about it,” Quint says, closing his eyes and concentrating on that feeling just on the peripheral of his thoughts.

It can’t be too late to talk about it.

I won’t die here.

I want to tell him that…

I want to tell him that I was just afraid, and I shouldn’t have pushed him away!

He remembers what Shadow Man said. Space doesn’t work the same here, right?

He reaches out for that feeling and pulls.

Bass meets him in the middle, and then everything is a green-white blur.

The energy Enker has accumulated throughout the fight rips out of him in a waist-up shockwave in all directions. He falls to his knees as the last dregs leave him, weapon systems well and truly shorted by his last-ditch attack.

He doesn’t have the strength to fight any longer, so if it didn’t work…

He sets his jaw and forces his gaze up. The alien robots lay in pieces around him, scrapped by the wave of force and energy.

Enker allows himself to smile, even as he looks behind him to look at the deactivated bodies of his companions. They’re intact enough that he’s certain their control chips are fine.

Punk would say something like, they can’t take what they dish out, he thinks.

He returns his gaze forward, breathing heavily and bracing himself on his hands and knees as his cooling systems work overtime.

Then, as he looks down, there’s a metal blade sticking out from his chest. Just off-centre, he registers dimly. He doesn’t bother turning around.

“Missed the power core,” Enker says. “Decided... not to kill me?”

“You’re lucky I’m not,” Shadow Man’s voice comes from behind him. “I do so despise being tricked, and you forced my hand.”

Enker chuckles.

“Luck has… nothing to do with it,” he says.

His vision stutters, the feed going wobbly, but before it goes out entirely, a bright light catches his attention. They both look up just in time to see it.

A shooting star, or what one imagines one would look like up close. A ball of bright green light, trailing fire long enough to bisect the sky in its wake as it flies by and bright enough to light up the whole city. It’s headed in the direction of the warehouse lab.

“Is that-?” Shadow Man asks.

“Bastard really knows how to make an entrance,” Enker says. He lasts just long enough for his lips to curl up into a smirk before his systems shut down and he falls into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.

Elsewhere, Roll also beholds the sight. Her blade, the brightness of which had wavered in the uncertainty of near-defeat, flares back to life with a redoubled aura.

Her opponents close in and she meets them in the middle.

She’s got somewhere to be, too.

For a few seconds, Quint isn’t sure if it worked.

Then Bass bursts in through the roof in a shower of light and green-white flame. He shakes the ground as he lands, creating yet another crater - a bigger one - in the floor of the warehouse. When he draws himself back up to standing, he looks the very picture of an avenging angel with his wings spread out wide and wreathed in a bright aura.

“Wh-” R-Shadow starts.

“Bass!” Quint goes to run to him, but Bass beats him to it, moving so fast that he’s in front of him in almost a single instant. He cups Quint’s cheeks with his hands and stares right into his eyes.

“I figured it out,” he says, his voice strong and sure but also somehow the softest Quint has ever heard it. Quint swallows, and he’s sure if he had tears left in him his eyes would be brimming right now with sheer relief.

“You’re here,” he whispers, one hand coming up to rest on Bass’ wrist. “You came back.”

“Who the hell is this?!” R-Shadow says, looking between the two of them with a split mix of rage and confusion.

“Shut up, you’re not important,” Bass shoots over his shoulder. He turns back to Quint, voice lowering again. “Look, when I looked at you I was seeing Rock, okay?”

Quint’s expression has just enough time to fall before Bass leans in closer, one hand shifting from Quint’s cheek to his shoulder. Steadying.

“No, listen,” he says, with an earnestness in his eyes so intense that Quint could almost forget that R-Shadow is standing not thirty feet away threatening the safety of the world. “When I look at you I see the parts of him that made me like him. But when I look at him … I just see the parts of you that are missing.”

“Bass,” Quint says, breathless.

“I want you,” Bass says.

Quint closes the small space they have left between them and kisses him.

It doesn’t last long. How could it, given the situation? But Bass’ lips are warm, and the way his grip on Quint’s shoulder draws him in closer to make the most of the few seconds they have feels like coming home.

When they part, Quint turns towards R-Shadow, and Bass follows suit.

“So who is this guy?” Bass asks nonchalantly, even as R-Shadow narrows his eyes.

“He’s my brother,” Quint answers, and he doesn’t miss the flash of surprise - which is quickly masked - in R-Shadow’s eyes. “From the future. He’s trying to take over the world.”

“So I’m not allowed to kill him?” Bass asks. Quint just shoots him a look in response and he huffs and rolls his eyes. “Figures.”

“And you are?” R-Shadow asks, shifting his stance back to a battle-ready position. He’s eyeing Bass’ aura with no small amount of caution.

“He’s the strongest robot in the world,” Quint says, reforming his buster. He doesn’t miss the surprised, pleased look that Bass turns his way. “And… You’d better give up now, because there’s no way you can win.”

“I’ve come too far to give up,” R-Shadow says, “I told you.”

“Then we’re just gonna have to make you,” Bass grins, forming his own buster and taking off to hover above the ground.

R-Shadow leaps forward, sabre up.

The skirmish goes up and down the warehouse, a flurry of plasma. Those surfaces which had previously avoided damage are ruined now, either burnt to a crisp or a pile of slag. The Time Skimmer remains standing in the middle of it all, untouched, the portal above it pulsing and warping in the air.

Bass is the main source of illumination, his aura of Justice Energy shining bright against the darkness that had previously overtaken the room. He’s in the air, letting out salvo after salvo of plasma on autofire. Even those shots, which were before purple, carry the white-green tint.

Quint presses the offensive from the ground, firing shot after shot as he weaves in and out of R-Shadow’s space. Long-dormant combat reflexes surface, and while R-Shadow is fast, some of his strikes hit home when he manages to find an instant that Bass’ cover fire distracts the dark robot enough.

It’s working, he thinks, as R-Shadow cries out, forced into one of Bass’ streams of plasma by a strategic fully-charged shot.

“You…” Quint can see a wild look in R-Shadow’s eyes as he turns. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go!”

