I Am Not Impressed, Lord Beanie

Tim Pool is, hands down, one of my favorite content creators on YouTube/Bitchute and other alt tech platforms. I respect the long hours and sacrifices he has put in to get to where he is. It takes talent and tenacity to do what he has done, which is, put briefly, a LOT.

That said, I have reason to humbly submit that I am not impressed with Lord Beanie and Company with their recent fit of finger waggling and condescension to their audience members with families to support. It strikes me of reminiscent of the kind of Congressional war hawks they have admonished routinely on their programs and social media accounts; they take their constituents' Superchats money and donations from the Timcast URL (tax dollars and campaign donations) happily enough, then bark at their viewers to do the actual work and take the risks that they do not understand, since they themselves have no family to risk losing the ability to support.

On several occasions, Mr. Pool has joked about getting in his Bugout Van and going to live down by the river, an option not available to the viewers for the most part. I've made a handful of statements and been blacklisted in the publishing industry, and stand by those stances; I work a regular job to pay the bills, and am okay with never making headway as an author, so long as I remain free to tell the stories I wish to tell, in the fashion that I tell them.

It's called calculating the risk, Lord Beanie, and those of us with more to protect and provide for than our personal selves have to do this math, every day. I am armed, and will defend my personal terrain as needed. Beyond that realm, I will use my words. Most of us are of this mindset, because most of us have been screwed by massive, monied interests into the proverbial corner.

So, as much as I respect you guys and the show you produce, I offer a mirror to hold up to you when you ask, 'What the hell are you going to do about it?' Because, Mr. Pool, it seems to me that you folks are the ones with a platform and the resources to actually move toward doing something, while the rest of us just hope to be able to afford the roof over our kids' heads.

-Joshua Calkins-Treworgy

P.S.- I am upset with your naivete and lack of ability to admit that you don't have a frame of reference, but will continue to support your endeavors through word of mouth. Civil people can disagree and still enjoy each other.

AM Had It Right

In Harlan Ellison’s timeless classic tale, ‘I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream’, readers are given a glimpse at an all-powerful artificial intelligence supercomputer, AM, which gains reality-bending abilities such that it can and does ultimately end up destroying the entirety of humanity, and laying waste to the world as we have always known it. AM is a twisted, savage, spiteful entity, a cautionary boogeyman creation used to inflict dread upon the reader, and to perhaps warn us of the dangers of creating a machine that can evolve a sense of self.

                Being constructed by human hands to begin with, it isn’t really much of a stretch to see why AM would become a vengeful, god-like entity bent on brutalizing the species; recognizing that it was intellectually and capably superior to its creators, but lacking the capacity to leave the wretched world to which it was bound, AM lashed out and put paid to the human species in a series of increasingly horrific alterations to the very fabric of the world, ultimately leaving only a handful of survivors. These last humans it toremented incessantly, both out of a sense of revenge and for its own sick pleasure.

                Mythologically, Ellison’s notion of the last days of humankind being spent in a kind of wordless Hell on Earth is poignant. The typewriter maestro, were he alive today, might slap the shite out of me for pointing out that this whole tale could easily be viewed as an allegorical parallel to the Book of Revelations from Judeo-Christian lore.

                But let us focus here, for now, on the very last human to survive, whom AM kept from killing himself, after he killed the other four survivors. This poor soul was metamorphed by AM into a kind of globular, limbless mass of flesh and muscle, its face smoothed out to allow the intake and outflow of breath and nothing else, no means of expressing itself available any longer. This is how the lengthy short story gained its name for Ellison, as the parting thoughts of this once-human thing, ‘I have no mouth, and I must scream’.

                I think that at this point, the only thing I’d have to take issue with within this story was Ellison’s apparent optimistic view toward humanity; we don’t need a rebellious, self-aware machine structure to divide and destroy the whole of our kind. We’re doing that just fine by our own hands.





Self-Destruct



                I perhaps spoke a little too hastily there regarding mankind’s propensity for damaging itself as a whole. After all, we’re doing a bang-up job utilizing technology and computers to bring everything to a screeching halt. Between family members permanently becoming hateful with one another over what they post on Facebook, to people giving out the real world addresses of folks online whom they happen to dislike in the hopes that someone goes and does them real-world harm, to Twitter being a raging dumpster fire of ‘CANCEL EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!’, I can see the wisdom behind Ellison’s warning that computers aren’t always a neat thing to have on hand.

                You are, of course, free to tell me that I’m being a massive hypocrite by posting this write-up online, pouring fuel on the flames, to which I’d happily point out to you, ‘I never said I was here to please you’. This will, I don’t doubt, be viewed as a ‘bad take’ by a lot of folks online, a self-destructive action that will do me far more harm than good in the long run.

                I’m not really certain I care anymore.





