Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Fire Emblem Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Cruel Melee ❯ stray 2 ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are not the property of the author. They belong to their respective owners, and the author has made no profit from this piece of shit.

The Quiet City: Stray 2

Rain hit cold on the back of his neck, trailing under his jacket as he walked, head bowed against the torrent. Times like these, he was glad to wear the helmet. Hell, the quiet city boasted a population of over a billion, its citizens originating from thousands of different worlds, their appearances ranging from humanoid to nonhumanoid. He could wear whatever the hell he wanted without catching notice.

So he trudged through the filthy streets of the infamous downtown district, the collar of his jacket turned up, eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. Beneath him, rain-soaked pavement reflected the multi-colored lights above. High overhead, commercial billboards ran an endless stream of digital ads that flashed gold, silver and neon. In the air, he smelled smoke and acid rain.

Angry shouts and blaring horns rose over the noise of heavy rainfall and traffic, and he stopped, turning to scan the busy street. Near the intersection, motorists screamed impatiently at each other. Something was going on. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked over the cars in the street. Maybe an accident up ahead.

Then, one driver, yelling in frustration, opened his door intending to get out. But a heavy force, slamming down on his windshield, stopped him. The sound of cracking glass drowned out his surprised cry.

Falcon froze, hand reaching for his gun. The figure on top of the car broke into a wild sprint, pounding over the tops of other cars in its way. It appeared to be a woman, dark hair and brown skin sped up to a blur as she ran.

Falcon glanced up the nearby buildings and caught the sight of another figure. Falling, this one landed on the same car the first had smashed, denting its roof and further scaring the wits out of its driver. Falcon took in a white jacket and long brown hair as the pursuer took off after the fleeing woman.

They crushed roofs and broke windshields in the process. As the woman sped past Falcon in the street, her pursuer rushing not too far behind, he realized that he recognized the one giving chase. For that reason alone, he did not interfere.

But then, another blur pushed past him, close enough for him to spot a glimmer of dark hair and white cloak. And a concealed sword with an ornamental hilt. Headed toward the scene playing out in front of them.

`What the fuck--'

He made a dash after the white cape, pushing pedestrians out of the way. His hand reached out and closed a fist around the trailing fabric. The other was roughly jerked back, balance lost to the wet sidewalk. Falcon lunged forward and tackled. They both fell against the pavement.

Sliding off, Falcon hauled the other one upright. He dragged the protesting form with him as he slipped into an alley.

It was that kid from the arena.

Falcon threw him against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The boy struggled, tearing out of the other man's grip. He made a break for the street, but Falcon's arm wound around his waist. The kid found himself lifted off his feet, spun around, and pinned to the wall, a strong hand on the back of his neck, another wrenching his wrist behind his back.

"You better not be trying what I think you're trying."

Face pressed against granite, the kid's eyes frantically searched the street. What he saw made them widen. Falcon turned to look just as a loud gunblast rang out.

The figure in white stood in the street, gun drawn. Several meters away, the body of the woman collapsed, dead weight, on top of a car. The blast had blown a charred hole through her midsection. But she didn't bleed. Instead, her body began to shake with convulsions, limbs thrashing violently, hammering dents into the metal beneath her.

Another blast from the gun ended it. Back arching, she was consumed by a blinding flash of light, flesh burning off to reveal an electric grid. Then it faded, and nothing remained, only a small piece of red metal that fell onto the wet asphalt, its color waning.

The kid stopped struggling, but his chest heaved with difficult breaths. Falcon finally backed off and let the kid turn around. He considered the boy's face with shaded eyes.

"Was that what you were trying to stop?" he demanded after a long pause.

The kid didn't answer, just shoved past Falcon and ran for the street. But the bounty hunter wasn't about to let him go so easily. He took a hold of the back of the young man's collar and dragged him down the sidewalk, following the figure in the white jacket as she walked calmly away from the scene.

The kid was objecting in some foreign language Falcon couldn't understand.

`No wonder.'

