Mospeada Fan Fiction ❯ Friends No More ❯ Over ( One-Shot )

Lancer rides past the desert. The highway was empty and he was the sole user of the beaten road. After years of kicking ass with Team Bernard, he decided to take a sabbatical from the team and travel to keep his mind free for at least three months. His destination is Taos, New Mexico.

 

The only view he had was rows of 10-foot high cacti and arid cliffs and hills as well as sand dunes. The heat of the sun scorched him but he was not bothered by it. A sign reads: Taos, 150 Miles. Lancer has to endure another three hours of boredom on his motorcycle with nothing on the roadside except for the cacti and if lucky, a few vultures lingering on air searching for its prey.

 

Two hours and forty five minutes later, “Welcome to Taos” sign was visible to his sight and a sigh of relieve followed. The last time Lancer went there, it was a moderate town with Pueblo houses and a few remaining Adobes left by the Indian settlers. Today, it became quite a city with skyscrapers all over the place. This place quite is changed, he thought. I hope I don't get lost.

 

The reason that brought Lancer to the town is to find his long-lost friend, Abram Wallis who had served the Mars base together with him. They both lost contact when his Alpha was shot down to the ground by the Invid. For two months, he was nursed back to health by a woman and get back to action by reinventing himself as a popular female singer named Yellow Belmont.

 

Lancer took out a worn out photograph of him and his friend Abram out of his pocket. He looked at the address scribbled on the back of the photo. The scribbling was a bit faded but some words remained clear to him.

 

“52, General Santa Ana Street,” Lancer reads the address aloud. “I hope it still exist somewhere around here.”

 

Riding from one way to another, he could not find a single street named after the Mexican general. Suddenly, he saw a group of boys playing down the street. He whistled out and the boys went to him.

 

“Do you guys know where General Santa Ana Street is?” he asked them.

“Santa Ana?” they frowned.

“Yes, General Santa Ana Street,” Lancer repeated.

“I guess that must be the Mulberry Lane,” one of them replied. “There used to be rows of houses then but now it's a factory district.”

“Factory district?” he grunted. “Well, thanks a lot.”

 

Lancer starts his engine and ride away. He went downtown and saw a bar. He parked his motorcycle and walked into the bar. Sitting at the counter, he asked for a pint of beer. The wall clock stroke 8.30 p.m. sharp and still, he could not find Abram's house. Things went normal until came a big explosion across the street.

 

Stunned by the sound of explosion, he ran out of the bar to see what was happening. An apartment was on fire and it was one block away from the bar. Lancer ran back into the bar and put a $10 note on the counter. He took his motorcycle and rushed to the spot immediately.

 

Passerby gathered to watch the incident. People ran out of the building as the upper part of the building began to tumble down to the ground. A mother cried hysterically, begging someone to rescue her child trapped in the fire at level 6. Lancer puts on his CVR suit and asked the wailing mother about her child whereabouts.

 

“She's inside my house,” she cried. “We lived at the sixth floor. Please, save my daughter. I beg you please.”

“Don't worry, I'll save her,” he assured to comfort her.

 

Lancer gets on his cyclone and clicked the battloid mode toggle, transforming the motorcycle into a Blowsperior. Flying up to the sixth level, he broke into the house and activates thermal vision. Scanning around the fire-razed apartment, he need to find the child fast to avoid greater flame. Suddenly, as he checked from room to room, a little girl was lying on her bed.

 

He swiftly scooped the child with both hands and flew out of the house. Five minutes later, another explosion came and the poor mother went almost faint. To her surprise, Lancer landed on the ground, holding her child. He handed the child to the paramedics and sprinted to aid the firemen.

 

 

 

 

“I see that you need help here,” Lancer said.

“Our water hose could not reach the higher level,” said one fireman. “Besides, our water capsule propellers aren't working at all. We need to put it out before it could harm the crowds below.”

 

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind. Lancer cleared all the grenades in his chest by pulling them out one by one. He placed them on a seat inside the fire engine and replaced them with the water capsules. Once the capsules were fitted into the propeller terminals, he flew over the building and propelled them all at once.

 

Water capsules fell into the razing fire and smashed, reducing the fire to smaller flame. After three rounds, Lancer and the firemen managed to control the fire and put it out successfully. The fire department thanked him for his help.

 

Before leaving, Lancer braved himself asking them if they ever knew his long-lost friend Abram. One of them claimed to know him and even gave his new address.

 

“He's been living there for about five years,” said one fireman. “That was after his plot of land was taken to by the City Hall to build a factory district.”

 

He thanked the fireman and rides his motorcycle to the address given. Few minutes later, he arrived at a small yet filthy neighborhood. There were a number of townhouses painted in different colors. Lancer went to the red one and walked on stairs until he reached the third floor.

 

Turning to the left, he walked to the end of the floor, at home number 54. He quickly rang the bell twice and the door began to open. On the doorway, a young man stood holding a crutch under his left arm. His face was flushed and his brown hair unkempt.

 

“Who are you?” he asked. His breath smelt alcohol and full of odor.

“It's me Abram, Lancer,” said Lancer.

“I don't know you. Get out from my house you idiot,” Abram replied and slammed the door.

 

Lancer stopped the door from clashing. Abram stopped and narrowed his eyes.

 

“I said get out!” He yelled.

“No, I won't,” Lancer refused.

“Then you'll be sorry for this,” said Abram, raising his crutch to beat Lancer.

 

Lancer held the crutch and Abram was shocked. He suddenly broke down in tears.

 

“Where were you all these years,” Abram cried. “After all we have gone through.”

“I'm sorry Abram,” said Lancer. “I shouldn't have done that to you.”

“Do what?” Abram asked. “I thought you were dead when the news of your Alpha was gunned down by the Invid.”

 

Lancer remained silent. He knew everyone on Mars and Earth Base must have thought of his death at the hands of the aliens. Should I let him know the truth, he thought.

 

“For the last 10 years I fought in the name of your death,” Abram said, holding a framed photo of him and Lancer during their Academy day. “And in the end this is what I get.”

“Although its pain was unbearable, I swallowed it as a pride for avenging your death,” he continued. “But now, it seems to me that all the sacrifices I made were useless!”

 

Abram threw the frame on the floor and the glass shattered into pieces. Lancer knelt and picked up the photo as well as the pieces of the shattered glass. He wanted to fight back but after listening to the sacrifices he had made, he knew that he have no rights to speak or to object about it.

 

“Thank you for all the sacrifices you have made and I appreciate it,” said Lancer. “Maybe I should leave. It's for our own good.”

 

Lancer left the apartment and Abram did not spoke a word. Tears fell and rolled on his cheeks. Today a history was born and it was the end of a friendship. Pressing the clutches, Lancer rides away and continued his journey back to join his team.