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(A)bort, (R)etry, (F)ail? Pt. 1: Reconfiguration	By : Gimp666 Category: +M through R > Mega Man Views: 3876 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own MegaMan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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(A)BORT, (R)ETRY, (F)AIL?

PART ONE: RECONFIGURATION

A/N: This is the uncensored version of this fic. I have it up at FF.Net censored, for anyone who finds it too gory. Not much more to say here, hope you enjoy. Please review, reviews make for happy writers more likely to post more often XD;; *lazy* Besides, feedback can be very helpful as I have the rest of this written, but still in an editable state.

~Gimp

Young people have a marvellous faculty of either dying or adapting themselves to circumstances.

~ Samuel Butler

Chapter Three – Pain

He lay, thrown forward on the ground, cheek crushed into the cold, rough floor, and listened idly as the old man moved around behind him, somewhere in the room. He felt nothing short of agony, his stomach ached badly, but it was nothing compared to the fiery pain in his backside, flaring up from a deep throb to a raw ache at even the thought of moving. There was blood... he was sure of it. Blood running down his thighs in rivulets, to accompany the pain. Blood and....

He shuddered heavily, gritting his teeth. The raw ache was nothing compared to the thought of what now drained slowly from within him. He was driven by a strange urge, one he didn't understand. His eyes burned, his throat felt pinched tight, and his chest tensed, but he still didn't recognize it as the urge to cry, the very concept was still something very alien to him. He had never cried before, and just didn't know how to start now.

How could Wily have even done this to him? He thought old humans were physically incapable of such sickening deeds with their mere husks of bodies, obsolete. He secretly thought them weak, inferior, foolish beings. Still, it wasn't a concept completely foreign to him. He'd heard rumours about the scientist– awful, nasty rumours he'd chosen to ignore up to this point. Of course he had ignored them, how could he honestly believe that his own creator would....

He convulsed slightly, fighting back disgust as he thought of what Wily had done to him – worse still, of what he had been forced to do for the man. His stomach clenched, cramping uncomfortably and he felt ill, bringing a small shudder of pain up through him. He wouldn't be sick in the bastard’s presence, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. What happened jived with things he'd heard – whispered, about the old man. He waited quietly for him to leave, he wanted nothing more than to rinse the bitter, rustic taste from his mouth, wash the mess off his body, then hide away in his bed, close to Gospel, and feed off his companion's warmth.

Gospel always made things seem better, yes, and he needed that now. There was something comforting about living warmth, it seemed to ease the pain greatly, and oh, it was so unbearably painful. He supposed he was still in a state of shock over what Wily had done. What he had done to the scientist.... His breath hitched and he caught the gag in his throat before he retched. Yes, he would crawl back into bed with Gospel, as soon as the old pervert felt he'd 'taught' him enough and left.

Wily had indeed gotten his point across – the punishment had been awful, he'd lost consciousness several times as Wily raped him, unsure of how long it had been, but in the end it didn't make a difference. It had still happened, and he wasn't likely to forget its lesson anytime soon. Rather, Forte felt sure he was going to spend many a sleepless night in the near future, delving on what had happened, reliving it and reminding himself through memories. Don't fail. Losers suffer.

The old pervert sure had some fucked up ways of teaching, though, and in a sick way he was almost sure that was what it was supposed to have been. A rather nasty lesson he was supposed to have benefited from in some strange way. One that was going to linger with him for a long time, too, if the sharp, throbbing pains he still felt were any indication.

Wily watched Forte's inner turmoil with a great sense of cruel pleasure. He was suffering well. He tightened his belt with a satisfied jerk, mood greatly improved. He considered taking his leave, relatively sure the lesson had been taught well, and Forte would think twice before fucking up again. It was possible that Forte had just needed a little straightening out, yes, very possible. He just needed to see first-hand how serious his creator was about what he did. He could end it here, and Forte would never disobey again, but he'd always had a mean streak to him.

He cracked a small grin, deciding to stick around awhile longer and have a little 'discussion' with him first. He had an idea that he would have Forte's complete and undivided attention this time, exhausted and broken or not. Better yet, he would have that and not the standoffish attitude that usually accompanied the little bastard. Unfortunately for Forte, he was old, stubborn, and never did know when to quit. He wasn’t done with him yet.

Forte listened for awhile longer to the slight shuffling nearby, before it finally started to sink in that Wily wasn't leaving. He shut his eyes tighter, unnerved, just knowing that Wily was getting ready to do something, and something bad. It would be to Forte, and he wasn't going to like it one bit. Wily brought entirely new meaning to the world cruel, and he was setting up to reiterate that point to him. Slowly, painfully, he raised himself to a crawl position, attempting to sit up on his knees. Just because he had to take it, didn't mean he had to take it lying down.

The shuffling stopped; Wily was waiting for him to get up, and finally he managed to, knowing things were going to get worse but determined not to just lie down and wait for death to catch up with him. Slowly, with much effort, he turned his upper body toward Wily, seeing him stepping away from the table with the newly developed weapons on them and back toward him. Wily was smiling almost amiably at him, but he wasn't fooled.

The smile hadn't reached his tormentor’s eyes, and it didn't take a genius to tell it wasn't a sincere one. There was more contempt in those eyes than anything. He fought the stab of fear, a surety that Wily was coming back to rape him again, and that this time he was going to somehow incorporate those dangerous tools in his hands into it too. He shifted back slowly, wavering slightly and heart racing. In a panic, he pushed himself to speak quickly. “What are-”

Wily swung one of the foreign objects, rather sharply for his age, and cracked Forte on the left side of his jaw with the handle of it. It was made of a strong and heavy material, and quite frankly it hurt like hell. Forte let out a rather odd sounding cry, his jaw dislocated from the blow, cheek tearing open and away from his lips with a horrific wet, papery noise. It added an odd kind of extension to his lips, set in an insane forced grin and exposing pink, bloodied teeth. He reached up with his left hand to touch it, and tucked the left side of his face against his shoulder instinctively.

