Title: "Infecten – stage 5 – Maturation 11/?"

Author: Nemesi.

Fandom: (MMBN)

Genre: Romance. Humour. Action/Adventure.

Word Count:2960.

Characters/Pairings: Blues/Rockman; Netto, Enzan, Axl mainly. Others mentioned.

Rating: PG-13.

Disclaimer: , its characters, places and themes belong to Capcom, Shogakukan, ShoPro, TV Tokio, etc.. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings: Shounen-ai. Un-betaed. Navi-preg (and I claim ownership on this idea). OC.

A/N: In this stage, the disease fully develops into a chronic condition.

Summary: Rockman and Blues descend further into their prison, and stumble upon something horrible…

As Rockman and Blues descended further into their prison, the crowds of slimy creatures – which they'd dubbed "Slimers" – grew bigger and bigger. There was also more of that horrible slime littering the passageways, shushing and whispering as though wind-stirred. It was as if the walls themselves produced it, or rather sweated it out like a foul poison: there were black marks like tear-stains everywhere they looked, leading to disgusting heaps of oily blackness on the floor.

Yet, outnumbered as they were, the two Navis found it surprisingly easy to move around. Years of battle experience had taught them how to be swift and stealthy on their feet; and Blues's newfound abilities could take them out of even the worst pinch.

But it was more than that.

So much more.

In all truth, it seemed to Rockman that the deeper they descended, the duller, slower and weaker the Slimers became. They moved about sluggishly, like bees that were drunk on nectar, blinded and deafened by something neither Navi could know or perceive. Blues had pointed out that a huge quantity of data was being encoded, processed and sorted in the core of the prison. And Rockman supposed that its incredible size was slowing all the other functions of the building, from the anti-viral system to the integrity scans, and that even the Slimers weren't immure to its effect.

It was a measly theory, more of a foolish hope that anything. But it was better than believing they were being purposefully lead on, or that some form of divine intervention was heavily dousing them with luck, removing each obstacle from their path.

They had been wandering for hours by now. Spurred on by their relentless worry for Axl, they had climbed down pits, crawled under broken passageway, picked their way down aisles and stairways, unlocked barriers, passing through the occasional wall every now and then.

The longer they wandered, the better Blues seemed to know the Keep, though he still couldn't recall a time he'd ever been inside it. But as Blues's confidence grew, so did Rockman's dread, tightening about his heart with building strength. He might have found Blues's knowledge of the Keep quite useful, but that didn't mean he liked it one bit.

Doubt was gnawing away at his heart, a ravenous beast that tore into him with fangs and claws. What if they were really being lead on? What if they weren't, and Blues had somehow gained a connection with that place? What if it was an after-effect of the Slimers' touch? What if something had been done to them while they were unconscious? What if it couldn't be erased?

…what if destroying that place as they meant to do would also destroy Blues?

Rockman faltered, stopped instinctively and gazed at Blues's back with narrowed, haunted eyes.

Blues took a few steps forward then stopped, glancing back at Rockman from over his shoulder. Visor or not, darkness or not, the concern on his face was clear, and before he knew it, Rockman had leaped forward and latched onto Blues's waist, squeezing tight.

Blues wrapped both arms around his mate, knowing at an instinctive level that Rockman needed nothing more than being held now, held unquestioningly and without reproach.

There were a few moments of silence, then Rockman pulled himself gently away and smiled up at Blues. I'll protect you, he wanted to say, but voicing the sentiment seemed foolish on so many levels, and he pressed his lips to contain the urge.

Wordlessly, Blues cupped Rockman's cheek, smiling when the smaller Navi pushed his face into his hand with a cat-like eagerness.

"All good?" he asked in a whisper.

Rockman nodded.

"Uh-huh. I was just…"

"…worried. I know. There's nothing wrong with that." Blues paused for a few more moments than Rockman would've liked, then bent to press a kiss to his temple. Had they been anywhere else, Rockman might've chided Blues for his exceeding gentlemanliness, and playfully showed him what a real kiss really was. Instead he gave him another, affection squeeze (which also would've developed into something more, were the situation any different) then pulled all the way out of his arms.

"How far is it?"

Blues cocked his head.

"The WHN-055 lab is just behind that corner. Are we…"

"Sure we're sure. I really want to see what they're doing in here." Rockman marched on and past Blues, who shook his head in fond exasperation before following.

Right after a final bend, the corridor ended into a wall, with a modest door nestled in the lower middle.

As they stole inside, they hesitated, startled to see that the fabled lab looked anything but what they'd been expecting. There were no metal panels, or consoles. There weren't oddly-shaped glasses in which bright coloured liquids boiled and bubbled. There wasn't a medical tube or pallet anywhere.

There was, to be honest, absolutely nothing in there.

Or to be more precise: there was so much slime in that room, it made it impossible to distinguish what was underneath. The roof, the walls, the floor… everything was thickly layered with slime. There wasn't one single spot that was clean of the black substance. It looked liked they'd stepped into a vase of chocolate that had been upturned, but not emptied, its contents still sticking stubbornly to the sides of the container.

