Chapter Text
“Alright, so,” begins Ace, starting the official Resistance meeting. “Beta City is done with the critical rebuilding portion; last panel was placed yesterday. They don’t need us as heavily anymore, which means we can continue the assault.”
“Gamma City,” Ace pulls the picture up on the presentation screen. “The final, most heavily armored bastion of the Vestal Crown’s hold on Vestroia. We take this the way we took the other two, we win this whole damn war. Plain and simple.”
His voice lowers. “And to think we’re this far along. How many rotations ago, we were just three nutjob teenagers with a crazy dream and a stolen trailer….?”
“Amazing…!” Joe murmurs from his spot on the couch, staring at the image of the drill-shaped city in wonderment, Wavern nestled in his hair. “ So there are regular people just living in that thing?”
“Sorta,” Baron offers him an Erda snack from the plate he’s passing around. “It’s actually meant to be a government facility instead of a residential area. It’s mainly devoted to housing researchers and minor public officials.”
“So, when are we busting in?” Runo says, sounding almost bored. “The sooner we start the sooner Hydranoid and Skyress are free.”
Alice perks up. Shun folds a leaf between his fingers.
“We can’t,” contradicts Ace, to the discontent of the others. “This city was the first to arrive in Vestroia. It was built to withstand Bakugan attacks and keep intruders out. Trying to capture it the same way we did Alpha and Beta City would be suicide.”
“That’s what Mira is for,” explains Drago. “She can help us get in from the inside.”
“So we just… wait?” complains Dan, sitting upside down on the sofa. “Oh man! I wanted to show off all our cool training!”
“We will,” says Ace, face determined. “We just have to trust in her.”
Working with Spectra feels far too nostalgic for Mira’s comfort.
It reminds her of days when they were children, allowed to work together in their father’s lab under the astounded gazes of their father’s co-workers. ‘Geniuses’ they’d whisper around them. ‘They’re my children, what did you expect?’ their father would reply.
The motions eventually become repetitive: pipette cells into growth media, apply corrosive agent, check if the cells have survived. ‘Pipette, cry, repeat’, their father used to joke. It allows her mind to wander, to notice things.
Like how her brother had slowly pulled away from her and spent more time with their father, confused why she was not allowed to go to those experiments. ‘You’re too young,’ they said. As if her father had cared about how old she was before.
No, both of them simply knew she was too caring, too kind, to engage in the kind of experiments they were doing.
She had filled her new free time with grav-motorcycle races and learned to sneak into parties she hadn’t been invited to. Blissfully unaware of what her loved ones were doing. What a stupid child she’d been–
The door of the lab opens, knocking Mira out of her poisonous thoughts. The click-clack of heels over the sterile metal floors draws her gaze and she sees… Mylene?
Though her eyes burn with fury, they are ringed with deep eyebags dark enough to look like bruises. Her hair is pallid, flat, and inexpressive when it should have been puffed up to display her anger.
“What are you doing here?” says Spectra, and Mira can picture him raising an eyebrow behind his mask.
“I got sent here from the infirmary. Royal decree,” growls Mylene, and this close Mira notices how tiredness leaks through despite the blue-haired fighter’s best efforts.
“The infirmary knows I’m a Bakugan researcher, right?” he answers, the careless drawl doing little to disguise the annoyance buried within.
“Yes, we know,” Mylene snaps back. “They thought it prudent for you to take a stab at whatever this is.”
She says, before sliding off her cape and tugging her shirt down to expose the side of her neck where a smattering of scales are.
Mira’s mouth falls open. “Those are Elico’s scales, aren’t they?”
“The little pet has eyes,” scoffs Mylene, tugging her clothes back into place.
“Pass me a–”
Before Spectra can finish his sentence, Mira is already passing him a petri dish and a sample-taker. She sprints away, readying the DNA reader.
It only takes a few seconds, both of them working in unison.
“The scales match Elico’s DNA perfectly,” says Mira, double-checking the results. Mira looks down onto Elico, sitting impassively by the DNA scanner while they work. “It’s as if you’re Elico’s Vestal version, even the cells that don’t seem to be affected by whatever this is.”
“This is far too similar to what happened with Kuso to be a coincidence,” says Spectra, hand on his chin and gaze focused inward. “Does exposure to Bakugan change your DNA? Or is it something else...”
Internally, Mira debated if she should give the information she had or keep it quiet. But then she noticed the way her brother’s gaze was lingering on her. He already knew she had to have some kind of information.
“Back in the Resistance, most of us were exhibiting some kind of… changes related to the Bakugan we were closest to. Nothing as dramatic as what Dan did or what Mylene’s going through,” Mira explains, drawing the attention of both the Vexos present. “Except me. I wasn’t showing any kind of changes, no matter that I spent the same amount of time with Wilda as everybody else.”
Even before she finished her sentence, she was outstretching her arm so Spectra could take a sample.