Half a block away, Falcon called out to the hunter. "Summer!"

Jody Summer turned around, surprised. Then a small smile lit her features.

"Falcon," she said in greeting as he caught up to her, the kid in tow. "How have you been?"

He nodded. "Fine. I saw your little performance out there."

She chuckled, pulling the piece of faded red metal from her jacket pocket. "Well, I've got a make a living when I'm not racing." The metal disappeared under her white jacket.

He smiled a little. "I know."

"That idiot back there wanted me to pay for the damages on his car," she said.

"Huh. So what are you gonna do?"

"I slipped him the company's contact info," she answered. "It's their liability issue, not mine."

"Heh," Falcon responded, nodding in agreement. "Good call." Then he threw the kid in her direction. "By the way. Do you know this piece of shit?"

Jody looked the young man over, but no recognition showed on her face. "No. Am I supposed to?"

Falcon shook his head. "Not really. Just wondering."

The kid broke into a run, but Falcon caught the end of his cape. "I don't think so, kid." The boy spun around and punched Falcon on the side of the head. Unfortunately, he only succeeding in banging his knuckles solidly against Falcon's helmet. Grimacing in pain, he had to pull his hand back. But the attack knocked the hunter's head forcefully enough to give the older man a brief, unpleasant sense of vertigo.

"Fuck!"

Jody only laughed. "I think he likes you."

Falcon shook his head to clear it, blinking stars from his vision. Then his eyes fell on the kid again. "Look--"

The boy took a step back and reached for his sword. But found nothing. He gaped at the empty space at his hip, just now registering the loss of a familiar weight.

"Oh. I guess you're looking for this." Falcon pulled the belt out from behind his back, sword and scabbard attached. He received a hard glare that could have killed him if he hadn't developed immunity over his years. "Now, can we talk it over?"

The kid only stared back at him for a moment, clothes soaked by the rain, wet bangs obscuring his eyes. He bit out a sharp reply in his native tongue.

Surprisingly, it was Summer who responded, answering in his language. The kid seemed taken back. Falcon turned to her.

"You understand him?"

She nodded. "It's Japanese. He just told you to go fuck yourself."

"Hm." Falcon took a moment to consider. "You got a minute?" he asked.

She nodded expectantly.

"Then do me a favor, Jo?"

Summer raised an eyebrow. "You want me to translate while you question him?"

"It's important. Deals with Samurai Goroh." He left it at that.

"I see." Summer finally gave in with a nod. "Fine. But you owe me something. I'll think of what later." She looked at the kid. "For now, let's find a place out of the rain."

* * *

The kid sat across from him at the table. Falcon turned to the window of the coffee shop to watch Jo make her way down the street, long brown hair drenched by the rain, and not seeming to care. Her hands were shoved into her jacket pockets, one of them probably wrapped around a gun, as she walked alone in the dark.

Turning back, Falcon lifted the mug of black coffee to his mouth. The kid had ordered tea, apparently just to sit and hold it in his hands, not to drink it.

Falcon finally spoke. "Why did you pretend you couldn't understand me?"

The kid did not raise his head. "Just because I did not speak to you, does not mean I cannot speak."

Falcon sipped his drink calmly. He drew out a handful of coins and slid them across the table. "Will you answer some questions, now?"

With visible reluctance, the kid nodded once, cautiously retrieving the money into his palm.

"We'll skip over who you are and where you're from," Falcon said. "How long have you been working for Samurai Goroh?"

"I do not work for him now."

"How long did you when you were?"

"Three years."

"That's not very long," Falcon commented. No response. He tried again. "What did you do for him?"

"Fighting."

"So he was your sponsor," Falcon said. "How much of a cut was he taking?"

"All."

"What?"

"He took all."

Falcon eyed the kid skeptically. "You've got to be joking," he said. "And you agreed to this? What did you owe him?"

The young man paused before answering. "I owe him much," he finally said.

Falcon tried to stare him down, but the kid wasn't even looking at him. He decided to let it slide.