“Please, just stop!” Quint slides out of the way as R-Shadow’s blade slices the air where he was just standing. “You can stop this! No one else has to get hurt!”

“You were supposed to be strong,” R-Shadow says, stepping to the side to avoid another round of fire from Bass. “You were supposed to fight me, and I was going to win, and then -”

“- And then what? ” Bass cuts in, dropping down from the air and placing himself firmly in front of Quint. He’s got his buster trained on him, striking an intimidating figure with wings outstretched.

“And then I’d be better than him,” R-Shadow growls.

Bass laughs. It’s a dry, vicious laugh.

“You’ll never be better than him,” he says, with a sneer. “No matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you fight him, no matter how strong you get, you’ll never beat him.”

R-Shadow’s face twists into a mask of rage.

“Bass…” Quint says, softly. Bass looks back at him, and his eyes are… set. Certain. His expression softens into a smile, for Quint, and then into a smirk as he turns back to R-Shadow.

“He had to call for help to stand a chance,” R-Shadow grits out.

“Don’t you fucking get it? ” Bass scoffs. “You’re not playing the same game, idiot. He doesn’t lose until he gives up on you, and he will never ever give up on you.”

There’s a beat, just a second, where Quint sees R-Shadow’s expression waver. Where the wild glint in his eyes seems to drain away and he just looks… lost. Where the darkness in the room, so suffocating but for Bass’ presence, seems to lift.

Then, his expression slams shut like a safe and the atmosphere follows suit. The portal above them sparks and then there are streams of purple electricity reaching down like tendrils and the Time Skimmer, like a lightning rod, draws them in and they dance along its metal surface. The warped space rips further open with a sound that Quint can’t think of a word to describe, a sound that seems to bypass his hearing and scratch along the surface of his mind like a rake.

“You can’t hope if you’re dead,” R-Shadow says.

They start to spill out of the portal, one by one. Robots, small drones, in designs that Quint has never seen before. They look alien - they are alien, Quint reminds himself.

“Shit,” Bass says. He looks worried, which Quint thinks can’t be a good sign. He points his buster at the portal and lets loose, a small drone exploding in mid-air, but another one just drops in to take its place.

“Look out!” Quint shouts, as R-Shadow starts moving. Bass takes off in time to avoid the intended death blow, but the blade sinks into and through his right boot and Bass grunts, pulling free and wheeling in the air as he tries to right himself.

Quint takes the opening to shoot at R-Shadow and it hits home, but it barely burns the surface of R-Shadow’s armour.

Dang it, he thinks, quickly looking around to assess the situation as he hops back to avoid the retaliation. Bass is keeping the drone situation under control, but that puts Quint back at square one as he moves defensively to avoid R-Shadow’s frenzied attacks. Bass’ shots hurt him the most, but his automatic fire is way more effective at taking out small ones!

And even then, he could swear Bass’ aura is dimming somewhat as the plasma streams out of his buster. Is it possible to use it up…?

“R-Shadow -” he starts, but he’s forced to cut himself off as his opponent snarls and barrels into him. They tumble and roll, Quint desperately holding the barrel of R-Shadow’s beam sabre at bay as he tries to force it down on Quint’s head. They hit a wall, and he’s between a rock and a hard place as panic mounts. He’s no good at hand-to-hand, and he can feel the heat coming off of the crimson blade along with the more ethereal sludgy outpouring of Evil Energy as it inches closer and closer.

Bass is right there, but he’s distracted, and Quint opens his mouth to cry out for help, but R-Shadow freezes. For a moment, he doesn’t understand why, but as he shifts in his attempts to wriggle free, he sees it.

A Shadow Blade sticking out of R-Shadow’s back. And Shadow Man perched on a slagged pile that was once a machine of some kind.

R-Shadow knees Quint in the stomach as he turns around and disengages from their grapple, reaching back and yanking the blade free. It clatters to the ground and he backs off to the side where he can see both of them, sword up. Quint, wincing, pulls himself up against the wall and holds his stomach with his other hand.

“Shadow Man?” R-Shadow seems confused. Alarmed, even. Then his expression hardens. “Turning against us? I guess you don’t have as much sense in this world.”

“Surprised?” Shadow Man says calmly, drawing another absurdly large throwing star and holding it at the ready. “She certainly was.”

R-Shadow’s eyes widen and he turns around just in time to intercept a glowing blue blade, the twin of his own. Roll’s face is grim as she presses forward, and the two of them struggle to gain the advantageous position as their sabres clash together.

Shadow Man vanishes behind the structure he’d been standing on and Quint suddenly feels someone tugging on his arm to pull him out of the way. In a flash of disorientation, he finds himself across the warehouse.

“The portal is getting bigger,” Shadow Man says. It takes Quint a second to get his bearings and realize the voice is coming from next to him. The ninja robot is looking up, and when Quint follows his gaze, he’s startled to see that he’s right - the tear is only getting larger, and more drones are tumbling out now. Bass is starting to look overwhelmed keeping them down, and there is a growing pile of small robot husks littering the base of the Time Skimmer.

“That’s not good,” Quint hisses, looking from the scene there to R-Shadow and Roll fighting. They seem evenly matched, for the moment, but Roll has some obvious damage. “We have to find a way to close it! Are the others coming, too? Where’s Blues?”

“They’re out of commission,” Shadow Man says. “Don’t worry about them for now.”

Quint bites his lip, but he nods, and casts his sights back on the scene before him.

Bass… The portal… The Time Skimmer… R-Shadow…

“Wait,” Quint’s eyes widen behind his visor, and snap back to the Time Skimmer. It’s surrounded by fallen robots and destroyed lab equipment, and Bass is firing wildly all around it, but… “The Time Skimmer! There’s not a scratch on it!”

There’s a whistle of displaced air next to his ear and a Shadow Blade flies past. It falls just short of the Time Skimmer’s surface, falling uselessly to the floor with a metallic clatter.

“It’s protected,” Shadow Man says. “But why? There’s no indication that the portals don’t go two ways. He shouldn’t need it.”

Quint looks up and down the energy that’s dancing between the portal and the Time Skimmer and gasps.