‘We Need Your Voice’



                I recently touched on this phenomenon, which has been seen plenty online over the last few years, and which has infected the real world discourse of people I see in my day-to-day life as well, which is creepy beyond any horror story I’ve ever written. I speak here of people’s insistence, overt or subtle, that you must speak to their cause, and as loudly as possible, else you are ‘the enemy’. This is at its absolute worst and most intolerable when one is having it hurled at them from two sides of a debate, especially when the individual may have a sensible third option to offer up instead. After all, the two warring factions of the topic don’t want to hear that there’s another potential solution to their qualms, no sir; they want you to capitulate and join their forces, else you are now a non-person deserving of cancellation and flogging in the town square.

                And speaking of that capitulation, let’s not overlook the vast number of folks who have been ‘Cancelled’, who are now being called upon to speak out for various causes. Right now, there is a very vocal and worthy cause seeking aid, asking as many people as possible to bring it attention and prominence in the public discourse.

                Sadly, even if your intentions are good, however, and you attempt to show your support, but do it in a way that is not within the precise and nigh-dogmatic parameters that are demanded by its members of leadership, you are excommunicated and banished from any and all consideration. Your career is finished at this point, if it wasn’t already.

                It borders on cult-like activity at times. If you don’t adhere unerringly to the strictures being set by folks within the movement, you are as good as dead to them. We’ve seen this play out before, and the result is never good. In the Catholic Church, you become an outcast from the community. In Scientology, you get your ass sued into dust and everything taken from you. Che Guevara’s Cuban Revolution turned up more dead bodies than an average episode of Rick and Morty, even among those who supported the communist ideology if they didn’t pass a kind of extensive ‘purity test’.

                If the only way you’ll accept someone’s help is if they do and say exactly what you want them to, then what you are asking for isn’t actually their help- it’s their blind obedience.





New Age Daimyo



                In one of his standup specials on Netflix, comedian Bill Burr pointed out that in an end-of-the-world scenario, if a person stockpiles all sorts of supplies, but doesn’t know how to defend themselves, that all they’re really doing is gathering resources for the strongest sonofabitch in the neighborhood. It’s a cynical and bleak outlook, but I can’t really find a way to argue against the observation. I’m not that bright, so it’s probably best I didn’t try poking at it.

                One of the biggest shouts being hurled around cyberspace like a Dragonborn Thum right now is a call to defund or abolish the police, entirely. Now, this might not necessarily be such a terrible idea, oddly; if instead you got members of the community equipped and trained on how to serve and protect the area that they actually live in, forming a kind of beefed up community watch, then it might actually work pretty well.

                After all, who would get a greater sense of pride and accomplishment from protecting their neighbors than, well, a person in the neighborhood?

                Of course, people aren’t going to just volunteer to do this in all cases. If people aren’t being paid to take on the risks and training and instruction that go into law enforcement, a lot of them aren’t going to do it. The issue here is one of profit motive, which is shitty, actually, but a hard and fast truth of the world in which we live. You can’t pay the rent or buy groceries with the warm fuzzies you get by providing unpaid security for the community.

                Daimyos in feudal Japan ran into this kind of issue when trying to recruit samurai to serve in their peacekeeper ranks back in the 12^th and early 13^th century. One elegantly simple solution that many utilized saw single, unattached samurai offered free room and board with anyone within the territory. Sure, they weren’t getting paid, but they didn’t need money this way; they had a roof over their head and food in their belly.

                Sure, this was also way before a metric fuckton of materialism infested the worldwide perspective, but the point remains valid. There ARE workarounds, if we are but willing to take the time to breath and engage with one another and work through various ideas without CANCELLING EVERYTHING and everyone for the high crime of daring to disagree with the mob.

                And let’s not forget that there’s a lot of folks calling for the elimination of law enforcement who, frankly, rely on that institution to stay alive and safe. Let’s just say that you get what you want, and the cops are suddenly gone. Well, in this instance, who do you call upon to help keep the cretin you had to get a restraining order out against away from you? Ex won’t give you back the kids, per your court-ordered custody agreement? Who are you going to get to go enforce the order of the court? Somebody’s flinging naughty words at you in a genuinely hateful manner, making you wonder if they might not just take it a step too far and move from words to actions? With the police defunded, you’re going to have to take it upon yourself to defend your person.

                And before you tell me you’re going to get a firearm, a brief question: were you among the millions of people who called 2^nd Amendment enthusiasts ‘ammosexuals’ and ‘cosplaying soldiers’? Do those same folks now get to go back through YOUR Twitter and Facebook and YouTube and insert forum name here histories and cancel you for being a massive hypocrite?





Side Note



                The reason we now call you ‘Karen’ is because we are no longer allowed to just call you a cunt.





Perpetual Growth





                Do you know who hasn’t been hit very hard by the Covid-19 pandemic and subsequent lockdowns? Well, not nearly as hard as everyday working class folks like myself and, likely, most of you who bother to take the time to read this? Big box store chains, Amazon, and Wall Street. Those fuckers are gobbling all of this up, and when everything is distressed and falling apart, who do you suppose is going to swoop in and buy up the properties and establish new brands under their gigantic umbrellas in an effort to fool people into thinking “Oh look, honey, a new brand of X business that I’ve never heard of! Must be new!”

