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Why does the robot drink coffee?

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I finally, finally got my hands on the Zero/ZX Legacy Collection after long last, and have a lot of thoughts on the transition between Girouettes' death and the iconic Double Megamerge scene in the original ZX. It's a pretty well done sequence, hammered home by how cleaned up the cutscene was for the Legacy Collection.

I was originally going to write about the specifics of this scene, namely how it's a powerful reversal of X sacrificing himself/dying during the Omega battle in Z3 with Girouette giving his life and his Biometal to save Vent and Aile, and the emotional implications, but instead I got carried away exploring Girouettes' perspective of how everything plays out.

Ergo, there'll eventually be a companion post to this exploring Vent/Aile's feelings on everything, the contrast between this Double Megamerge and the one in Advent, and how the music mirrors that.

But TL,DR; Even if it was expected for Girouette to die, the lore and concept art of ZX lets you infer that his backstory had to have been similar to Vent and Aile's. Alongside what we see in the game, the emotional implication of the scene and the music really hammer home what a pivotal moment the Double Megamerge is, and how Girouettes' massive sacrifice drives the story forward. He knows that he'll die, but he'd much rather they live. And not not only that - he knows full well the pain, the sorrow and grief caused by his death will give them the fuel and determination to carry on and become "a hero who can protect everyone."

And this is exactly why he goes through with it.

From Girouettes' perspective, with a healthy dose of headcanon thrown in:

You were fairly young when you experienced loss. Your town was devastated by a maverick raid, and your younger siblings perished. Grief and trauma were hard to work through, but you got there, began to establish a life for yourself After. Started working, joined an organisation to prevent others from experiencing this same loss. Made something of yourself.

And not long after, you were given this immense power to wield that seemingly no-one else could - and you don't know why you were chosen for it. There's the borrowed power of an ancient hero singing in your veins and whispering encouragement in your head, teaching you how to use this strength for good. With his guidance as your partner, you slowly become a seasoned, veteran fighter - learn to balance your role as a defender, investigator, protector with that of a fledgling businessman.

A veteran fighter who rescues a traumatised kid in the aftermath of a raid, so very similar to the one you experienced years ago.

This child has no-one left except you, their rescuer.

And so you make the decision.

The decision to stay out of action and care for this traumatised kid.

You hide the fact that you've been a fighter to keep them safe; to keep them from losing family ever again. Your partner is proud of you and - though he misses the action - does what he can to guide you through this, as well.

Together, you do everything in your power to be the best father figure you can to this kid, to help them through the trauma; they slowly become both an employee and like your own child. Despite the war waging on somewhere in the background, it seems like your days of fighting are over.

And then through a series of unfortunate events, you watch as your adopted kid is able to wield the same power as you; bonds with and borrows the power of another of these ancient heroes. Horrified, you realise that no no no, they're about to get dragged into this war, as well, despite how long you've spent hiding that you're part of it from them.

But you think, at least I can be there to protect them. At least I don't have to hide this part of myself anymore. I can guide them like I was guided so they won't have to do this alone.

You watch your adopted kiddo run headfirst into danger in the name of saving people, so no-one loses family the way they once did, the way you did, too. So you think, I'll clear a path for them. I'll go ahead, go keep you safe.

And then you get ambushed.

There's three of them and one of you - your body isn't as strong as it used to be, crippled by an old injury, and through your shock and fighting for your life you dimly register that one of these men is the president of the company that saved our country? He's been lying to us the whole time!

You try your best, you get several good hits in but you simply can't win, no matter how hard you try, and they overpower you.

That's when your employee, your child, arrives; horror and fear twist and stab into your gut like a knife, and you're screaming for them to RUN! but your voice won't respond to your body.

But something else is responding and it's not the ancient hero; his voice has gone quiet, too. Instead it's this horrible, whispering force that takes over your body, and just barely you manage to tell your child, shoot me! before you're locked into your own head. Your feelings of fear, anguish and agony are mirrored on your child's face; you're unable to stop yourself from trying to murder your own child in cold blood, and use whatever little power you have left to restrain yourself from a killing blow.

They manage - miraculously, somehow, they manage to fight you to a standstill, begging you to stop the same way you're begging yourself to do so. Your heart is breaking, shattered into pieces at the tears streaming down their face - barely, just barely, you feel that terrible whisperings' influence ease away.

Moments later you're both struck down - and you know the only thing keeping you alive is the armour encasing your body, the power of that ancient hero on loan flowing through your veins. Said ancient hero's voice is once again echoing in your ears, in your head, telling you to stay put, that you're close to death, that I can't lose my Chosen, you're my partner in crime, Girouette, we'll make it through this. The thing that sets a Zero apart is our inability to stay dead. We're going to make it.

But outside of your head - there they are.

Your child.

Barely clinging to life, the loaned power of an ancient hero flowing through their veins is not enough. They're not strong enough yet, their breathing growing more pained by the second and tears forming in the corner of their eyes.

You can't leave them to die.

And so you make the decision.

To give them your strength - your partner knows what you're asking, why you're asking it.

Makes certain that you're sure.

You know you're going to die; you didn't want to go yet. But it's worth it, to see your child survive, live on, thrive.

The last of your life, the power flowing through your veins to them; the very last gift you'll ever give them.

The power to protect.

And as you slip into the nothingness, your partner whispering his goodbyes to you and your child's screams of anguish echoing in your heart, the very last thing you think is, I'm so very proud of you.

I love you.

And on this mortal plane, you are no more.