I mean, eh, BLAME DAMIAN!!!
Yes, it's Mewfour/Asylum from TPM/Serebii.net, finally deciding to infect- er, "migrate" to Bulbagarden. Thank my old pal Damian for letting me in ;). I'll behave for the most part, secretly carrying out my sinister plans to run this place into the ground like I did 2000-2001 TPM. Fortunatley, nobody's onto me yet ;). Promise
Aaaaaanyway, I'm sure most of you TPMers are rolling your eyes at yet another PADS! repost. I'll spare you for now, as my first offering will be one of my favorites.
Memories raced through his head, fast and feverishly like a raging hurricane, seeing his own life flash before his eyes. Almost as suddenly as it began, it had stopped, and he was left with blackness. Sounds, he could hear sounds now. Voices, his ears could hear with eerily abnormal crispness. He could hear his own heartbeat as well, hear his own blood pumping through his veins, hear his very mind ticking. Touch, he felt like he was lying down on his stomach, and through it he felt every vibration on the surface upon which he lay, he even felt the chattering voices bounce against his bones. Smell, he could smell traces of sweat, blood, metal, ashes, and scraped skin. He willed his eyes to open, and with razor-sharp clearness, he saw the world around him.
"He's waking up," he heard a voice say. He jolted over onto his back, looking up at two figures peering down at him, their faces marred by a blindingly bright light hovering over him. He shielded his eyes from the stunning brightness as he heard one say, "Easy there. We just stitched your spine shut again a week ago."
His eyes quickly adjusted to the light above him, and the faces quickly took form. They looked nothing like any face he could remember, because when he tried to match them, he could remember nothing.
Machines, he could hear machines whirring and beeping close by. Turning his head slowly to his left, he saw various machines of all different shapes and sizes lined around the walls of the small, dark room he and the strangers were in. He tried his memory to recall this setting, but again his brain dealt him blanks. Trying to remember anything else on everything else, he could find nothing more than nothing at all. Looking up at the faces again, he murmured, "Who are you?"
As he felt his words reverbarate in his throat, one looked up at the other and said, "They're getting smarter. They're making sure to sever nerves in the neck and deal heavy cranial trauma, destroying most if not all of the brain's memory patterns."
"Indeed," replied the second. "We were lucky to find you when we did," the other said, looking at him again. "We've been looking for other bodies for years, and you're the only one to have a fraction of a chance of surviving the operation."
He groaned wearily. His ears rang with their voices, and so did it echo inside his body. "What are you?" He moaned. "Where am I?"
"You're in our operating room, whoever you are," said the larger figure. "Auto and I are humans, just as you are." Then, looking at the other figure, he said, "At least, you were human."
"Human," he moaned. "I'm a human?" he asked, hardly understanding the word.
"Human," said the second, "And a very lucky one at that too."
His eyes suddenly popped into focus, and he could now see the two faces clearly. The bony, dark-skinned, red-haired face on his left looked at him with dark sunglasses, while the one on his right looked at him with a long-drawn jaw, a red and white bandanna, and a pair of large glasses decorated the rest his face. "Who are you people?" he asked wearily.
"This is Auto," said the one with the sunglasses, motioning at the one with the bandanna, "he's the one who performed the operation, and the one who gave you another chance. My name is Blues, and I am the one who found you."
"Found me?" he murmured, "Operation? What's going on?"
Auto and Blues looked grimly at each other. "You don't remember a thing, do you?" Auto asked him. He weakly shook his head. "Care to enlighten him, or shall I?" Auto asked.
"You, whoever you are, are a human," Blues said, "Or at least what's left of you is. We found you sixteen miles from here four years ago, another victim of a Virtuloid attack."
Virtuloid. Something within his mind suddenly jarred.
"They had broken your back, neck, and almost every other bone in your body. Whatever bones you still had were in pieces, in whatever limbs you still had on you."
"Am I dead?" he suddenly gasped, sitting up quickly. He found that he was sitting on a table, and his head nearly hit the bright lamp that hung from the ceiling overhead.
"Yes, you are," Blues said, "But your brain is very much alive, thanks to Auto."
He looked at Auto, who grinned and said, "You have no idea what trouble I went through trying to keep your brain alive."
His eyes suddenly darted to his body, and found it to be coated in a deep blue metal. His hands, a soft and silky-feeling white, were like large gloves, almost as large as his forearm. He wiggled his feet, finding nor feeling not toes, but two bulky blocks, shaped into oversized blue boots. "What am I?" He asked, shivering with fright, "What have you done to me?"
"We've brought you back, whatever your name is," said Blues. "Whatever we couldn't find of your scattered body we made, based on some blueprints of the 20XX roboticist, doctor Thomas Light."
Light. Another sudden jolt rocked his mind.
"Light," he murmured. "That was him who made machines, human-like machines- robots."
"Yes," said Blues, "And he also made the original fighting robot, Megaman."
Megaman. Another jolt.
"Megaman, and the later X model," said Auto. "I replicated your body based on the data I found on both Megamen," he said. "Both of them were made to be peaceful, helpful robots, but were both, ironically, remodified into battle robots to protect humans." Auto looked at him straight in his deep green eyes. "Odd, though, you're a human like us, and now you, remodelled after the Megamen, can protect the rest of us humans."
"Megaman," he muttered. "You've made me the new Megaman?"
Blues nodded. "And we did because we need you to protect us from the Virtuloids."
At the mention of Virtuloids again, his memory jarred again.
"You made a Megaman with my body?" he murmured. "Just to protect you?"
"That's what both Megamen were created for," Blues said, "Protecting humans and robots alike from themselves. And now, us humans need another Megaman, and you are him."
The peices of the tale and his new, however few, memories were far from his ability to stick together into a complete story. So much was missing, and he wanted to find out what. "What's going on?" he asked, "Why do you need me to protect you?"
Blues looked grimly at Auto, who returned his grimace. "It's horrible down here, Megaman," he said, "and the Virtuloids are closing in on us quickly. We're running out of resources, and soon, we will all die. That's why we made you into a new Megaman, whoever you are."
"Don't I have a name?" he asked. "I can't remember mine..."
"Of course you can't," said Auto quickly, "Your corpse's brain had its entire memory wiped clean."
He looked at his new body intently. "Did the Megamen have names?" he asked.
"One of them did," said Blues, "His name was Rock."
"Then that's who I'll be," he said, "My name is Rock."