BIONICLE: Faux - Part III

PART III

  Night had fallen over the Wastelands. They had managed to find some degree of shelter and stopped for the night. The six Matoran had already gone to sleep while Hydraxon kept watch, his eyes scanning the deserted landscape.

In the distance, he could all sorts of creatures making noises. He supposed some of them could have been Rahi, having gotten loose during the evacuation of the Matoran Universe. He wondered how well they were adapting to the new world, or if they were quickly falling prey to the bizarre creatures that were native to Spherus Magna, that knew the world far better than even he did. If he was being honest with himself, he honestly found it a miracle that any of them had managed to survive on this planet for more than a few months.

He did not have faith that it would last long, however. Sooner or later, something was going to break. Either beings like him would succumb to Spherus Magna’s relentless nature… or the Agori would decide that they didn’t want to share their home with these biomechanical strangers.

As focused as he was listening to these sounds and dwelling on the thoughts they gave him, the sound of footsteps nearby did not go past his notice. Without looking, he raised his Cordak Blaster and pointed it at the newcomer.

“That’s far enough,” he said.

“I was wondering when you were going to make a move,” the stranger said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “If I didn’t want you to hear me, you wouldn’t have.”

“Sure.” Hydraxon slowly turned his head to look at the newcomer, clad in crimson armor coated with sand. By all appearances, he appeared to be a Glatorian, likely of the Fire Tribe. “If you’re here to cause trouble, I would advise against it.”

“I mean you no harm.” The Glatorian crouched down, resting his large clawed gauntlets on his knees. “My name is Malum. I’ve been watching you for a while.”

“How long is a ‘while?’”

“Since I saw your fight with Sahmad and those two hunters. You are a skilled warrior, I will grant you that. For the time being, I have ordered my pack of Vorox to leave you and your wards be. Of course, I cannot speak for any others.”

“I appreciate it,” Hydraxon grunted. “Now, is there anything else or are you just trying to waste my time? Or is this all a distraction?”

“Not a distraction, I assure you.” Malum tilted his head, as if studying Hydraxon. “So it’s true, then. The creations of the Great Beings have come from their world to join ours.”

“We didn’t have much choice,” Hydraxon muttered. “Our world was destroyed in order to restore this one.”

“Ah.” A grin crept onto Malum’s face. “So you are not here by choice. An exile, then. An outcast. Just like so many here that live in the Wastelands.”

“I don’t intend on it being a long-term situation. New Atero is just west of here. We’ll be among civilization soon.”

“But will you consider yourself to be home? I hear the resentment in your tone. You are not satisfied with your life.”

“My satisfaction doesn’t matter,” Hydraxon retorted. “Only my duty.”

“Ah!” Malum laughed. “That word. I vaguely recall the Great Beings preaching that word way back when. It would appear they have drilled it into their creations. How fitting. How sad.”

“Sad?” Hydraxon knew he should not have been entertaining this strange creature yet he could not help himself. It was one thing to hear such condescension from Pridak and his ilk. But from some alien like Malum…

“You are not born like my kind are,” Malum went on. “You were built. Designed for a purpose. And now that that purpose has been fulfilled….” He gestured to the world around them. “You are lost. The work is done. You are not needed anymore.”

“I am still needed.” Hydraxon gestured to the sleeping Matoran behind him. “I am needed to protect beings like them.”

Malum glanced at the Matoran before snorting. “And what purpose do they serve that the Agori already don’t?”

To that, Hydraxon had no response. Seemingly satisfied with this, Malum rose up to his full height.

“I wish you luck in your travels, stranger,” the Glatorian said. “Perhaps someday you will find your purpose. Because as it is, I don’t think you even know who you are.”

Hydraxon simply stared at Malum as the Glatorian took his leave. It was only when he could not see Malum anymore that he finally lowered his Cordak Blaster.

A few minutes later, he heard the shuffling of feet behind him. “Who were you speak-talking to?” Defilak asked as he came to sit beside him.

“Some stranger,” Hydraxon murmured, not meeting the Le-Matoran’s gaze. “Native to this planet.”

Defilak nodded. “I sneak-heard everything,” he then said after a moment.

Hydraxon grunted. “Good for you.”

“You really don’t remember anything about your past life, do you?”

“Because I don’t have a past life.”

Defilak shrugged. “Maybe that’s true,” he conceded. “But it doesn’t sound like you enjoy your current life.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s what I’m made for.”

“But there’s more to life than what you’re made for. I was made to be a trader, yet I found myself leading a city. I wasn’t made for it, but I did it anyway. It wasn’t easy, mind you, but what in life is?”

Hydraxon snorted. “You have it differently, though. You Matoran—all Matoran—were made to keep the Great Spirit alive. It didn’t matter what you did; so long as you worked, Mata Nui stayed alive. But now that Mata Nui is gone… what good are you? If anything, you should be the one who’s lost and without purpose. Not me.”

Defilak shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? When Mata Nui left us, he told us that our lives now would be what we made of them. That the lives we knew had ended so we could start them anew. You don’t have to keep doing what you were doing in the old world. This is a new world now. So make it new.”

Hydraxon stared out into the desert. “I think you should go back to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

The Le-Matoran sighed in defeat as he got up to leave. He stopped only to look back at Hydraxon for a brief moment.

“If there’s one thing you have in common with Dekar,” he said quietly, “is that you can both be very stubborn.”

With that, he left to rejoin his fellow Matoran, leaving Hydraxon to his thoughts.

*  *  *

Sahmad grunted as he was slammed against a wall, held in place by a powerful hand.

“You understand that I don’t take failure well,” his employer said darkly.

The Agori glared at the other being. “Maybe if you had given me better protection, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Hey, don’t pin the blame on us, organic freak,” snapped the Dark Hunter Spinner, standing to the side with his partner Vanisher. “You didn’t tell us we would be dealing with an Order agent. We were expecting Toa.”

“So was I,” Sahmad snapped. “Zakron told me about Hydraxon, but he didn’t think they would send him to rescue Matoran. It’s not exactly his field.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the employer hissed. “The results are the same: You are here empty-handed and I have no Matoran. How do you propose to amend this predicament before I snap you in two and see what you Agori are really made out of?”

“I don’t know,” Sahmad said sardonically. “Hire more Dark Hunters to help me track down the Matoran and deal with Hydraxon.”

“That’s not happening,” said Vanisher, looking pointedly at the employer. “The Shadowed One made it clear that he’s only willing to entertain this little operation of yours for so long. You’ll get your Matoran so long as he gets your services in return. But he has other venues for getting what he wants if you can’t hold up your end of the deal.”

The employer scowled before releasing Sahmad. The Agori fell to the floor, landing on his hands and feet.

“There is something else we can try,” the employer then said. “But it would require getting into New Atero.”

“Why would we go there?” asked Spinner. “I doubt they would have made it back there by now. They’re probably still out there in the Wastelands.”

“With some help, they’ll get there quicker,” the employer said pointedly. “That’s when we’ll strike.”

The two Dark Hunters exchanged glances, and Vanisher seemed to realize what the employer was alluding to. “That’s still bringing another Dark Hunter into the mix,” he said. “The Shadowed One isn’t going to go for it.”

“He will once he realizes what I have to offer in return. I’m sure with enough convincing, he’ll see the logic in my plan.”

Spinner and Vanisher exchanged glances again before the former shrugged. “All right. But it’s your funeral.”

The employer cackled, the laughter ringing against the walls of the hideout. “With any luck, it will be Hydraxon’s.”