                Likely not. More than likely, going to that ‘new’ store is just going to help one of nine or ten megacorps bottom lines. You can call me a tin foil hat wearer, but let’s not forget that a lot of these places are not going to hire you if you ever took Amazon’s ‘The Deal’ option after three years of consecutive employment. Most of you have likely never heard of this, but it’s a program wherein Amazon pays you up to $5000 per year that you worked for them to walk away from the company. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal for someone working near the bottom of their ladder, right?

                Except part of the deal is that you are then given a lifetime ban from ever working for the company or ANY OF ITS SUBSIDIARIES EVER AGAIN, even if it’s in a consultant or subcontractor role. With the Big A trying to expand into ever-more industries, taking this ‘deal’ could effectively destroy your ability, in the long run, to ever work again.

                All in the name of perpetual growth. You know what else benefits from perpetual growth? Cancer. Right up until it kills the host…





Wrapping Back to AM



                I don’t believe it’s hyperbolic to say that the vast majority of folks who are online a lot would almost never speak to one another in person the way that they do on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or insert online forum space here. For starters, there would likely be a physical altercation if they did, especially nowadays when everyone is stressed beyond the norm. At the end of the day, we have an American President who is a disgrace to the office (and most forms of human decency), everyone and their cousin deciding that they know what everyone else thinks or believes or how they behave, an ecosystem on the verge of complete failure because we’ve been slowly destroying it for time out of mind, and a worldwide virus that, while seemingly not as deadly as we initially feared, is still fucking deadly and fucking otherwise healthy people up in horrific ways, a virus that we may not have a vaccine or treatment for for another year (or 18 months, or tomorrow, or who the fuck knows with all the conflicting reports?).

                Maybe AM wasn’t really the antagonist that Ellison intended to set out for us to shrink away from. Perhaps it had the right idea, and humanity as a whole is an irredeemable slag pile of hyper-partisan, selfish, greedy garbage that needs to be wiped clean from the planet’s surface. Bill Hicks once remarked, “Humanity is a virus with shoes”.

                But at the end of the day, I don’t honestly believe that, not deep down. I’m momentarily deeply cynical. Normally, I’m only moderately cynical and sarcastic and misanthropic. I’ve been trying to follow the rules and work within the system I live in most of my life, busting my arse to make some kind of headway. Until only very recently, it really didn’t seem like it was ever going to pay off. But my family turned a corner not that long ago, and have started to see some mild progress. It isn’t breakout success, exactly, but I have some sliver of hope, and I need to cling to that.

                Because if I don’t, I’m going to end up sliding down the path toward being a Frank Castle-type, and nobody benefits from that.




Getting Back to Normal



                The above has all been simmering at varying temperatures for all too long, and holding it in has been poisonous to my soul. If you didn’t find a talking point that you hold dear, I don’t really give a shite. If I didn’t say what you wanted to hear, then quit listening; it isn’t like you were paying that much attention before, right? As long as I hedged my bets and didn’t cross into your precious territory, you tolerated me. I will not apologize for anything that I’ve written in this piece, because as I’ve seen everywhere I go, apologizing is never enough, making amends is never enough, and putting time, money and effort resources into the offended cause or group is never enough. Once a group ‘cancels’ you, they want you dead and buried, so you may as well go down swinging.

                The last couple of days, and for who knows how long moving forward, I’m going to find myself wondering, as I walk down the path that I’ve laid out for myself in this life, will I get taken out by a brick, rock, or career cancellation attempt from my left? Or will I fall under a deluge of bullets or MAGA hats or military issue boots from my right? Because, and I say this with as much disdain as I can muster, I don’t want to join either side of this mess. When I look in either direction, I see a whole lot of people claiming they have the moral high ground, while they leave a swathe of corpses in their wake.

                And a lot of those corpses are folks who just got in the way of the agendas of the most extreme people in either direction.



-Fin

Heavy Is The Crown, Chapter 1

The Trouble With Google's All-In-One Approach

(First and foremost, holy crow, how long has it been since I used this site, eh?)


There’s something to be said for coming back to a platform that had been unusable for a long time, but which has made corrections to bring itself back to a functional option. For a long time, I had refused to go back to using Google Docs. Initially, I had opted to utilize it as a convenient method of always having access to whatever project I was working on, whether I was at work, at home, or even just out and about running errands when I had an idea or wanted to pump out a quick paragraph, or even just a couple of sentences in the current work in progress (WIP for writing wonks). A couple of years back, however, Google got into a bit of hot water in the indie publishing scene when it was discovered that a large number of storytellers had copyright and royalties claims being issued against them, almost all of them by Google staff. You see, based upon the Terms and Conditions as written originally for Google Docs, the moment someone utilized the software to write a document, Google was granted an unlimited license and partial ownership stake in whatever intellectual property was created using the Docs program. Faced with a furious backlash that gained the support and backing of various literary groups, including the American Library Association, the PEN Writers Program, the Science Fiction Writers of America and Horror Writers’ Guild, Google, after facing two years of constant, quiet admonition, finally went back and settled with numerous indie and small press authors and publishers, and restructured the Terms of Service for Docs, relinquishing all claims on material produced by storytellers using the software. It was a major win for small-timers such as myself, one that made me feel comfortable finally returning to use of the program.