"So when did you quit?"

"Last year."

"Why?"

No answer. Falcon grit his teeth in frustration. "Did you pay off your debt?"

"I do not know."

"Then he might be after you."

"Perhaps."

"You're not scared?"

"No."

Falcon shook his head. Stupid kid. "Okay. Fine. Were you involved with his bounty hunting or his racing?"

"No."

The older man took this in, leaning back to light a cigarette. After a few moments of silence, Falcon rubbed his chin. "Well, that's it then."

The kid looked up, confused.

"I don't need anything else from you."

"Are you ... sure?"

"Sure," he answered simply. "You can't help me, kid."

"May I leave?"

"Do what you want."

The kid hesitated. "My sword."

"Oh yeah," Falcon mumbled. He handed it off to him under the table and watched as the young fighter tightened the belt around his waist. Now Falcon understood the purpose of that stupid cape. It was to hide the fact that someone like him could wrap a single arm around the kid and lift him off the ground. The bounty hunter wondered which was better, to hide the fact that you're smaller, or to use your size to catch people by surprise. Most likely it depended on the situation. Better to use it to throw off your opponents in the ring, where their misconception worked to your advantage, than to show it out on the streets, where avoiding confrontation was the key to survival.

He watched the kid stand up to leave. Then he put out his cigarette. Leaving money on the table, he followed. Someone had left an umbrella under one of the tables, so he grabbed that on his way out.

"What are you doing?"

Falcon opened the red and white umbrella. His voice came out mockingly. "You're too little to be wandering around on your own." He glanced at the sheathed blade. "'sides, swords ain't been proven to stop guns."

"You are also not proven to me," the kid retorted, "but the Falchion is."

"Don't tell me that thing's got a name."

Bristling, the kid turned to walk on. Falcon followed, holding the umbrella over both of them. Two blocks passed in silence, then a third, before the kid spoke up.

"My turn," he said.

"For what?" Falcon asked around another cigarette.

"My turn to ask questions. Who are you and where are you from?"

Falcon stuffed a hand into his pocket, weighing different possible responses before answering. `Who am I?'

"I'm Captain Falcon," he said. "I come from here, Mute City."

"Why do you want to know about Samurai Goroh?"

"Heh." Falcon blew out a cloud of smoke. "That's my personal business, kid."

"He is one of your own," the kid said. "A bounty hunter. And a racer."

Falcon nodded. "Yeah. Not my kind though." He puffed out another cloud before continuing. "And just recently, he almost ran everyone else out of the game. Three years in a row, he took home the Grand Prix trophy. Had a perfect record too--took first place in every single race. And when he wasn't racing, he chased bounty--all captures off the top ten most wanted for those years. He was about to put the rest of us out of business." Falcon paused to glance at the kid. But the boy kept his eyes straight ahead. Falcon continued. "Then, about a year ago, he finishes in fourth place at Big Blue. Since then, he's fallen back to his old standing. Hasn't been getting much in way of bounty, either. A couple big names a few months back. But that's it. Same as before."

"Then . . ." the kid began, "why are you concerned?"

"'Cuz when a man finds success that quickly, then loses it, something's up."

"Then it is probably because of Samurai Goroh's private life," the kid said. "You do not have to become involved."

"Hn. I do." Falcon wasn't about to explain it further. He stopped walking and turned to face the kid. "And it looks like when he was getting unbelievably lucky, you started working for him. And when you quit, his luck ran out. Tell me, did you stop working for him because his high time ended, or did you have something to do with the reason it ended?"

"It may be because of you," the kid offered. "One year ago, you came back to F-Zero."

"Hn." Falcon passed another scrutinizing eye over the young man before marching on. "Maybe," he admitted. "But I don't think so."

They continued in silence. Another block down, the kid spoke up again.

"If it is as you say, then this is a personal matter. I heard your name before, when people said you disappeared from both scenes. They said you could not compete with Gh.-sama anymore as a racer or a bounty hunter. They said this is why you retired.

