Upgrade - A RWBY + M/C Story

Prologue - The End of Marcus Aurelius

December 22nd, 2060.

2:36 PM Sunday

"Marcus!" A voice rang over the intercom. I turned and saw my protégé behind the glass separating my room from the corridor outside. I smiled briefly before tapping the comms myself. "Whaddya need Jake?" "I was just checking on you Marcus, you look like shit... are you alright?" The pause in Jake's speech was brought on by me turning off the comm, I fell into another damn coughing fit. More blood, that's... concerning. Another tap at the control, and a deep breath "I'll be fine for now, and no I'm not taking any damn medicine. I'm close to a breakthrough here, I know it." I've firmly refused any painkillers or medicines that cloud my mind. I want to be at the height of my mental capacity, I need this cure. So do the estimated 1.4 billion people infected. Though... Jake was right. I looked like hell, but it had frozen over only to be reheated in the microwave like a TV dinner. Jake seemed concerned, I'd not stopped coughing since the last time I spoke. "Do I have to come on there and sedate your ass?" I flicked him off and turned back to my desk. "Let me know if you need anything, okay Marcus?" Finally, another breath. "Will do bud."

My desk was a mess to say the least, not like a dorm room, but of traditional lab equipment. Labeled containers of all sizes containing fluids of various colors. Cages of lab mice, some alive, some dead, all afflicted with the plague I was desperately trying to cure. I may not seem like it, but I'm grasping here. I'm not sure how much longer I can hide the darkened red stains appearing on my clothes after I cough. Frankly, I'm not sure how much longer I have, Damn this theocracy and their restrictions on my research! I reach for my journal and pencil once more, and proceed to write about my latest failed concoction. A stipulation of my staying here is that I record everything I try, as if I wouldn't already. I then write personal notes, again, mostly me raging on about this country. Though for all its faults, it still is one of the safer countries after WWIII.

In case you were living under a rock, let me bring you up to speed. We are in the New Teutonic Order, year 2060. It got it's name from an old crusading kingdom from the 15th century A.D. They're one of the safer, less ruined nations, relatively untouched by the war that killed 2 billion people. (Although, this number assumes the Plague is a man made weapon, combat deaths are only around a third of that number, and that includes the nuclear bombing of Beijing.) The aforementioned Plague has infected me and countless others, so I'm here, searching for a cure.

Problem being is that the theocracy has put a ban on all human-mechanical integration research. No cyborgs are allowed. I would likely face expulsion from country if I were to do so, they already let me get away with the rules I do break, and the fact that I'm a heretic. I recognize the problem with using cybernetics as a cure, you can't mass produce it, the mods must be tailored to each person. Thus one cannot mass produce them as a cure, but they fail to recognize that I'm working on the cure, and a new robot body would greatly aid my research.

I put down my pen and sigh, leading to another fucking minute and a half of coughing. "Oh well, beggars can't be choosers." I clear the table for another attempt at a cure.

March 29th, 2061.

5:02 AM, Tuesday.

I'm shaking, bad. Whether or not it's from excitement, or the advanced stage of the disease catching up with me I'm not sure, but it sure as hell is inhibiting my research. I've hit a breakthrough, not a cure, but I'm close. I've whipped up a drug that... doesn't cure me, but it does stave off advancement of the plague in early stages. I'm much too far gone for it to be useful for me, but knowing I've come close is all I need. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much longer I've got, I'm in an advanced stage of sickness, most would've died already. I just need more time.

I messily jot down my previous thoughts and immediately fall into a coughing fit. The slight shaking is sign of the illness reaching the spine, just barely interfering with the nerves. Luckily, paralysis has not been recorded as a result of the Plague. My once semi clean desk is strewn with notes and spilled bottles and... Morphine. I'd broken my oath two weeks ago, the pain was so great, it had felt like my lungs were being shredded. Since then I've only used it twice more, but I still hate myself for doing it. Just one problem... I don't have much time left, 2 weeks, tops. I can feel it in my bones, and it hurts all the more that I'm so close. I'm proud of how far I've come though, and I can only hope that Jake can pick up my work where I leave off. My eyes close, and I fall into another fitful sleep.

April 10th, 2061

12:00 PM, Saturday.

Marcus 'Fenix' Aurelius is interred in a private cemetery, attended only by his colleagues. (The tombstone reads, "...And as a Phoenix, I rise again." 2043 - 2061) Jake is there, his face a mask of stone. He briefly salutes the casket of his mentor, and stiffly walks away as it is covered with soil. His stoic mask does not break until he gets back to his own lab. Now, only seeming tired beyond belief. A knock on the door, Jake takes a deep breath and collects himself. "Come in." It's the man he sent to gather Marcus' work. He hands him, among other things, a journal. Packed with personal notes, mixes, reports, etc. Jake only mutters a "Thank you" to his colleague before steeling himself and getting back to work.

On January 24th of the following year, the birthday of Marcus Fenix Aurelius, Jake discovers a cure to the Plague that has ravaged humanity for a decade. He and his master will go down in history among the world's greatest heroes. Unfortunately, for Marcus, his journey has ended.