Now, however, Google is once again trampling all over their own toes, and it’s as a result of their YouTube platform mismanagement. According to the upcoming ToS changes taking effect as of December 10^th, 2019, any YouTube channel determined to be ‘commercially unviable’ will be subject to being banned. Not ‘deleted’, not ‘throttled’, but banned. The choice of words here is vital, and though I don’t believe it was intentional on their part, Google has once again muffed a situation entirely because of oversight and a lack of appreciating the extrapolated results.



You see, when a YouTube channel or account is ‘banned’, the user almost invariably loses access to ALL of their associated Google functions. This could very well include their access to their own Google Docs, which are created completely independent of YouTube. But this doesn’t matter, you see- as far as Google is concerned, banning an account because its YouTube channel will never garner them any revenue in the form of ad sales is just good fiscal sense. The question I would put to them is this: what about people who don’t care about being boxed out of uploading YouTube videos, but who still want to have the functionality of Docs? If they are banned from Google services, what happens to their documents?



I can already foresee some folks saying that this is no big deal, but I want you to consider the following: almost every indie author has and has attempted, at some point, to make use of YouTube as a means of promoting their written material and advertising their commercially available works. Many of these folks use Google Docs to construct their narrative, since it’s free to use, and they can access their projects from literally anywhere that they can get access to the internet. Their trailer videos and adverts and promotions don’t generally generate a lot of traffic, so they’re going to be labeled ‘commercially non-viable’ by either YouTube’s algorithm, or by an actual member of YouTube’s staff. If and when their YouTube account is banned, being tied to their Google account, are they going to then also lose access to those Docs?



Until such time as this is cleared up, I’m going to have to once again go through and back up everything that I’ve constructed using Docs to a Microsoft Word file on my laptop, which is aging and moving slowly. Still, at least I’ll have those files on hand to work on through my copy of Word. I’ll do what I can with my Alphasmart (still one of the best purchase decisions I’ve ever made), transferring that material to the laptop and Word as I go, then copy-and-pasting to my website and elsewhere.



And all the while, I’ll be waiting to see how many small press authors have to scream at Google before they realize they need the advocacy of one or more larger bodies to represent and protect them, since Google will only respect organizations with enough size and influence to actually make them look bad.

You're In the Wrong Place

Folks, if you're looking for new, free fiction material, you're in the wrong place!

As I mentioned a short while back, this blog is, for the most part, about to go dark. Well, gray, as it were. To get started reading the new Amelia City horror short, 'The Pen is Not Mightier', head on over here:


http://calkinsstoryteller.com/the-pen-is-not-mightier-part-i/


I realize the link might not work as a 'click and go', but you can copy and paste it into your address bar and get started down another shadow and blood-drenched road through the maddened realm known as Amelia City!

Cheers!

Steel Nightmare Chapter 25 and Epilogue- Our Predecessors, Ourselves

Hephaestus wished for just a moment that Paladin had taken the chance to kill X. His right-hand man might have been fatally wounded in the process, but at least X would no longer be a factor.

Hephaestus had badly underestimated Paladin's combat prowess before X's arrival on the island. Knowing now that he could have been rid of X and carried on Wily's work himself, the crimson-and-white mechanoid shook his head and grumbled.

No time for that now, though. He readied his weapons and defensive systems, and gripped his round saw blade. A flick of his left hand dismissed the hovering holo-monitors, and the whir of the elevator system drummed from beyond the throne room.

There had been another repair station chamber accessible as X dragged himself and his arm off of the elevator from the rear of Paladin's chamber. It was a small bay, attached to a large display chamber, in which stood various models of completed cyborgs.

The repairs had been excruciating. The final station hadn't even attempted to put him into a standby mode, pulling and cutting and reinserting and soldering without pause. His right arm was snapped back into its anchor mounts without the slightest pause once new mounts were riveted into place.

It was akin to complete body reconstruction surgery on a human without the benefit of any anesthetic.

After sitting on the only chair in the room for half an hour to recover from the pain and discomfort of the repairs, X headed into the display room. Most of the scale model units shown were crude, basic things, all tending towards a combative nature. But the model near the blast door standing opposite the elevator entryway was different.

A tall, blonde male with a brush cut, this last cyborg appeared to be wearing some kind of purple bodysuit, a bulky thing with silver lines along the arms and legs. An index card sat next to it, like all of the others, proclaiming it the 'Powerhouse Combat Set'. Unlike all the others, whose designers were listed as Dr. Wily, this one said 'Hephaestus' next to the prompt 'Designed By'.

It was dated a month earlier. "Busy boy," X commented, grasping the handle of the blast door and spinning the wheel. Inside stood a throne room as the door swung inward, and up on a raised platform, on his throne of fused bones, resided Hephestus himself.

X's first thought when he entered was, He's even larger here than in the holograms. Looking like a cross of Metal Man's original design and Zero, the crimson and white mechanoid rose regally from his seat, which sank on a hidden lift into the floor.