“Kalinka said that it was supposed to tune into other timelines before it was a time machine!” he says, leaning forward. “How does it do that?”

“Right, almost forgot.” Shadow Man pulls out some kind of chip and plants it on Quint’s earpiece. The effect is immediate, his comm bursting into static and then resolving into Kalinka’s voice.

‘- ou hear me?’ she says, followed by a string of curses in Russian. If Quint could blush, he would. ‘Come in!’

“I read you!” Quint puts his fingers up to his comm to reply hastily. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

‘I’m at my lab at the institute,’ she says, voice crackling. ‘We regrouped here before sending those two back out. I’m jury-rigging things to resist the effects of the dimensional area - what’s the situation?’

“We need to know why R-Shadow might be protecting the Time Skimmer,” Shadow Man says, and it echoes over the comm channel.

“Those lightning bolts from the portal are zoning in on it and there’s a force field!” Quint adds. There’s a pause before Kalinka answers, long enough to make Quint consider going to help Roll or Bass while they wait for their answer. But she returns a few seconds later.

‘To vastly oversimplify, the Time Skimmer navigates by sending out a range of exotic particles and watches for interactions that indicate what’s happening in another timeline.’

“So they could be using it to see where we are?” Quint asks. “Like as a beacon?”

‘If they’re so keen on protecting it? It’s more than possible.’ Kalinka responds, grim. ‘But… It’s our only way home. I’m not sure if I could rebuild it with Wily’s modifications for travel. He was always so poor at documentation.’

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take this world’s continued independence over your escape pod,” Shadow Man’s mouth presses into a thin line.

‘Of course,’ Kalinka sighs, breath ragged. ‘Find a way to get past the forcefield and destroy it, if you need to. If they’re using it as an anchor, it might close the portals.’

“Right,” Quint nods at Shadow Man. He surveys the scene once more, eyes flicking between the two main conflicts. “Back Roll up, I need to get to Bass.”

When he looks over for confirmation, Shadow Man is already gone.

Quint runs between the rows of melted components, vaulting over a particularly tall stack and landing right under Bass.

“Bass!” he calls up. “We’ve gotta break the Time Skimmer!”

Bass dives down and lands next to him, still firing in the direction of the portal as more small foot soldiers continue to arrive.

“Anything to get these fuckers to stop coming through!” He growls, but then realization passes over his face and his eyes slide over to Quint. “... Are you sure?”

Quint really, really wishes there were time to hug him. There isn’t, though, so he nods instead.

“It’s the only way,” he says, voice tight.

Bass nods and redirects the stream of automatic fire to the looming form of the Time Skimmer. Like the Shadow Blade, though, the shots don’t seem to do much. They’re absorbed into the field and the machine itself remains pristine. Bass scowls and switches to non-automatic fire, charging up his buster. Quint seamlessly covers him, firing at the robots coming out of the portal.

Bass’ charged blast, tinged with the green energy the same as all of his other attacks, rams into the force field and gutters out.

“Dammit!” he says. “It’s doing jack shit!”

“Wait,” Quint says, catching sight of a discoloured spot in the force field. “It did something. Maybe you just need more power!”

“How the hell am I supposed to get more power?” Bass asks, even as his buster whines, charging up again. “That’s not how it works!”

“Bass, your power core is made out of the same stuff as R-Shadow’s,” Quint says. “And he’s been powering up with Evil Energy when he gets mad and desperate, right? This place works like that.”

“So I just need to clap my hands and believe and I’ll have enough power,” Bass says, wrinkling his nose.

“Not exactly,” Quint says, earnestly. He’s struggling to keep up with the drones as they fall from the portal, their numbers steadily increasing as it grows wider inch by inch. “But you totally broke the laws of physics to be here. Why would a forcefield stop you now?”

Bass’ jaw sets and the flames flare up around him as he adjusts his aim to dead-centre on the Time Skimmer.

“No!” R-Shadow crashes in from behind, kicking Bass off of his aim. The shot, a massive ball of energy, goes wild, punching a hole in the metal sheeting roof of the warehouse. He flips past them and stands protectively in front of the Time Skimmer, one arm out to the side and his sabre out to the other. He’s sporting several new injuries, which Quint is certain are courtesy of Roll.

Who, speaking of which, comes up beside Quint with Shadow Man at her flank.

“He got past me,” she says, holding her shoulder and grimacing. There’s smoke coming out from between her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s fast,” Shadow Man adds, one hand gripping a Shadow Blade.

Bass is already charging again. If he manages to muster another one of those blasts, and it hits R-Shadow dead on… Quint can’t imagine anyone taking a blow like that and still standing.

“R-Shadow,” Quint calls out. “Please. Close the portal!”

“Shut up!” R-Shadow yells right back. “I won’t take your pity! You won’t win - you can’t win. I have an army.”

Roll steps forward.

“Jazz,” she says. “Stop this.”

R-Shadow recoils as though struck.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Roll continues. “I’m sorry I pushed you away!”

“It’s hardly your fault you loved him more,” R-Shadow spits out, eyes meeting Quint’s with a staggering amount of venom behind them.

“I don’t,” Roll says, continuing forward. R-Shadow takes a step back, hand twitching and shoulders hunched defensively. “I missed him, and you were - you were never meant to feel like you had to replace him!"

I was so miserable, all the time.

A tear tracks its way down R-Shadow’s cheek.

“I thought you were gone, forever, too,” Roll says, voice cracking. “But it’s - I just want this to be over. Please.”

R-Shadow laughs. It’s not a big laugh, at first, starting at a low chuckle and working its way up to a manic laugh, then breaking as the first sob wracks him.

“I can’t,” he says, looking up and behind him at the portal. “I-I can’t stop now. Even if the anchor is destroyed, the portals will just… I destabilized it.”

“They’ll just what?” Quint asks, dread creeping into his voice.

“They’ll just keep getting bigger,” R-Shadow says. It’s the quietest Quint has heard him so far. He holds his face in one hand. “Don’t you get it? It’s over. I…”

I’ve screwed everything up.

Again.