"Now you come back and want to find what caused him to succeed. Do you want to use it for yourself?"

Falcon kept his face straight. He could almost feel the kid watching him with careful eyes. Slowly, his footsteps came to a halt. The kid stopped too.

"When we were at the coffee shop," Falcon muttered, "and me `n Jo were talking, you understood every single goddamn thing we said, didn't you?"

"Hai."

"I'll take that as a `yes'," Falcon replied. He turned sharply to face the other. "You still haven't told me why you wanted to get between Jo and her bounty."

The kid looked away. "Do you ever hunt wire frames?" he asked.

"Yeah. Not really anymore though. No real money in it."

"Do you think they're alive?"

Falcon took in a breath. `No, not one of those,' he thought. `The sympathetic kind. The worst.'

"No, kid," he said, "I don't. They're just computers. Some have complicated AI programming, but that's it. Companies are afraid of piracy so they pay money for recaptured and unregistered frames. Most of those things are just toys anyway, pets and housecleaners. Some people use `em for tournaments. But when they're through with `em, they've got to be returned to the manufacturer to be destroyed."

"Yes," the kid admitted. "Yet . . ." His eyes searched the ground. "Why do they try to escape?"

Falcon hesitated, not so sure of what to say. He sighed, suddenly tired. "Look, kid, I don't know. They're not alive. I don't know why they run."

No response. Falcon spoke again, "Hey, let me try to give you one piece of advice, all right? From now on, don't get between any more hunters and their bounties. It's like standing between a racer and the finish line."

He paused, then added, "And when you beat three guys in the ring, don't go for a fourth."

The kid's head snapped up.

Falcon smirked. "Especially when the fourth is me."

Those dark eyes burned into him again. Then, the kid offered another question, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why do you fight?"

It silenced the older man. For a few good seconds at least. Falcon swallowed, forcing his lies down his throat. "It's what I do best. I fight when I race. I fight when I hunt. It's all I can do. I've been fighting my entire life." Falcon watched the kid's reaction, afraid he had let his age seep into his voice. Then he returned the favor.

"Why do you do it?"

The kid tilted his head to the side, still studying Falcon's face--what portion of it was visible, in any case. Again, his voice emerged softly.

"Why do they run?"

An answer was in that question somewhere, but Falcon couldn't decipher it. Hell, he was old. What else could he learn? What more could he do?

He glanced away, then back. The kid didn't meet his eyes, gazing off into the distance instead, head tilted up. Falcon followed his line of sight and settled on a massive billboard.

"Melee Tournament," the kid said, eyes on the blinking pixels.

"Hn."

"Sometimes when they run, they run there."

"Huh?"

"I mean there is a rumor one year, an AI won the tournament. People say it received an organic body from the Master Hand for a prize. Also, it was granted citizenship and declared a free agent by the city."

"Heh," Falcon chuckled. "That's an urban legend, kid. I've heard that one too."

"Yes, you must have." The young fighter turned to the bounty hunter. "Will you be there?"

"Where? The tournament?"

A nod.

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Then we will have our rematch." With that, the kid stepped out from under the umbrella and trekked into the rain.

"You gotta name, kid?" Falcon asked.

He stopped walking, his back to the other man. "Yes."

"Care to tell me?"

"No."

Falcon tensed, his jaw going rigid. He forced himself to relax. "Suit yourself, kid. Guess I'll have to drop a description when I pay a visit to Fat Man." He watched as the fighter turned, glancing over a shoulder at him.

"And how," the kid asked, "will offering my name prevent you from doing it?"

"I'm a pretty nice guy," Falcon contended though his tone was sarcastic. "I'll prove it to you." He fished out another cigarette. "Goroh already knows where to find you. He was there the night we fought." Lighting a smoke, he waited for the kid's response.

Only a deep stare.

"Goodnight, Falcon," he said at length. "I will see you at the tournament. My name is Marth."

And as with Jody Summer, Falcon stood for a long time, watching him walk away.