He was immediately rewarded with another crack over the right side of his head, hard enough that he felt the structure of his framework give away. There with a loud snap and a rather liquidy sound, and he instantly went blind in his right eye, thoughts turning disoriented and disjointed as his mind clouded up from something more than pain. He wondered fleetingly what was happening, mind chugging at a crawling pace, before it caught up with him and he almost wished it hadn't.

He fell back on his bottom heavily, yelping at the stab of pain slamming up his spine, something he had only the vaguest memory of later. He gripped his face, finger sinking in slightly on the right side, going past what his skull should have physically limited him from feeling – when had his head gotten so soft? The vision in his other eye was swimming.

Wily struck him with the object again, square in the chest, and that too caved slightly. He fell to his back in a coughing spasm, blood fanning out of his mouth with every hack and spraying the ground near his face. He saw something white and hazy, vaguely certain he was now at least one tooth short of a full set. His “lungs” burned painfully, and rattled audibly as blood seeped into them – he wondered if It was possible for him to drown. He supposed not, not in the sense that a human drowned, at least.

Wily laughed almost gleefully as he pummelled Forte's prone form with something that finally could actually harm him. He had been waiting to punish Forte like this for a long time. This had shut the arrogant young robot up much more efficiently than any of his lectures ever had. He'd been itching to inflict some pain on his creation for so long now he had all but forgotten when. Forte had been overdue for a good, hard beating, and Wily had been aching to do the rest to him for as long as he could remember, but he had needed Forte, and needed him loyal.

Not that it really mattered anymore, he would do as told. No more attitude, no more backtalk, no more trouble. He would hurt Forte, bad, but he wouldn’t kill him. After all, he had, in a way, proved to be useful, even if as nothing more than a basic distraction for Rockman, to keep the bastard out of his hair. No, he would do this, and then he would continue using Forte after he’d had time to recover. Only things would be different this time around, and he could use the violet haired boy as he wished.

For now he had the new project he'd absorbed himself with, and he could focus on that before he started using Forte again. He had grown tired of the repairs his hot-headed creation seemed constantly in need of. The little bastard was no longer a commodity. He was of no further use to him in field work, he planned to keep his nose out of trouble until he was sure his new creation was running flawlessly, and that would still be years.

He was working with an entirely new technology, far superior to what he was currently using, so things would take time. He would have lots of it, too, if he could keep a low profile until then. He couldn’t have Forte running around, causing problems for him, and that was exactly what the little bastard was doing.

Wily grinned down at Forte's battered body and delivered a swift kick between his legs, taking joy in the loud string of sometimes incomprehensive curses coming out of his creation's mouth. Just like a real human, he mused cruelly, as Forte fell and rolled onto his side, drawing his knees tight over his chest to protect himself from another blow. The blood excited him and he was hard again. He smirked down at the wide opening Forte had left him in taking that particular position, and he let him have it again, booting him hard in the delicate cleft on his backside where he had violated him only moments before.

Forte all but screamed at the sharp pain that reached all the way to his core, despite his dulled senses. He had somehow managed to register that the son of a bitch had floored him right in the sack, and no wonder humans sometimes pissed blood after a blow like that. Still, he seemed unable to register much else. Something worse had happened, the pain was almost as bad as being violated again, but he couldn’t place what Wily had done as his mind spun wildly out of control, he didn’t want to know. He hurt too much, his mind a blur, and he didn’t want to remember any of this.

He had fallen back at some point, too disoriented to remember when exactly, but he somehow knew that the hot, sticky fluid he was lying in was a pool of his own blood, and he knew his injuries were worse than they’d been before. He shuddered weakly, a dead horse that had been beaten again.

Wily stopped suddenly, as if losing complete interest in the robot on the floor before him. He stood over him, nudging his creation with his foot, so Forte’s head lolled to the side, and he was looking at him through his still functioning eye. He pressed a button on the cylinder he'd used against Forte only a moment before, and a bright, green laser shot out of it. He held it away from him carefully, and Forte felt an intense heat coming off it.

“I think you got my point... but I'm very angry, and I've decided that a creation as utterly useless as you doesn't need a support unit. It hasn’t done much to improve your performance, and it gives me a chance to really try this thing out.” He turned from Forte, heading toward Gospel, who was still crouched on the bed, ears tucked back. He heard a deep, thick growl unfurl from Gospel’s throat, but he stayed, feet planted firmly where he’d been since Forte had told him to stand down, and he certainly wouldn’t attack Wily, as much as Forte wished he would.

Forte moaned softly in pain, staring at him fuzzily from where he lay prone on the floor. Fading fast, dark grey edges of his world spreading wider as everything drew more hazy, he groped at the floor weakly, inching himself toward Gospel slowly, and watched what was happening with a dull sense of horror. His jaw ached, it was probably broken, but he managed to force words out, sounding thick and cottony. “.......gos...... no......”

Still making a beeline for the wolf, Wily turned his head a little and gave Forte the most sickening grin he'd ever seen before. His eyes glinted darkly, knowingly, and Forte realized that Wily was getting back at him in the one place he was truly vulnerable. He was going to take the one thing that had ever really mattered to the boy. Above all else he witnessed that day, it was the grin that would haunt him for a long, long time. The grin he would see again and again in his nightmares, until it drove him nearly mad.

That was the last thing Forte saw before his body shut down on him and he slipped into unconsciousness, the world fading out before him.
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(A)bort, (R)etry, (F)ail? Pt. 1: Reconfiguration