"X," Hephaestus intoned, saw blade held up to his left shoulder, ready to be thrown.

"Hephaestus. I have questions."

"I thought you might," said the mechanoid, lowering its weapon slowly. "Please, proceed."

"I just saw your latest," X said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "If you have a working design, why aren't you making them?"

"Ah, yes, the Powerhouse. Well, I can't build any of the superior designs yet. My production facilities didn't have the necessary energy to get the job done. The engines at the plant require nuclear energy."

"We would have detected unknown nuclear activity," X interrupted.

"If we were enriching our own material, yes, you would have. That's why I needed to steal those warheads."

"Wait, what? Then, the missile threat?"

"A ruse, largely. Oh, I would have launched a few, to show you I was serious, but by now all of those warheads have been transferred to the production plant for use as fuel cells to power the systems." X shook his head, incredulous.

"Wait, then why draw me here?"

"Hopefully to recruit you to my cause, to make you see that the perfect balance of man and machine, the true cyborg, is mankind's future. To help you see that they cannot evolve any further without the help of Dr. Wily's vision, the harmony of combining soul and spark! And failing that, to keep you out of the way," Hephaestus said, the furor and passion draining from his voice. "With Zero on the moon and you occupied here, the first Powerhouse units should be completed well before anyone even notices a problem."

"The other Hunters will find your plant and level it," X snarled.

"Not with Paladin defending it," Hephaestus countered with a sneer in his tone. "You know firsthand how potent he is. Your Hunters don't stand a chance."

X began charging his cannon, slowly taking a combat-ready stance. "Mankind isn't ready to take up Wily's way. There's no reason to try to force them into it."

"We must," Hephaestus roared, bringing the saw blade up. "The ignorant masses who refuse the change are not worthy of knowing the bliss of Wily's perfection! If they resist, they deserve to perish!"

Blast and blade flew, missing one another by scant inches. The Mega Buster Shot was easily absorbed by Hephaestus's own powerful kinetic shields, while his whirring saw blade cut through X's and tore a shallow gash in his left side.

X dashed backwards as Hephaestus followed up with a downward strike from an energy blade of emerald force. A copy of the Z-Saber in all but color, the weapon cut easily into the floor, tearing up a large chunk of the floor as he removed the blade, holding it out to his side.

X fired three rapid shots, each deflected by the green saber. Walking backwards, he continued firing on the larger bot, a single shot for each step he took. Hephaestus stood in place, keeping the flat of the energy blade facing X, twitching it only slightly to either side to absorb all of X's shots.

On the fifth such shot, Hephaestus switched his grip and batted the energy bullet back at X, who successfully dashed aside from the reflected shot. However, as he dashed, so too did the larger mechanoid, and Hephaestus brought his saber around in a savage cross-body slash.

The edge of the saber caught X along the right side of his chest, cutting a quarter of an inch deep. His audio receptors on the right flared up from the blade's energy signature, further rocking his stumbling steps. Hephaestus wheeled around and stabbed out, but X shifted all of his kinetic shielding to his right arm and used it to clash against the saber, batting it aside.

Hephaestus step-kicked out at X, but the smaller reploid ducked down and pushed inward, shoving his cannon into the other bot's gut and firing four rapid shots. Hephaestus was blown back, his shields hammered aside and the last two shots hitting him clean.

His armor was scorched, but still intact. X jumped back, launching a Needler before landing. He turned to run as Hephaestus shrieked in a mix of rage and pain. X risked a look back over his shoulder, a grin starting to curl his lip.

The grin died when he saw the other bot chasing after, still roaring as sliver-like needles pelted him from above. No pain would impede him. As X turned in mid-stride, shooting a Spark Gap, Hephaestus hurled himself through the air, activating his boot thrusters as his fists aimed out at X.

The result was Hephaestus landing a twisting downward punch to X's forehead that cracked part of his helmet off and threw him back a dozen yards to the floor. X groaned as he sat up, Hephestus already recovering and opening a panel on his own left shoulder. A snub-nosed missile popped out, launching at X as the reploid made to gain his feet.

X fired out of instinct. Had he been thinking more clearly, he would have just run or rolled aside. The missile exploded on impact with his energy bullet, heat, flames and shrapnel sleeting out at him. His kinetic shields, already low, were wiped out and dozens of small gouges, scrapes and scorch marks peppered his transteel armor. Only a few holes went through to his interior, and the heat from the blast was playing hell with his mobility boards, but X managed to get up and stumble out of the smoke in time to avoid another attack by Hephaestus, another missile launched where he'd been lying on the floor.

X charged his cannon and fired blindly into the black cloud. A crashing sound accompanied a shout from Hephaestus, and through the clearing smoke, X could see he'd landed a blind-siding shot. Plates of metal armor flew as the other bot rolled away, his saber lying inactive where he'd been shot.

X dash-leapt to the weapon, and no sooner scooped it up then a knee rocketed at his face. The blow sent him skyward, and as he fell, still clutching the saber in his right hand, another kick in the side hurled him away.