Quint screws his face up into a determined frown and crosses the distance between them. R-Shadow’s eyes widen as Quint throws his arms around him and hugs him as tightly as he can.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says.

R-Shadow makes a noise somewhere between a choke and a sob, and it isn’t another second before Roll’s arms are around both of them, too.

“Why are you doing this?” R-Shadow asks, uncomprehending. “I’m not… I’m not good. I don’t deserve this. I’ve hurt…”

“Bass wasn’t totally right,” Quint says, quietly. “I won’t give up on you. But I lose if you give up on yourself, too.”

R-Shadow’s arms fall to his side, limp. The beam sabre retracts into his buster arm, its hum suddenly conspicuous in its absence.

“You’re still my brother,” Roll says. “I love you.”

“You should hate me,” he murmurs.

“But you know she doesn’t,” Quint says. “Right?”

R-Shadow doesn’t push them - he just puts his trembling arms around the two of them, squeezes, and then ducks out of their hold. He looks up at the portal. At some point, Bass and Shadow Man must have started thinning the ranks of the incoming army again, because they’re firing over their heads and they haven’t yet been overrun.

R-Shadow steps over to the Time Skimmer, pulling up a hand and resting it on the force field, which ripples under his touch and disappears, dissipating in a wave that spreads out from the point of contact until the entire machine has been unveiled. He looks back at Quint and Roll and smiles thinly.

“I can’t ever undo what I’ve done,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

He presses forward the extra few inches and his hand makes contact with the machine. The Time Skimmer starts humming, and, starting with just a flicker, a blue glowing energy works its way up from the base of his boots to flare up into a blazing blue halo of energy around him.

“Wait,” Roll steps after him, eyes widening. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t undo it, but maybe I can save this world!” he says, and the blue-white energy spills over to the surface of the time skimmer. The purple bolts of energy that had been attracted to its surface suddenly start bouncing off, repelled his aura. Quint and Roll both try to move forward, but a stray bolt blocks their path.

“Jazz! ” Roll cries out. “No!”

“We can find another way!” Quint shouts, one arm reaching out. He retracts it with a gasp as the lightning nearly hits him. It’s dancing in front of them, a deadly barrier between them and R-Shadow. The light is getting so much brighter. It’s almost blinding. Roll, who doesn’t have the benefit of a visor, is holding her arm up in front of her eyes even as she strains not to lose sight of her brother. Bass is yelling something.

Quint meets R-Shadow’s eyes. They’re not red anymore, he realizes. They’re a bright shade of green.

“I love you too,” he says, looking between Roll and Quint.

And then the light engulfs everything.

When it recedes, R-Shadow is gone. So is the Time Skimmer, and the portal, and, Quint recognizes distantly, the dimensional area. They’re left in a ruined laboratory with only a fragile silence and the smell of smoking electrical components.

Roll falls to her knees.

“He’s…” she starts, voice hitching. “He…”

“Roll,” Quint says, putting an arm around her. She grips him like it’s the end of the world. Quint feels himself shaking, and looks up in surprise when he feels another set of arms envelop both of them. Bass meets his eyes, and even though his expression is flinty, his eyes are soft around the edges. Quint swallows and rests his head against Bass’ chest.

It’s over, he thinks.

Which is apparently the trigger for his systems to flash all of the warnings he’s been ignoring.

Oh, he thinks, as his systems force a shutdown one by one. This is bad timing.

He slips into unconsciousness, vaguely aware that Bass is shaking him and calling his name.

When the world comes back into focus, it’s not like waking up from sleep mode. It’s sluggish, and it takes a few seconds for Quint to really come to himself. He feels the last echoes of the way the Evil Energy made him feel recede as he stirs, like with consciousness he’s leaving them behind for good.

He doesn’t open his eyes right away. First, he takes in the sounds around him. It isn’t the background hum of Skull Fortress, with which he’s intimately familiar, but it’s something similar. There’s still the whirr of industrial fans, low beeps and clicks of machinery. Blearily, his attention shifts from the sounds to the feeling of someone holding his hand.

He opens his eyes to be greeted by a dark room. It’s not pitch black, though, and he can see Bass’ form slumped in a chair next to the worktable he’s laying on. His hand is limp, but placed on top of Quint’s. It looks like he hit sleep mode while sitting down. Quint can’t see very well from this angle, but he thinks he sees the tip of Treble’s conical mane wrapped around the chair, too.

“Bass?” Quint shifts to sit up, running his free hand down his face. Bass’ eyes snap open, their crimson colour piercing in the darkness. For the first time since waking up Quint realizes he’s not wearing his helmet.

“Quint,” he breathes, and then Quint is bodily pulled from the bed and into a tight hug. He squeaks, finding himself literally in Bass’ lap. “ Fuck . Don’t ever do that again.”

“Like, sleep, or…?” Quint gives him a weak half-smile, and is graced by a much more familiar flat and unamused glare. There’s no bite to it, even so close up. Their faces are very close right now, come to think of it.

Quint’s not sure who closes the gap first. Probably both of them at the same time. Quint loops his arms around Bass’ neck, pushing into a desperate, needy press of lips. Bass, arms still around his back, seems determined to make sure there’s not an inch of empty space between them.

“I’m sorry,” Quint murmurs, when they finally do part, which is a solid few minutes later. Their lips are still brushing each other, even then. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Bass huffs, and his breath tickles Quint’s nose. If it’s possible, he pulls him closer, grip tightening like he never wants to let go. Quint feels, dazedly, that he might be okay with that.

“You’re like the most worrying person on the fucking planet,” Bass says. “What would you do without me?”

“I dunno if this time is really typical, but, uh, probably die,” Quint says, a little giddy. Then he remembers what exactly this time had entailed, and his smile withers. “Oh, no. Is Roll…? What happened?”

Bass sighs, and shifts a little to put some space between them for an actual conversation. Quint bites his lip.

“You passed out because you decided to absorb a bunch of Evil Energy while you were fighting R-Shadow,” he says, looking displeased. “Remember that?”

“What, like, with the Mirror Buster?” Quint asks, and Bass nods. “Oh. I didn’t think…”

“Well apparently it does a number on normal systems or someshit,” he grunts. “You and Enker have both been out for days.”