Rockman and Blues waded inside, sinking almost to their calves in the slime. The smell in there was suffocating: a sickly sweet stench like rotten flowers that coated the back of their throats and made them burn. Rockman covered his mouth with his palm (while Blues, always the more practical, summoned his mask), and advanced carefully, looking around in disgust. He stopped suddenly with a small cry of alarm, then trotted a little further in.

In the middle of the room there stood a huge mould of slime, something like a small volcano or the stub of a molten candle. It worked as a support for what remained of an egg, long since opened. Its cracked shell looked pale and soft, almost translucent in the low light, and was streaked with black lines, something like blood vessels or plant roots that still tricked out a small amount of black slime.

All around and behind the broken egg there were heaps and mounds, seeping a dark, oily liquid. It was as if a black, venomous tide had gathered all sorts of debris and waste at the feet of the egg, and left it there to rot in its own putrid fluids.

Rockman wouldn't have spared the disgusting girdle a second glance, if a faint groan hadn't come from its midst, tiny but sharp in the resounding silence.

Rockman was set immediately to motion, and sprung forth even as Blues reached out to restrain him. Core in his throat, Rockman leaped across the smelly puddles, fearing it might be Axl the one who was feebly calling for his help.

He skidded to a halt right across the egg, eyes zoning onto the source of the noise: a Navi was lying with his back to him, half supported by one bent arm, but with his head ducked low between his shoulders. It wasn't Axl – not by any stretch of the imagination could that overtly-long, painfully slim figure belong to his son – but it was someone who needed help nonetheless.

Rockman sank to his knees and gingerly reached out, calling an uncertain: "Hey there…?" and turning the other Navi to look him in the face.

A cry lodged in his chest at what he saw.

Half of the Navi's face had melted away into a dripping mass, like wax or goo; the other half was whole, but haggard-looking, the skin stretched taut across the high cheekbones and suffused with a cadaver's pallor.

For a moment, Rockman knelt there, rendered motionless partly by pity and partly by disgust. He watched on in sick fascination as the Navi's remaining eyelid slid up, tremulously. A bight red eye peered at him as if through a haze, the pupil dilating and narrowing continuously, like a pulsing heart.

The Navi's lips parted, revealing a black tongue and sharp, black-stained canines. The muscles on its throat worked, once, twice, pushing out a wet, low-sounding gurgle.

"Rock… man…", said the monstrosity, and Rockman had barely time to duck out of the way, that a massive claw swept at him, ripping his suit at the junction between arm and torso, narrowly missing his crest.

Rockman tripped backwards, clutching his chest, and watched as the creature struggled upright, revealing that not only its face, but the entire right half of its body was nothing more than a liquefying mess.

The creature took a step forward, jaws widening into a dull roar, as one single bat wing unfolded from behind its back, beating futilely in the enclosed space.

Blues dashed past Rock and pierced his sword in the creature's chest, watching with little surprise as it liquefied into a poll of slime, instead that dissolving into a shower of pixel as Navis and programs are supposed to do upon deletion.

Rockman heaved a deeper breath, and dashed forth to peer at the bubbling poll of slime that had been his attacker.

"Shademan!" he realized, his voice a mere whisper. "Blues, that… that was Shademan! I thought we'd deleted him already! How could he…?" he was silenced when Blues sharply raised his sword and went into a protective stance.

A tremor ran through the polls and heaps, and then there rose a howl like a wounded beast's. More and more Shademans began to rise from the oily ground. Most of them were half-melted, dripping slime with each step; but some were simply incomplete, missing body parts but behaving as though that hardly mattered – the legless would crawl on their bellies, clawing at the floor with the blood-red nails of their fingers; the armless would stretch their wings forward, the skeletal appendages splayed like a beggar's hand.

And then there were those that missed only one limb, or had holes in their chests like heartless dolls. Those that had no tongue to screech, and did it with their eyes.

Those that had no head.

Rockman shuddered and raised his buster, lips pressed together against a wave of disquiet. Eyes, dozens of eyes, blood-red and hungry fell on him, glittering with malicious intent. As one, the Shademans threw back their heads, mouth hanging open, and their fangs glowed as they caught the light. From their chests rose a rumbling howl, the wailing lament of hungering beasts.

Then they leapt.

Blues was quick to bring out his shield to block the creatures' momentum. He was slammed backwards, unable to keep his footing on the slippery ground, but managed to stay upright nonetheless. He kept his shield raised, head ducked low and hacked at the pack of vampires with his sword.

He slashed left and right, keeping back the majority of them. But even he couldn't notice that one of the legless horrors had sneaked up to him; not until it reared up and sank its fangs in his calf.

Blues nearly collapsed from the sting and the sudden loss of energy, but before he dropped his guard, his attacker ricocheted back under the force of Rockman's shot. It fell against the other vampires like a rag doll, momentarily throwing them all of balance. Taking advantage of this, Blues swept his shield at the crowd, pushing all the Shademans off him at once.

But even as the vampires bounced against the sticky floor, more Shademans rose from underneath and behind them, hissing and growling and calling out "Rock…man… Rock…man…" with gurgling, fading voices like a nightmare.

