Dead to You

By Atreyu452

“You replaced me!”

Wily did not look up. “I did what was necessary,” he stated flatly. “I did what was right.”

“You snake.” The voice was livid. “After all I’ve done for you, you do this to me. You abandon me.”

Wily leaned back in his chair, his eyes sweeping the room. This room was his private space, somewhere he could go to get away. His robots were not allowed to go near it; none of them had dared yet to challenge that rule. When it was brightly lit, he could invent and create. He could forget about taking over the world for a moment, and just escape. This room had been his paradise.

Now it was cold, the sense of security it had once brought him replaced by emptiness. The only light source was his computer screen; it cast blue shadows in sinister shapes on the walls, shapes poised to grab him if he stared at them for too long. The fun was long gone—only the shadows remained.

“I wasn’t given a choice,” he replied sadly. “Bass is my newest creation. He will help me conquer the world—”

“That was my job, my responsibility!” One of the shadows seemed to move. “How could you do this to me?”

Wily moved from his chair, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He stumbled across the room, his fingers outreached, until he bumped into a worktable. His fingers clenched something sharp, and the small hope that had lit his eyes disappeared. His wandering fingers felt what the darkness hid: a piece of twisted metal here, the end of a frayed, dead wire there. It was cold to the touch, almost icy.

Fool, his mind spat. Stupid, old fool.

“I did nothing to you,” he replied flatly. “It was out of my hands. Bass—”

“Stop it!” Snarling, the voice grew closer. The shadows shifted again, slipping in and out of his eyesight. “Stop talking about him, stop praising him! I don’t want to hear it!”

The voice was behind him. He could see something moving just behind his eyes. “Then what do you want to hear?” he whispered. “An apology? A plead for mercy?”

“You think—Look at me!”

Wily turned, unable to stop himself.

There he was, his armor shining, his posture furious. He tilted his head, and the bright patch of yellow around his neck slipped around his shoulder, as if swaying in the wind. Bright light reflected off his visor. It was not the pale blue light of the computer screen, but a brilliant white light from a purer source.

Wily’s gripped tightened on the metal underneath his hand. He gripped the twisted steel too hard; blood poured from a fresh cut. He looked up, hoping the pain would bring reality into sharp focus, but the illusion had not vanished. “Protoman…”

Suddenly he laughed, leaning against the worktable. “I suppose I deserve this,” he said softly. “After all, the mistake was mine.”

“I’m the one paying for it,” Protoman snapped. “Or have you forgotten, Wily?”

“I know,” the scientist whispered. “I know, Proto.” He stretched out his hand, reaching for the robot’s shoulder. Protoman flinched and twisted away, evading the touch.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled. “I don’t want you anywhere near me, not after what you did.”

“I couldn’t fix the damage,” Wily hissed. “Don’t you think I tried?”

“You should have tried harder!”

“I couldn’t fix you!” Wily screamed. “I tried, I tried—God, how I tried. I even asked Dr. Light for help.”

“You expect that to comfort me?” Protoman gave a harsh laugh.

“Do you know how much that hurt me, going to my rival—” he spat the word. “For help?”

“Not as much as that did.”

The scientist’s gaze followed the accusing finger obediently. Just as obediently, he picked the object up, running his fingers along the edges. He winced each time he traced a jagged tear that shouldn’t be there, a crack in a place that was previously smooth. Wrapping both hands around it, he held it close.

“I know what you are.” Wily cleared his throat, hoping to mask the sudden quiver.

Protoman was silent.

“You’re nothing more than a shadow.” Wily smiled softly, but it did not reach his eyes. “A shadow left to haunt me. My boy is gone, never to return. I have nothing left but conquest.”

“So I’m dead to you now?”

“No, Protoman. You are merely dead.” He waited. The voice did not respond. Cradling the shattered helmet in his hands, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Author’s Note: Yet another deathfic, another gift for a friend. It’s odd, but my best depressing work is written when I’m not actually depressed.