“Enker?” Quint’s eyes widen. “Wait, days?!”

“Yeah, why the hell do you think I said ‘don’t ever do that again’?” Bass scowls.

Quint bites his lip, and then closes the gap between them again to pull Bass into a tight hug of his own. He hears Treble shift, and shortly thereafter feels a warm snout nuzzled into their sides.

“You’ve been sitting here for days?” he asks, face buried in Bass’ shoulder.

“Yeah, on and off,” Bass says. “We’ve been taking turns.”

Quint opens his mouth to ask who ‘we’ is, but he’s interrupted by the lights flicking on.

“Rock!” Roll’s voice, the picture of relief, floats in, followed by a sputtered, “oh, are you two really - right now-?”

“Quint,” Quint corrects automatically, giving one last squeeze to Bass before he pulls away and lands on the floor to run and meet his sister. Or tries to, at least. He’s still wobbly, and he ends up nearly tripping. Treble catches him and sends him an admonishing glare.

Luckily, Roll is more than willing to close the rest of the distance to pull him into an absolutely crushing hug.

“Hi, sis,” Quint wheezes, giving back as good as he’s getting.

She’s no longer in combat gear, changed into a plain red feminine hoodie that might be Kalinka’s over jeans and sneakers. It’s not Roll’s normal look, but it does wonders to set Quint’s mind at ease.

“Ro-” Roll stops herself and swallows. “Quint Light, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How worried everyone has been?”

“I’m starting to get an idea.” Quint smiles sheepishly.

“It’s really fucking worried,” Bass adds, standing and stretching.

“Thank you, Bass,” Roll says primly.

“I was trying to save the world! So were you! ” Quint whines. Then he pauses. “Hey, why is he allowed to swear?”

“He saved your life,” Roll says.

“She got tired of trying to stop me,” Bass answers at the same time with a wolfish grin.

“And he saved your life,” Roll repeats firmly. “And he’s your boyfriend.”

“He is?” Quint squeaks, as Roll lets him go.

He looks over at Bass, who suddenly looks uncertain. He’s watching Quint closely, mouth edging into a frown.

“I mean - of course he is,” Quint says, walking over (carefully) and taking Bass’ hand in his own. “We just hadn’t gotten around to talking about it, so I didn’t wanna assume…”

Bass’ fingers lace into his and he holds on firmly, pulling Quint into another kiss. It’s quick, rough, and a little possessive, judging by the look on Bass’ face as they part.

“Mine,” Bass growls, and Quint lets out a startled laugh.

“This is so cute,” Roll covers her mouth. “But you two seriously need to get a room or something.”

“Roll!” Quint gasps, scandalized. Bass starts laughing.

“Ew, not actually! Especially not right now,” Roll says, putting her hands on her hips. “Everyone’s going to want to know you’re awake.”

“Right,” Quint straightens. “Where exactly are we, anyway?”

“Dr. Cossack’s place,” Roll says. “Shadow Man… convinced him to let us stay until Blues woke up and vouched for us.”

“Oh,” Quint says. “I bet Kalinka isn’t letting him live down turning you guys away.”

“She’s really, really not.” Roll’s lips quirk into a smile. “Neither of them are.”

Quint laughs, and tugs on Bass’ hand, which is still interlinked with his own.

“Hey, I wanna go see everyone, but…” he says, “could I talk to Roll for a sec? Alone?”

Bass only looks hesitant for a second before squeezing Quint’s hand and nodding.

“C’mon, we’re done laying around,” he says to Treble, who makes a whining sound but ultimately gets up and follows Bass out of the room. Quint and Roll are left alone in what Quint is just now paying enough attention to peg as a side workshop.

“How are you doing?” Quint asks, softly.

Roll’s shoulders, which had been held so perfectly aloft, slump as her posture crumbles in on itself.

“Awful,” she says in a wavering voice, covering her face with both hands. “He’s gone. He just… Right in front of…”

Quint guides her to the worktable, where they both sit down. He puts an arm around her shoulders.

“I was supposed to look after him,” Roll sniffles. “He was all I had left. After Blues… and you…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Quint says, pulling her into a full hug. “You’re really strong, and you always put up a front so everyone else can count on you.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” she says quietly. “I always second guess everything I did, since he left.”

“It’s not your fault he saw through it when he wasn’t supposed to,” Quint says. “He was just a kid, and… I can’t imagine being able to feel what other people are feeling like that all the time.”

“I really missed you,” Roll says. “Some days, it…”

She trails off.

“... made you feel like you couldn’t go on,” he finishes, gently. “I know. I felt - I still feel that way sometimes.”

“I’m so happy we found you,” Roll says, finally unburying her face from her hands. Her hair is mussed up, strands pressed to her face and matted down by the wetness of tears. “But things aren’t ever going to be the same. Dad is still gone.”

It stings, to think about. To know that he’s never going to see his father again. But there is a little part of him that is tired, so tired, of wishing and not knowing, and even through the pain, that part of him is glad to finally be able to rest.

“I guess… we just have to keep moving,” Quint says, finally. “I know it’s not the same, but…”

“At least you’re here,” Roll says.

“At least we’re both here,” Quint agrees. “And I have a new family, too. Do you wanna be part of it?”

“I’d like that,” Roll smiles, and wipes her face. “I’d really, really like that.”

The hallways around Dr. Cossack’s labs are familiar, at least in layout. Once Roll has dried her tears and they’re both ready to face everyone, it doesn’t take the two of them very long to make their way to the main laboratory.

When they walk in the door, Quint doesn’t even have time to survey the room before he’s hit in the chest by a very enthusiastic Sakugarne.

“Saku!” it trills, bouncing up and down into Quint’s hand as he reaches up to pat the little pogo stick by the handle.

“Sakugarne!” He grins, picking his weapon up and hugging it. It makes another pleased little ‘Saku’ and then bounces around him when he lets it down. Roll giggles at its antics.

“Little guy missed you something terrible,” Ballade says, a smile in his voice. “So did we. How’re you feeling?”