Quickly assessing the situation, Blues swung at the closest Shademan, opening himself a path to a side door. Then he retracted shield and blade and hoisted Rockman in his arms in one single, fluid motion. Rockman allowed himself to be carried away, covering their retreat with a quick volley of charged shots.

Rockman firmly secured in his arms, Blues leapt out of the lab and into the next, where they caught sight of another broken egg. A dozen of half-molten Navis that looked like Cosmoman lurched after them like hungry zombies, but they speeded past, forcing their way into in a third lab, a frozen coffin by the looks of it, all ice and snow and frozen slime, where a few ice-crusted creatures that looked like Blizzardman glared at them with dull, unmoving eyes like lumps of coal.

Blues leaped out of that room and dashed down a low hallway, the half-melted Darkloids hot on their heels. He glanced over his shoulder at them, then in front again, gritting his teeth when he saw where they were heading.

The corridor ended abruptly, diving into a vaulted room, circular in shape but with no visible exit. The only opening was a round hole in the middle of the floor, a dark pit from which odd vapour rose in greenish swirls.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't slow. He held Rockman tighter to his chest, and asked: "Do you trust me, Rock?"

Rockman needn't answer.

He recalled his buster, wrapped his arms tight around Blues's neck, clenching his eyes shut as they dove into the abyss. He hunched his shoulders up as they fell, breath shortening as he heard the horde of monstrosities follow them in the pit, shrieking and gurgling in the swallowing darkness.

It wasn't possible.

They'd already deleted those Darkloids, sometimes more than once. It was unnatural for them to exist, especially in such numbers, and in those horrible conditions besides…

…but then, since when were things natural in that cursed place?

As the wind rushed in his ears, his stomach coiling into itself for the speed of their fall, the only thing Rockman could do was hold tighter into Blues, and pray that Axl wasn't stranded anywhere in that nightmare.

He wasn't, indeed. Something Rockman would always, always be grateful for beyond belief.

However, unbeknownst to his worried parents, Axl was slowly but surely making his way towards them, getting closer with each bouncy step.

We say "bouncy", because the kid was in no way affected by the odd situation he'd been shoved into. Like most small children, he was incredibly adaptable – keep him distracted or entertained 24/7, and he'll forget everything about being scared or worried. And as you might have guessed already, Kage and Kuro were a huge (if unwitting) source of entertainment for Axl.

In fact, pestering Kuro had become the child's favourite pastime ever, topping even his old favourite: playing jokes on Gutsman-Ojichan. Second favourite was clinging to Kage, possibly riding him piggyback. Third favourite – no surprise here – was chattering Kuro and Kage's heads off, telling tales of his life in the Upper Levels.

Which is what he'd been doing for the past… well, three hours or so.

"By the love of…" Kuro began, holding his head. "Do you ever shut up?"

Axl took the matter into serious consideration for a moment or two.

"Uh, uh! When I sleep!"

Cheerfully.

Kuro's left eye twitched.

"Well, shut up. Now."

"But I haven't told you about that day when Meiru-Oneesan tried to make cookies! And I say tried because she never really made them. I mean, she tried, but…"

Kuro swung his buster towards Axl. Shrieking in delighted fear, the child burrowed into Kage's side, circling his waist with his little arms.

Kage flashed the child a smirk, then poked him on the side to try and get him to uncurl and look up at Kuro, who was about to pitch a royal fit (and that was always a delight to watch. When angry, Kuro paced like a caged tiger and swore like a sailor, all the while flushing like a virgin maiden).

Axl squirmed under Kage's ministration, being extremely ticklish. Giggling, he wormed his way onto Kage's lap and settled there, comfy like a miniature king on his throne.

"But it's a very funny story, Kuro-Ojichan!" he assured. "Can I please tell it?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"With a cherry on top?"

"Cher…? No, I don't want to know. And no," he added, pointedly. "You can't tell your friggin' story. If you all but open your mouth again I'm going to cut off your tongue and force you to watch as I feed it to the rats!"

"That's gross," Axl informed cheerfully, face scrunched up.

"Besides," Kage offered drily, "there are no rats in the Uranet."

"Do you want me do demonstrate?" Kuro darted the two of them a withering glance, and when it proved ineffective, he bared his teeth and clawed at them with an angry growl.

Axl shrieked in delight again, leaped from Kage's lap and latched onto Kuro, just for the sake of it.

Strangely enough, there was a barely noticeable pause between the attack, and Kuro's attempts to pry Axl off. Nothing more than a millisecond hesitation, but Kage caught in nonetheless. Looking up, he also caught a flash of pleasure across Kuro's eyes that he wasn't meant to see.

He didn't give any outward reaction, instead focusing back on polishing his sword. But he allowed himself a mental smirk.

Fate was a capricious thing, and had dealt him a bad hand, despite his belief that he'd deserve better, if only for his past suffering. But he'd bided his time, undaunted; played his cards carefully, and now his efforts were paying back. Of course, he'd known all along that going to collect Blues and Rockman's son in the Upper Net would be a winning move. But the little pest was proving to be even more useful that he'd allowed himself to believe.

Yes, everything was going according to plan; and he couldn't be more pleased…

- Scene 11 cleared.

NOW LOADING…