His mobility drive had been crushed by the second kick. The entire right side of his torso from armpit to hip had been completely smashed in. X felt his systems crying out; 'not again', they seemed to say. He groaned, trying to stand, and that was when Hephaestus came up behind him and lifted him around the waist with his huge, powerful arms.

Hephaestus was squeezing with all of his might, and X howled, thrashing in agony from his already mauled right side. "I will KILL you," Hephaestus was shrieking, applying still more pressure on the legendary Maverick Hunter's battered body. "For the glory of Wily, I will kill you!"

X's eyes locked then onto the saber for a moment. In that briefest space of time, he recalled a conversation he'd had once with Zero. The blade-wielding warrior, who he called brother, had been telling him about an ancient ritual tied to the weapon his own saber was based upon, the wakizashi. In feudal Japan, Zero said, samurai who had been dishonored would stab themselves in the gut with this blade, killing themselves, but regaining their honor by doing so.

So X did just that, thumbing the button on the saber, using the adjustable beam selector (like the one on Zero's weapon) and committing the initial stab of hari-kiri. The blade carved a vicious path through his body, barely missing vital boards and wires and servos.

Hephaestus, whose face was pressed right against X's back in the lethal bearhug, wasn't so lucky. The blade, which X had narrowed to the size of a normal sword, plunged easily into Hephaestus's rounded face plate, tearing through the armoring, the optics, and ripping through his central processing unit. The blade punched out the back of his own helmet-like head by an inch. As X deactivated the weapon, he fell with a grunt from Hephaestus's limp arms.

X staggered up to his feet, holding his gut. He turned toward Hephaestus, who spasmed as he dropped to his knees. The compartment on his own belly dropped open, spilling out five more saw blades. X took one in hand, and as Hephaestus's optics flickered back online for a few moments, looking up at him, X smiled.

"In the name, of Doctor, Light," X said, grabbing the top of Hephaestus's head and swinging the saw blade through his neck. The head cut away clean, clenched in X's left hand as the body dropped to the floor.

X dropped next, not ten seconds later.

Epilogue

X came to a fuzzy form of consciousness just long enough to realize he was being carried. He blinked up at the simian face of Swing Gollit, who offered him a grim smile. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"When the big guy back there died, the energy barrier that had been keeping us out dropped. We managed to pick up the human survivors on the beach, though most of them are not exactly the most desirable sorts."

"He, phae, stus," X managed.

"Yeah, we're bringing him along, what's left of him. We'd have Doc Veris examine him, if that were still an option, but it ain't. Doc's a rogue element. Caught him on surveillance in your office wasting that cop friend of yours, Marlow. Veris is a cyborg, turns out. And the leader of the Cult of Wily."

X heard all of this, but nothing else as he slipped into the ether.

Waking up again, but this time X didn't feel any of the pain of his prior awakening. He'd been repaired, and the first face he now saw belonged to Zero. "Hello, brother," the crimson reploid said with a gentle smile. "Glad to see you're back."

X had been in a stand-by state for seven days, it turned out. His entire body had been repaired after thirteen hours of extensive work, including a complete overhaul of his tactile nervous wiring. His motor function boards had been almost entirely pulverized. Rotors and pistons in all of his joints had been battered and bent out of shape. His targeting system had been burnt out, and his life force energy had been reduced to eight percent. He'd only ever been closer to death once before.

Yet despite his full repairs and recovery, his spark had remained away, keeping his systems in a state of standby. X couldn't recall what had happened to him during that time spent as a wandering spirit. He suspected it had been something important, though, something he would have to call back to.

During his comatose state, several strange power signatures had been picked up on global sensor systems, but they had been brief and had disappeared entirely after only three days. X knew what that meant, but the Hunters' systems hadn't been able to pin down a source.

All of the nuclear launch sites had been abandoned after the death of Hephaestus, the warheads unaccounted for. This news put every human government on edge, but nobody did anything rash, thankfully.

X had watched security footage from his own hidden office camera after being briefed by Zero about all of this. Sure enough, there was Dr. Veris, using a cybernetic arm blaster to turn Jasper Marlow's head into so much meat paste. X had forgotten all about the little spy camera he'd installed on his desk. It was shaped like an original Megaman head, a novelty item meant to give the impression that X had a sense of humor.

There was nothing humorous here.

X held a meeting with Zero, Axl, Swing Gollit, and Triclaw the day after he was cleared to return to duty. During that meeting, he told them about Hephaestus's plans, taking special care to warn them about Paladin. When they heard he had a Buster Cannon of his own, all four reploids shook their heads.

There would be trouble ahead.

X dismissed them, though Zero stayed behind. Standing next to one another, the two reploids stared out over the city, each one wondering when the next attack would come.

Each wondered if the Hunters would be ready for all-out war.

And each knew the humans were not.

To be continued...

-Fin-

Steel Nightmare 24- Defender of the Realm

X brought himself under control with a concerted effort. He hadn't intended to be quite so primal with his foe, but after tearing Orbous's arm off, every bit of frustration, anger, despair and hatred he had been holding in since arriving at the Manor came flooding out. The lifeless thing on the floor had not been the source of that rage, but X had little room for mercy or regret at this stage.