Quint finally gets the chance to look around. Everyone is here, it seems - Ballade and Punk are sitting next to a worktable with Enker’s unconscious form sprawled over it, a game of checkers balanced on a rickety TV table between them. At a glance, Ballade is winning. Shadow Man and Blues are tucked away in a corner, looking up from what looks like a personal conversation to note their entrance. Kalinka, the elder, is in front of the messiest mass of monitors and computer rigs Quint has ever seen, with Dr. Cossack leaning over her shoulder holding a mug. The younger Kalinka looks up from working on a robotic component, possibly Pharaoh Man’s if the colouring is anything to go by.

Bass and Treble perk up at his arrival, having apparently settled away from the main commotion in a similar but opposite corner to Shadow Man and Blues. Bass is already getting up and making a beeline over as Quint replies.

“Way better,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “How’s Enker doing? And also…” A creeping realization hits him. “Why didn’t you guys take him back to Wily?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Punk says, pointing at himself with both thumbs. “We’re free bots now. Or, at least, as free as we can get.”

“Thanks to Enker’s stupid stunt that could have backfired in so many ways,” Ballade adds, with a reproachful look at their leader’s unconscious body. “When we got brought here for repairs they decided to delete our loyalty programming.”

“My hand slipped,” the older Kalinka mutters loudly, with a conspiratorial grin at Shadow Man. The smirk Shadow Man sends her in return is, to Quint, chilling.

Quint’s mouth hangs open. Bass makes it over just in time to act as something to lean on as Quint grasps for something solid and gets Bass’ forearm.

“So… we’re all free,” Quint says, stunned.

“Well, yeah,” Punk says. “I mean, I don’t know what use we are, being combat robots and all, but I for one plan to postpone that little crisis until I’ve used my freedom to yell at Enker for a straight hour.”

“Hear hear,” Ballade says, bouncing a checker thrice across the board. “Oh, king me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Punk groans. “If we were playing cards I’d be smoking you.”

“No one is gambling around my daughter,” Dr. Cossack shoots across the room. Both Kalinkas roll their eyes.

“Papa, I’m not going to develop a crippling habit because I watched a game of poker once,” the younger one whines.

“Yes, it would take at least three times, and I’d learn to count cards,” the older one asserts haughtily. Dr. Cossack massages his temples and swears softly in Russian.

“This is so weird,” Blues says, just audible from his corner.

Enker chooses that moment to stir, catching everyone’s attention. Quint gasps, tugging on Bass’ wrist as he makes his way through the absolute disaster area mess of a lab to get to the table. Punk and Ballade rise to their feet, too.

Enker’s eyes flutter open.

“Ah,” he says, looking around at everyone blearily. “We’re alive.”

Punk punches him lightly on the shoulder, which still has enough mass behind it to slide Enker a few inches across the table.

“You cut it damn close,” he admonishes. Enker returns his gesture with a gaze, eyes a veritable desert of any kind of shame.

“But it worked,” he says, slowly, and draws himself up to sitting with still-wobbly arms.

“If I hadn’t picked up on the true meaning of our little conversation,” Shadow Man says, appearing next to Ballade, who jumps, “I could have easily decided to do away with you.”

Enker’s lips tug up into a smile.

“If you had, then the rest of my team would still have survived. But I bet on your nosiness. Either way, the outcome would have been acceptable.”

“Don’t say that, you dick,” Ballade punches him from the other side, sliding him back to approximately where he’d started. “What would we do without you?”

“Yeah,” Quint says, just as vehemently. “We’re a team! All of us. You always try to look out for us, so you’re not allowed to throw yourself under the bus and say it’s okay.”

Enker looks, for once in his life, tongue-tied. He frowns into his lap for a few seconds, and Quint catches a glimmer of emotion in his eyes. When he looks back up, though, his face is deadly serious.

“We’re going to need a new name,” he says.

“I take it back,” Ballade rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“Hey, since I’m on the roster now, do I get a vote?” Bass grins. At some point, Quint realizes, his grip on Bass’ wrist had transitioned into holding his hand. He’s hit by a sudden giddy shyness, and he’s certain if he was human he’d be red as a tomato.

“I’ve seen what you name your teams in those strategy games…” Quint says, smiling even as he gives Bass the side-eye. “I dunno if it’d be, uh, appropriate.”

“Team Murderkill doesn’t give a shit about what you think,” Bass says.

“Oh, I like that one,” Punk says. “It’s got a certain vibe.”

“Veto,” Ballade says. “Especially since we still have no idea what we’re going to do.”

“I thought you were gonna yell at Enker for an hour,” Quint says.

“Oh, good point,” he says, turning to Enker, who stares him down. “Uh… maybe later. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

Quint laughs as their banter falls into its familiar rhythm, with the surprisingly smooth addition of Bass. At some point, Shadow Man had slipped back unnoticed to Blues, leaving just the group of them.

This feels good, he thinks. It feels like home. There’s just one thing missing.

He glances back behind him. Roll stands there, watching the proceedings. She’s fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves, and when Quint meets her eyes, she bites her lip and looks away.

“Hey guys,” he says, turning back to the assembled group. “Is there room for one more? Since we’re changing everything up anyway.”

There’s a beat as they all look at each other.

“Since she’s likely to vote against the name ‘Team Murderkill’, I don’t see why not,” Enker is the first to respond.

“Oh, fuck you,” Bass withdraws his hand from Quint’s to cross his arms. “Roll’s fine, though. Better than this guy,” he says, looking pointedly at Ballade.

“You ungrateful punk,” Ballade scowls.

“Hey,” Punk says, assumedly on principle.

Quint steps back and gestures Roll over. She steps forward, shyly, not quite meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Thank you for having me,” she says, still fiddling with her cuffs.

“Huh,” Ballade says. “The only way we could step up our class any faster would be kicking Punk out.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Punk snorts.

“Children,” Enker sighs, “all of you.”

Quint laughs even as Bass mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a denial. Roll’s expression is somewhere between heartened and overwhelmed.

“You get used to it,” Quint says to her quietly.

