DISCLAIMER:
Megaman, Megaman
X, and (most) affiliated characters and likenesses are copyright of Capcom.
Other characters
are copyrights of other people.
Mechadrakes
are EXCLUSIVELY property of Auntie Draco. Not me. Got that?
I own nothing,
except some of the obvious stuff.
(and if this
offends any reader's religion, feel free to condemn me to whatever Hell
you believe in)
It begins as a distant thunder rolling across the heavens with a storm warning's clamor.
It swells to envelop the firmament in a grand exclamation.
It climaxes with the stentorian bark of an angry god.
It then retreats in the same subtle fashion which it arrived, leaving in its wake---
---The brightest day.
It begins as the glorious din of a triumphant army.
It grows with the crescendo of an archangel's shout.
It climaxes with a glimpse of the face of God.
It then dissipates across the valley, ushering in---
---The darkest night.
Chapter One
Some humans think that reploids don't dream. Their brains are just CPUs and other assorted computer parts, so how could they? You'd think they didn't have a subconscious to fuel dreams. That's not the case.
Everyone dreams. Real people. Artificial people.
No one really quite knows what the purpose of dreams are. Some speculate that they are simply random bits of information firing around in your brain while you sleep. Some think that they have meanings, deeply rooted in the core of who you are. And still others believe that they are omens, showing us what can, or will, happen in the future. Be it near or far.
This time, the meanings are true.
This time, the omen is fact.
This time, in the not-so-far future.
And this time might be the last time. Period.
At 1:00 AM in the Maverick Hunters HQ, many are sleeping. A number are still awake, performing whatever duty as their assignment dictates. Right now, we focus on one Hunter, stirring in a turbulent sleep.
*FLASH*
He looked down at the ravaged landscape of Kapcom. Disaster had struck. Buildings in ruin, corpses strewn about haphazardly like bloody ragdolls of a giant child of Satan. A familiar feeling washed over him, comforting and revolting, warm, yet filling him a cold he'd never experienced before.
*FLASH*
Down on a street, in the still-bustling Kapcom, in a time before destruction, a large-scale battle took over two blocks of open road. Hunters and winged figures fought each other fiercely, spraying blood and circulatory fluid all over, blowing body parts off of the other.
He himself
was fighting a large brutish fellow, dodging and weaving in and out between
attacks.