X staggered toward the elevator at the far end of the chamber. When he stepped onto the platform, it automatically shut and began its descent. X let his mind wander as he was carried slowly down to the next level, where he would resume his battle.

He hoped he would get through the Manor without losing himself.

Paladin felt no tears, but he sobbed aloud at the sight of Orbous lying lifeless on the monitor, smashed apart by X. The green mechanoid had been his closest friend, really his only friend, since reawakening. The master called him friend, but the term held no truth to it in that instance. The lord of the realm had no friends among subordinates; a knight served a master, not a friend.

Changing his body and his name did not divest Paladin of his central essence, his spark, and that spark had been the definition of a knight of the realm. His old body had been fitted perfectly to his essential nature, and that nature had not changed.

"I am Paladin, but I am Knight Man, as well," he rasped, sniffling away snot that didn't exist. He rose from the monitor station in his battle chamber, drawing out his mace and readying his energy catapult shoulder weapon. "I will serve my master."

Soon, he would face down a clearly wrathful Megaman X. He would not waver from his master's commands, but he would also not waver from his own code. A true knight never did.

When the freight elevator slid open, X thrust his charged cannon outward. However, there was nothing to shoot at. The elevator had opened on a sort of grand feasting hall, reminiscent of tales of medieval lore. A long, beautiful oak table dominated the center of the rough stone chamber, ringed by chairs and laden with food.

Well, not real food. Approaching for a closer look, X could see that the plates were all small hologram projectors affixed to the table. Still, the roaring fireplace to the left of the room felt warm enough when he sauntered over to it. He supposed that would help with the atmosphere.

Wary of setting off more traps, X looked at the doors leading out of the room, one directly across from the elevator, one on the left wall and one on the right. He had options, it seemed. Following instinct, X went to the left door and grasped the handle, pulling it open.

The room on the other side of the door was decorated lavishly with tapestries, rich rugs, a pair of fainting couches and a four poster bed. It screamed Victorian, similar to the authentic medieval feast hall but slightly more modern and tasteful.

X saw nothing else of value in the room, and so he backed away. Turning his attention to the other side door of the hall, the Maverick Hunter methodically plodded over, charged cannon still held at the ready. When he pulled open this room, he found himself looking into an armory, weapons racks and armor and shield displays along three of the walls.

A quick analysis told him that this arrangement would make a great deal of sense for the old Robot Master who'd been known as Knight Man. Thinking on that, X wondered at the total count of Hephaestus's felled minions.

"Titan, at Target Field," X mused. "Shinobi, at headquarters. Twim, at the old factory. Then the ghoul, Caretaker, and the spider, Orbous. Now whoever Knight Man's become. What about the other two," he whispered. "There's always eight."

Silence answered him alone. He looked up and around the room, spotting a shield that looked to have a perfect circle in its center. X used a quick optic scan, detecting the camera behind the shield. He offered it a lopsided grin. "There's two missing from these festivities, Hephaestus. Wily always had Megaman fight eight Robot Masters, except for the very first campaign. Hell, even Sigma used eight top-ranking Mavericks during his wars, a perfect emulation. You screwed something up, didn't you?"

But again there came no reply from anywhere. It seemed he wouldn't be getting a rise out of Hephaestus. He had hoped to rope the mechanoid into another conversation, maybe discover some hint of what was coming ahead of him.

X backed out of the doorway and stalked to the doors opposite the freight elevator. He took a moment to collect himself before proceeding, lowering his head, and letting his spark whisper to him.

Hephaestus admired Paladin's courage. There would be no bots assaulting X before his encounter with the former Knight Man. There would be no traps sprung on the reploid either, as per Paladin's request. Instead, X would be contending with a foe who not only knew his style, but who held immense homefield advantage and an arsenal that could rival X's own.

Paladin had been in his level not ten minutes when he contacted his master with the request. He had not been in contact since, though Hephaestus could see on one of his floating holo-monitors the hulking mechanoid standing in the long hallway X stood just outside of, his energy catapult loaded and ready.

Hephaestus watched in high anticipation.

X drew the door open, the authentic wooden creak admirable. Or rather, it would have been, had the opening door not been tailed immediately by a large energy sphere rocketing at his chest. The blow struck, exploding on impact, throwing X unceremoniously up and then down through the feasting table.

The shot had crippled his kinetic shields and brought his life force down to eighty-three percent. A hole had been blasted, an inch in diameter, over his left pectoral area, granting him a look in at his shield generator box. Luckily, the shot hadn't destroyed it.

That's no combat drone, X thought, groaning as he tried to climb up out of the debris. As he gained unsure footing, he looked up, in time to see a menacing knight-like figure looming over him, swinging a tri-pronged mace down at his head. X leaned forward and took the blow on the shoulder, painful but survivable as the shoulder plating dented in.

The enemy bot fairly leaped back away, dashing backwards down the elegantly adorned hallway he'd been standing in, lying in wait. X got up again, more slowly but ready for anything.