“If you’re all done bickering,” The elder Kalinka says, the wording of which makes Quint think that she’s gotten wind to how his team interacts over the last couple of days, “I’ve got something you might want to hear before deciding on anything else.”

Five heads swing over to her attentively. Well, five heads, one snout, and a pogo stick.

“I’ve been crunching the data,” she says, “and it looks like the portal - at least, the one in the warehouse - isn’t totally gone. It’s more… dormant.”

“Oh,” Quint says uneasily. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not necessarily bad,” Kalinka says, shrugging. “I’ve got no indication that it’s going to start spewing out armies of darkness anytime soon. But I feel like it’s my responsibility to keep an eye on it.”

“But in the event that it does start spewing armies of darkness…” Enker strokes his chin thoughtfully.

“It would probably be a good thing for the planet if there was an elite squad of warrior robots on the watch, yes,” Dr. Cossack finishes the thought.

“While I observe and generally poke at it,” Kalinka says. “For science.”

“You mean so we can be prepared if anything comes through, right?” Quint asks.

“Yes,” Kalinka says, shiftily. “It can be both.”

‘Mad scientists,’ Ballade mouths, shaking his head.

“Solves our problem, though,” Enker says.

Bass opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by the door opening. Ring Man pops his head in, looking over everyone but Blues nervously. Blues, his eyes skip over like he’s afraid to look him in the face.

“Uh, Doc?” he says, settling on Dr. Cossack. “Dr. Light and his kids are here, and they’ve got some questions.”

Dr. Cossack pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to the lot of them.

“Alright,” he says, “who broke radio silence?”

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t me,” Blues says, sounding wary.

Quint notices Treble whine softly and nudge Bass’ hand, and looks up to find Bass’ expression vaguely guilty. His incredulity must show on his face, because Bass takes one look at him and groans.

“I just didn’t want Roll to be losing her shit after the way things went down,” he says, defensive.

Blues jumps to his feet.

“Since when are you talking to my sister? ” he says.

“Uh, you already knew that,” the younger Kalinka gives him a look. “I told you she knew about Bass and Quint, didn’t I?”

“That isn’t the same as finding out they’re on- I just-” Blues sputters, and Shadow Man gets up and pats him on the shoulder.

“No,” Punk holds out a hand, as Bass’ expression turns more and more foul. “We must preserve this moment for posterity. Bass, on this day, gave a crap about someone other than himself.”

“Uhh,” Quint says pointedly, taking Bass’ hand. It only mollifies him a little bit.

“Different category,” Punk rolls his eyes. Before Bass can act on whatever murder is in his eyes, Quint cuts in.

“Maybe we should get our stories straight before da- before Dr. Light gets here,” he suggests.

“Excellent idea,” Dr. Cossack says, starting for the door. “I’ll go and greet them. And... I need more coffee.”

As the group of them pull up chairs and clear off other surfaces to sit down on, Quint settles down next to Bass. He doesn’t let go of his hand. He holds it as they all relay their part of the story. He holds it as he sees his father’s face for the first time in more than a decade. He holds it even as he sees the look that Rock gives them, a sorrowful acceptance that causes him to squeeze it tighter at the implication.

He holds it with one hand while he puts an arm over his Roll while she recounts Jazz’s tale and its painful conclusion. He holds it as their futures are discussed. And long after Dr. Light departs and they’re left to themselves, he still holds Bass’ hand, and he doesn’t let go until they’re curled up in a guest bed together and let themselves slip into sleep mode in each others’ arms.

He doesn’t ever want to let go.

The city stretches out to the very edge of the horizon, tinged red by the hues of the sunrise. The shadows are long, and from his perch on the rooftop Shadow Man can see how they drape across the cityscape in patches and columns.

He hears a teleport land behind him and sighs.

“Brooding on rooftops?” Blues’ voice rings out clear in the morning air. “That’s my schtick, you know.”

“Last place you’d look,” Shadow Man says, not moving to look behind him.

Blues comes up and swings himself onto the rail next to him uninvited.

“Still mad, huh,” he says.

“It’s not exactly something that disappears overnight,” Shadow Man says, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone.

“That’s fair,” Blues says. “But we’re still…?”

“Obviously,” Shadow Man says, finally crumbling and letting himself look at the robot next to him. Blues is hard to read, for most people. The visor is effective at hiding his mood. But his body language is just as expressive, to the discerning eye.

Blues is curled in on himself, effectively making himself smaller. His hand, the one gripping the rail to steady him next to where Shadow Man is doing the same, has one finger tapping out a steady beat against the metal.

“I’m getting it fixed,” Blues blurts out, before Shadow Man has a chance to comment. “My core.”

Shadow Man closes his eyes.

“There’s still a risk?” he asks.

“There’s still a risk,” Blues says. “But… I’m taking it.”

“Why?” Shadow Man asks.

“Because…” Blues sighs. “I saw what happened when I didn’t.”

“For them, then.” Shadow Man frowns.

“No, not just that.” Blues shakes his head. “They survived without me. It hurt them, but they kept going.”

“You’re not making much sense,” Shadow Man opens one eye and looks over again. A frown is tugging deeply on Blues’ mouth.

“It’s for me, too,” he says. “It’s for both. And for you. And us.”

Shadow Man mulls that over, slowly, still watching the shadows shorten, bit-by-bit, in the rising light of the sun.

“When?” he asks, finally.

“Couple of days from now,” Blues says, ducking his head. “I was… hoping to spend some time with you before then.”

“I see,” Shadow Man says.

“And…” Blues starts. Shadow Man feels his hand lift up and cover his own, a soft and apprehensive grip. “I was going to ask if you’d come with for the procedure.”

“Still don’t trust the good doctor?” Shadow Man asks, making no move to reject the gesture.

“No,” Blues shakes his head. “Well - no, I have to trust him for this. I just… want you there.”

It’s a battle of attrition, Shadow Man thinks wryly.

He sighs and moves his hand, taking Blues’ in his and giving it a squeeze.

When it comes to Blues, every time, he’s already lost. For he is weak.

“Okay,” he says, and when Blues’ face brightens into a smile, he follows suit.