“Your DNA doesn’t match with Wilda’s,” says Spectra.
“Why is Wilda’s DNA already in the system?” asks Mira.
“It does match with one Bakugan already in the system, though, I’ll request for it to be transferred. It will be your new assigned partner, so put aside time to bond with it, see if anything changes.”
“...Yes, Spectra,” sighs Mira.
“You’ll be kept here for observation,” says Spectra, this time referring to Mylene. “There may be something about Elico being an artificial Bakugan that is altering whatever this process is.”
“What? So now I’m your little lab-rat?!?” shouts Mylene in outrage.
“Yes,” answers Spectra with a wide smile, all of his teeth on display. “Royal decree, didn’t you say?”
Mira recognizes the fight that’s about to start and instead surreptitiously checks the system to see her new partner.
“Subterra Roxtor, huh?” she whispers at the little picture on the monitor.
Mira is different than the stupid child she once was. She noticed how Spectra dodged the question about Wilda.
It was child’s play to slip a little alarm system right into the castle network, alerting her of when Wilda was requested in any situation. An experiment being carried out in the middle of the night that required him? That was bound to be bad.
While Shun was a horrid teacher, at least she’d managed to grasp the basics of ninja-style stealth. She soundlessly slinks from shadow to shadow, dodging guards as she approaches the testing chamber.
The testing room is brightly lit as she watches from the outside. They are preparing a Bakugan-sized table in the shape of a person, while they fill a pit in the middle of the chamber with vats and vats of– that’s the corrosive agent Spectra had her testing these past few days. What the hell are they doing with it?
That’s when Prince Hydron enters the testing chamber, holding a Bakugan in his hand. Spectra walks in right behind them.
Hydron throws the Bakugan in his hands, the brown light diffusing to reveal Wilda.
Mira chokes down her gasp of surprise, while dread begins to drip down her back.
Hydron orders Wilda to lay down on the operating table, and with hesitant steps Wilda obeys. Metal, mechanized restraints spring up from under it, trapping Wilda against the cold surface.
The metal table then begins moving, making a slow, inexorable journey into the pit full of acid.
“ No,” slips past Mira’s lips. She sprints down the corridor, heading for the control room. ” NO!”
The control room’s door is locked, and no matter how many times she bangs on it, or screams at the people inside, they won’t open.
That’s when Wilda’s screams begin, too loud to be contained by the lab’s glass.
“NO. WILDA!” Mira screams, kicking the door. “WILDA!”
She catches sight of a vent at the side of the corridor, and it’s simple enough to rip it open and crawl inside. She’s not Marucho, she barely fits, but through sheer tenacity, she makes her way forward.
The vent drops straight down– she has no time to react before she tumbles downwards and through the vent grate. A line of burning pain bursts in her arms, she used them to protect her face during the fall and now blood is dripping past her hands and onto the floor. It doesn’t matter, she stumbles upright.
Helios is tearing Wilda’s natural rock armor from him, the organic rock falling to pieces after being weakened by the acid. Magma drips out like blood, sizzling in the acid and filling the room with humid steam.
Without his armour Wilda looks so much smaller, curled up in pain, shivering as Helios looms over him.
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Mira shouts, running desperately at them.
“Mira, stop this non–” Spectra begins casually. Mira punches him in the face. He stumbles as his mask falls, clattering to the floor.
“Oh, come now,” says Spectra, turning to her with a smile. His face is visible, the pale blue eyes, the pink eyebrows. “Stop the tantrum Mira, and witness this feat of Vestal ingenuity!”
Mira hears the clanking of metal, and she turns to see machinery placing armor on top of Wilda’s cracked body, lava being hidden behind sheets of copper-colored metal.
“Bakugan biomechanical armor!” exclaims Spectra, throwing his arms wide as his eyes look on in amazement. “The next step into martial superiority!”
“Quite the specimen, isn’t it,” says the Prince, looking at Wilda, his back still turned to Mira. “I think I’ll rename it Dryoid.”
Wordless rage surges through Mira, but she’s stopped from stepping further by Spectra placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Since you seem to be still attached to it,” says the Prince, finally turning around to face them. A lock of his hair is curled around his finger. “You’ll be the one in charge of monitoring its recovery. Notify me when it is ready for battle once again.”
With that, the prince begins walking towards the lab’s exit, his cape flaring behind him. He shoots one last look towards Mira over his shoulder. “Dryoid will serve wonderfully as my brand new partner Bakugan, I’m sure.”
Mira wonders why she can’t breathe. Why does she feel as if her heart was ripped out of her chest and all that remains is a gaping, aching wound?
“Mira…” quietly groans Wilda, his voice faint and pained.
She walks towards him, as the operation table descends to be flush to the floor. She lays one hand on his, now unrecognizable from the coarse, sturdy grips she once knew.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against him, her tears falling onto his hand, her shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry Wilda.”