a/n : A short piece about Forte having to deal with a loss. Some swearing, little bit of blood and stuff, but otherwise fine. PG -13 I'd say. Oh, BTW, I don't own stuff.

"Wake up boy."

Nudging the motionless lupine unit carefully, Forte ignored the exposed circuitry and crimson coloured fluids leaking from the gash on Gospel's side. The wolf bot gave no response to his master's frantic words or surprisingly gentle touch; he lay perfectly still.

"Please wake up . . . "

Forte waited. He expected his best friend to jump up and tackle him playfully, and he would laugh at the trick. Gospel had learned all kinds of new tricks lately, and he thought this must be one of them. A small smile crept onto his face; he couldn't wait for Gospel to surprise him. The pool of synthetic blood and machine oil spread around the fallen robot until it touched Forte's knees.

"Show me your trick boy," his usual sound of superiority wavered into uncertain worry, "Please show me your trick."

Pristine white gloves dipped hesitantly into the expanding pool, half expecting it all to be an illusion. It was still warm. Forte lifted a trembling hand to his face, examining the bloody oil carefully from many angles. He rolled it between thumb and fore finger as if it were the first time he had seen another beings' blood shed. A panic overtook the cobra crested bot as he scrubbed his hands against the gritty floor in an attempt to clean them.

"Gospel . . . Gospel . . . wake up Gospel!"

His only friend. The only one who believed in him no matter how many times he was defeated by Rock. Whenever Forte was frustrated he had been there to offer silent support, even if all the black bot wanted to do was sit outside and sulk for hours; he would be right there with him, content to let his master scratch under his chin while he cursed the whole world. Gospel had given him unwavering loyalty, and not just because he was programmed to, but because they were friends. Best friends. The only one who really understood.

"Gospel?" His voice came out as a terrified squeak.

Silence.

Forte lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Gospel's neck, and he clung to the wolf. He pressed his face against the cool metal of the other bot's head, as if he could infuse his own life into Gospel. But he couldn't, and Gospel only lay there in a chilling tableau. He would never tackle Forte again; never drool on his armor or chew up his stuff or chase the other Wily bots.

An unfamiliar sensation washed over Forte. Was this grief? No, it couldn't be . . . that was a human emotion, and Forte despised humans almost as much as he despised other robots. But seeing his best friend lying there was tearing right through his chest like hot iron. He wanted to go out and hurt whoever did this; he wanted to break their face and rip their body limb from limb. He also wanted to just collapse into a heap and cry.

An intruding mechanical hiss came from behind, and Forte barely had to turn his head to see who it was. Dr. Wily stood shadowed in the doorway, easily identified by the big bushy hair, a sour expression on his face. For once in his life, Forte was glad to see his creator. Surely he would want to find who was responsible for the destruction of Gospel. Surely he would want to rebuild . . .

"Gospel," the words left his mouth hoarsely, "Wily, someone broke in and . . . and they . . . Gospel is dead . . . we have to organize a search team. We have to sweep the grounds and -"

"I ordered it."

Forte blinked at him with incomprehension. Wily . . . ordered Gospel to be . . .

"Y-you did this?" he was too shocked to be angry, "W-why?"

"You were becoming too attached," Wily said as if it were obvious, "I didn't create Gospel to be a pet Forte, but you treated it as one. Just like the robot you're supposed to be out destroying right now!"

"That's not -"

"Rockman coddles that robotic flea bag of his; it's like a house pet instead of a support unit. I will create new armor for you that does not require another unit. I should have done that in the first place instead of wasting my time with this miserable excuse for a robot."

Forte clutched Gospel's body close to him; his black and gold armor was completely stained with blood and other fluids, but he didn't care. "Don't you ever say that about Gospel. He was not miserable you fucking bastard of an old man! How could you do this?"

"See what I mean," said the scientist with calm irritation, "You have grown too attached to it and now its termination affects you. You were not designed to have emotional attachments Forte."

"Fine," he spat at his creator, "I won't have any more damned attachments, but can't you rebuild Gospel? He was a superior -"

"There will be no rebuilding Forte."

"What?"

Dr. Wily pulled a small control box from the pocket of his lab coat with one large red button. It summoned a waste disposal robot that immediately clanked its way toward Forte and Gospel. The black bot looked at the disposal unit with a terror-stricken expression and held onto Gospel harder.

"No, you can't do this! Please don't scrap Gospel, you can rebuild -"

"I am not rebuilding, and I don't want to hear that suggestion ever again. The Gospel support unit is to be scrapped. Relinquish the unit."

Forte did not move, but the words, "Fuck you Wily," slid out of his mouth like an oiled snake.

"Relinquish the unit now Forte, or I will have to separate you forcefully."

In the shadows beyond the doorway Forte could make out the forms of at least half a dozen robots ready to answer Wily's beck and call; he would not be able to take them all on himself. It pained him as Gospel slipped from his grasp, sliding from his hands into a pool of his own fluids.

The disposal unit snatched up Gospel's body with pincer-like appendages, crushing the wolf's outer titanium armor. His head lolled back and forth, showing that his spine had been neatly severed at the neck. The room was silent, except for the drip-drip-drip of Gospel's blood falling to the floor.

"You had no right to do this Wily," Forte snarled at the old man viciously as tears began to form at the corners of his eyes, "You had no right to do this to Gospel."

"I had every right," the scientist said blandly as he signaled the disposal unit into the hallway, "He was my creation, not yours, and I choose what to do with my possessions. Now stop blubbering over the damned dog and pull yourself together. You will await my instructions to go after Rockman and forget all about Gospel."

Forte could only watch as Gospel and Wily disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. A rage overtook him - a burning, hateful rage that flared over every inch of him. That man had destroyed his best friend, the only one who ever understood him. He had taken away the only relationship that held meaning in his life.

"You had no right!" he yelled after the scientist with spiteful anger, "You had no fucking right to do this Wily!"

Rage began to give way to bitter grief, and bitter grief to hollow emptiness. He crumpled to his knees right in that oily pool of blood, lower lip quivering though he tried to control it. Forte gazed into the black and crimson swirled liquid, the only thing left of his beloved Gospel. There was no one now. He had no one left who still believed in him; no one who cared. Wily had taken that away from him.

He took Gospel away from him.

"You had no right Wily," he whispered sadly to himself, "You had no right."