They finish watching the sunrise together.

They hear Bass long before he arrives, as anyone with ears is wont to do.

The arrangement is like this: The ex-Mega Man Killers, who still haven’t decided on a new name after three months, are scattered around the living room, part of the living quarters that have been hastily assembled in Kalinka’s ex-warehouse lab. Everyone except Punk is wearing street clothes, now that there isn’t a nagging threat of a rival gang of robot masters storming in.

Enker and Punk are embroiled in a no-holds-barred match of table hockey with a scrap of balled-up paper, and the approaching stomping noise makes Punk look up. Enker takes the opportunity to score a goal on him.

Ballade is reclined on the couch, peering over the pages of a novel as he plays referee to the match. He rolls his eyes at Enker and makes a hand signal for a foul play, which earns him a stony look.

Roll, who has been paying rapt attention to the game, possibly because the existence of a scrap piece of paper outside of the garbage can offends her on a deep and primal level, tuts over her phone at Enker. He sighs and erases the point he’d just marked down.

All of this happens in the space of a few seconds.

Quint sees all of it, because he’s stretched out on the floor belly-up in front of the TV. Sakugarne snoozes in the corner a few feet away.

Despite everything, he still has down days. Days when he feels distant from himself, when doing anything at all is hard. Even after moving to Symphony City and away from Skull Fortress, even with his sister back, and the freedom to come and go as he pleases, they still happen. Today is turning out to be one of those days.

Even so, it’s hard not to have a visceral reaction to Bass’ arrival. He shoots up to sitting as Bass slams the door open. His red eyes are flashing with fury.

“You would not fucking believe it,” he says, stomping over to Quint’s general vicinity and plopping down on the floor with a thud next to him with his arms crossed. Treble winds his way through to room, following Bass, but stops on the way to beg some attention from Roll, who giggles and relents to scratching him behind the ears.

“What happened?” Quint asks, shifting over to rest his head against Bass’ shoulder, since he still feels like sprawling.

“Wait, wait,” Punk says. “Betting first.”

“He ran into a cosplayer who asked him for Proto Man’s autograph,” Ballade supplies immediately.

“That’s too specific,” Enker says, propping his head up on an elbow. “I’m thinking someone called the police because he was disturbing the peace.”

“You guuuuys,” Quint says. He doesn’t have to see Bass’ face to know his eyes are narrowing.

“Honestly,” Roll says, tone admonishing. “He’s clearly upset.”

“Thank you,” Bass huffs.

“Anyone would be, if they were mistaken for a truant high schooler,” she finishes, hands flying up to her face to stifle a laugh as Bass chokes on a gasp.

“You backstabbing bi-” he starts, but cuts himself off as Quint pokes him hard in the stomach.

“Hey, that’s my sister,” Quint says. Bass glowers at him, and he responds by draping an arm around Bass’ back and throwing him a winning set of mournful blue eyes.

“No, no, and no, fuck you all very much,” Bass says, turning back to the others. “And if you want to throw around theories, forget about it.”

“The high schooler thing actually happens to me a lot…” Quint mutters. “Seriously, what happened?”

“I went to go buy a game, like with money and shit, and they banned me from the store,” Bass says.

They’d been given some spending money by Kalinka, which was a new concept for the Wily-bots. Quint had already blown his on some secondhand games, Punk had started a music collection, and Ballade, he knows, was saving most of it since his reading needs were managed adequately by a library card. Enker’s share was a mystery.

“I feel like there’s more to this story,” Ballade says, resting his book on his lap.

“Well I wasn’t robbing them this time! ” Bass says.

“And there it is,” Punk laughs. “C’mon, man, you couldn’t have even picked a different store?”

“Why should I?” Bass huffs.

“Okay,” Quint cuts in, sighing. “Lay off, you guys.”

“Ugh,” Bass says, his eyes sliding over to Quint and looking him up and down. More quietly, only loud enough for Quint to hear, he adds, “You alright?”

“Just down, that’s all,” Quint mumbles back.

“Alright, well, c’mon,” Bass says, at a more normal and obnoxious volume. “You can go in for me with the cash and buy it, right?”

Quint huffs out a laugh despite himself.

“Okay, okay,” he says, pulling himself to his feet with some effort. “Lemme go get my jacket, I think I left it in my room.”

He exits the living room, the cloistered walls opening up into the full height of the warehouse. He goes to turn to the makeshift structures that serve as their individual rooms, which are tiny but still very much appreciated, when he spots Kalinka.

She’s usually at her main console typing away or working on one machine or another, but right now she’s staring up at the spot where Quint knows the remnants of the portal lies, holding a mug loosely in her hands. Her expression is pensive.

Quint wanders over, figuring Bass can wait a few minutes.

“Hey,” he says, coming up next to her. She looks over, a little startled, but then relaxes and sighs, returning to her vigil.

“Hey,” she says. Quint follows her gaze.

It’s not anything that registers on his visual processors, but when he looks at the spot, it feels wrong somehow, like the space is all twisted up around it. It’s hard to look at.

“I did a lot of tests,” Kalinka says, after a few seconds, without prompting. “On the debris.”

“Yeah?” Quint says. She nods.

“I didn’t find anything like… what should have been left over after the Time Skimmer was vaporized,” she continues. “It’s like it was whisked away without a trace.”

“So…” Quint leans back against the desk. “Jazz might still be out there somewhere?”

“Somewhere,” Kalinka says. She takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “Maybe.”

“... Are you gonna tell Roll?” Quint asks.

“When I’m more sure about it.” Kalinka shakes her head. “I don’t want to give her false hope.”

“Yeah,” Quint says, looking up at the portal regardless of how hard it is to keep his eyes on it. “That’s fair.”

“Hey, how long does it take to find a jacket?” Bass’ voice echoes over, as he pokes his head out of the door to the living room.

“Get on and enjoy yourself,” Kalinka raises a hand to shoo him, and Quint puts up his hands defensively before scooting away.

“Alright, alright,” he says, and then raises his voice as he makes a beeline back to his room. “Just a sec, I’m coming!”