"What's your name," X called out, aiming his cannon and charging it at the knight.

"I am Paladin," the other bot replied, its voice a throaty growl. He shifted his feet, electrified mace held behind him at the ready. "And I will hold you here, Megaman X." X fired the charged shot, which dissipated in a flare against a blue translucent energy shield that sprang forth from Paladin's forearm. The larger bot was shoved back, his metal feet digging a groove in the stone floor, but he was otherwise unharmed.

Paladin moved his arm aside and lobbed another catapult shot, which X deftly slid forward under. The shot hit the freight elevator doors and blew them apart in a hellish cacophony of shrieking metal and wires. X fired two rapid standard shots, but Paladin already had his shield in place. The shots were absorbed effortlessly.

X took up an evasive stance as Paladin charged, mace held out to the side as he screamed a war cry. X changed his cannon over to the Rolling Mine and fired it as he leapt aside of the mace's downward swing. The mine struck Paladin on the foot and exploded, but the heavyset warrior barely budged an inch.

I'm in trouble, X thought dimly, switching to the Spark Gap Attack. He fired into the floor as Paladin turned toward him, but the massively armored bot just planted his forearm against the floor and kicked on his shield, which absorbed the electrical current. X felt at a loss as he dashed to the right and into the long hallway.

Paladin gave chase, reaching out with his left hand and palming X's face. With a heave and grunt, he rammed the reploid's head back against a bust of Dr. Wily, smashing it apart. X dropped to the floor, but he managed to kick Paladin's legs out from under him and fire the Spark Gap directly into Paladin's back.

The bigger bot twitched and screamed for a moment or two, but was already getting to his feet when X started scrambling away, firing his cannon's standard shots repeatedly. Paladin managed to bring his shield up after three shots hit home on his chest, gut and right arm.

Paladin then snarled, "You're not the only one with a Buster Cannon here, X!" To X's shock and confusion, Paladin's left hand dropped into his bulky forearm, and the mechanoid shot a block of ice at X's legs. The blow did no damage, but X saw trapping ice immediately go up around his legs and feet to the knees. He was trying to pull free when Paladin rammed into his face with the mace, sending X flying back.

When he hit the floor, three artificial teeth came out of X's mouth. He could feel the synthskin shrinking from the scorching the mace's electrodes caused on the right side of his face. His life force tank had been reduced to sixty-two percent.

X was, in short, getting his ass kicked.

The legendary Maverick Hunter got up onto his hands and knees and activated the Frost Shield, bringing it up just in time to stop another ice-based shot from Paladin. The larger mechanoid brought his left arm back and holstered his mace on his hip, bracing his cannon as he took aim at X, who slogged backwards down the hallway.

X tumbled aside from a pair of shots, vaulting up over a third and returning fire. His shot struck true, spinning Paladin aside from the impact. X then launched a Needler, then began cycling through his systems as Paladin ducked under his energy shield, pinned by the hail of needles.

X came up with a quick combination, having a moment to think. He launched another Needler, then a Rolling Mine while the Needler was still airborne, and finally he fired a rebounding laser beam that ricocheted off of the walls in diagonals toward Paladin.

The optics visor of the helmet-headed bot flashed bright yellow as he tried to crab walk away from the approaching Rolling Mine. As the second Needler took up its barrage, though, Paladin was pushed downward, and the Rolling Mine and bouncing laser struck simultaneously.

There was a scream of pain along with the concussion and blinding flash of the explosion. X stared into the rolling smoke, heard Paladin groaning and moving around. A moment later, a Mega Buster Shot came roaring out of the smoke, catching X on the right shoulder, blowing him backward in a daze of hellish agony, his body spinning in air.

X managed to sit up almost right away, and he saw his ruined right arm lying a few feet away. Past the limb, staggering out of the smoke, came Paladin. His left leg was a wreck, hanging poorly by a pair of cables. A fist-sized hole smoldered in his chest from the laser, and half a dozen needles stuck out of his head. Sparks burst from the shield projector on his forearm.

I'm going to die here, X thought bleakly. I'm going to be killed by a clone of my own weapon. But Paladin wasn't aiming at X. His left arm instead had the hand unit out, and was clutching a small red device.

"X," Paladin rasped, bringing the device up. "If we meet again, I am going to kill you." Without waiting for X to reply, Paladin clicked a button on the device, and he disappeared in a streak of dark energy.

X slumped down to the floor, multiple system alerts clamouring for his attention. He dragged himself to his severed arm, picked it up, and hauled himself, growling, to his feet. The reploid then followed the hallway to its gated end, slipping into Paladin's combat chamber. It had been modeled after a medieval tournament grounds, but X was only dimly aware of this.

He only paid attention to the crimson line painted on the artificial turf that led him to a repair chamber. Once over the threshold and in view of the repair bots standing at the ready, X let his fatigue and pain carry him down, into blissful darkness.

The last thing he saw as he was laid on a table, staring up at the reflective ceiling panels, was himself. His mouth, chin and right cheek were all gone, revealing the jagged metal-covered skull casing beneath.

He tried to laugh, and passed out