She’d flickered from existence. Steel blinked away and appeared again, gloved hands passed through nothing when they should’ve smashed against armor plates and, for a moment, Maine felt as though he could let loose a sigh of relief. The burning corner of rebellious consciousnesses that was Markham Blanc felt that old sensation; that instantaneous wave of peace that always followed the arrival of an ally, or the sight of a comrade gaining the upper hand.
There you go, Ghost. Keep fighting-
Suddenly, there was a weight on his back. Familiar arms and hands wrapped around his neck, and what was left of Maine recognized the feel of Connie on his back. He recognized the weight of her –he knew how it felt to carry her back to her room when she fell asleep elsewhere and he remembered how she felt on his back when she was wounded and couldn’t run on her own. All at once, the multitude of times he’d carried her came rushing back, and they left a grieving pain in their wake.
Where had they gone wrong? They’d been friends once –comrades in arms. She’d hopped onto his back and demanded to be carried and he’d chased her down the halls of the MOI in a full sprint. They’d shared the laughs and tears of war and cut through countless enemies by each other’s side, but now? That seemed so long ago. The lies and madness of a twisted old man had sent all those memories spiraling into once upon a time, and now here they were; two old friends, fighting against each other, but fighting for the same thing. They just wanted it to end.
Years ago, people questioned if an agent in white had a heart beneath his armor, and now, even as it ached and hurt as if it’d been torn apart, Agent Maine himself wondered if he even had a heart to break anymore –if there were anything beating beneath all the pain-
He felt lighter. CT wasn’t on his back anymore, and when the fog of grief cleared from his vision, Maine saw that she was on her back, and that the husk that used to be his body was almost upon her.
C’mon, Ghost. Get up. Fight.
The Meta stopped in its tracks. Armored feet planted themselves in the snow, and in a surge of willful defiance, Maine had his hands shooting up to his helmet and prying as hard as he could, trying to pull his helmet off –to give CT a chance. That was all she needed; one shot.
The silence of Maine’s mind was filled with his battlecry. What used to be a silent and compliant hum was now an uproar of AI shouting and cursing, sobbing and cheering, and the silent encouragement of one that dubbed the titan ‘Gigantaur’. All at once, every AI was awake and every memory came rushing back –every bullet taken and every smile shared, each kind word and snide remark, the face and voice of every friend and love– so much noise came flowing through the space behind a golden visor, all adding to the warcry that’d been gone from the world for so long.
From the outside, it seemed as though the Meta was struggling with itself. The colossal husk had its helmet halfway off, and it was almost as if it was unsure as to whether or not it wanted to remove the piece of armor completely, or lock it back into place.
Shaking, gloved hands tugged and pushed at the helmet as the weaponized heartbeat shook at the knees, but it wasn’t until Maine heard one voice in particular –saw the icy hues of a man he used to call brother and saw his smile– that the mighty Meta fell to its knees.
Sigma was fighting back, and fighting hard, but now that Maine had forced himself to his knees and almost had his helmet off…maybe CT could finish this. Maybe she could finally save them all, like she wanted to do so long ago.
You can do it, Connie….just…..get up one more time….
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