Neo Arcadia stood silent and intimidating in the raging sea below, its glowing tower and high walls protecting the last remaining humans and reploids on the decimated planet. The silver moon shone its dim light on the city, casting the stark, white and gold buildings in an eerie light.
Standing at one of the windows, overlooking his bone-white city, Mega Man X watched over the crashing waves with a silent eye. He had never truly felt at home here, hiding out in the waves with only trains and lonely highways being their connection to the land.
The ocean was somber, as if it was in mourning for its fallen comrade in the form of the Earth's soil.
So many lives had been lost, landscapes devastated, entire continents wiped from the map. X had seen it all, had lived through every disaster, and had been utterly powerless to stop it.
Omega, and the Mother Elf, cursed with the power of destruction, had descended onto the peoples of earth like a shadow of death, the accursed reploid wearing Zero’s face personally seeing to some of X’s greatest nightmares. They still didn’t know where the monster had come from, and why the newly named Dark Elf had been with him. X hadn’t had time to contemplate the idea either.
90% of the Reploid race, the very beings that X had helped create centuries ago, had been wiped from the planet. If they were an organic race, that would mean extinction, with not enough individuals being able to keep the species going.
60% of the humans had been lost, and they were avoiding extinction by a mere thread. X honestly wasn’t sure if the humans were quite out of the woods yet, only time would tell he supposed.
X shied away from those thoughts, they never helped on nights like these, where the stuffiness of Neo Arcadia forced him to his window, longing for his home and his friends.
With a huff, X pulled at his hair, adjusting the ponytail he was forced to wear at all times. He had never had hair long enough to pull it up like this when he was younger, he honestly hadn’t even thought it was possible for his hair to grow, seeing as how that was typically a trait of beings of flesh and blood. His father always left him with surprises however, and as the Elf Wars went from weeks to months to years, and the time for silly things like personal care went away, his hair had grown with the time.
Now, his raven black hair drifted past his shoulders when he let it down, and if he didn’t tuck his bangs into his helmet properly, they drifted over his nose, almost into his eyes.
X found he liked it down much better than when it was up. The ponytail pulled at his head and felt uncomfortable in his helmet, as inconceivable as that was. The armor already caused him great distress, like many things that the inner council of his own city forced him to do and wear. His armor was to be worn at all times, and his helmet could only come off when no one was around.
“To keep up appearances, Master X! The people need to see their savior as perfect at all times!”
The android shuddered, remembering that particular conversation.
Halfway through the wars, following a particularly nasty conflict with Omega, X’s armor had been utterly destroyed, the shining blues and silvers being shredded and turned black with wear. New armor had been created for him, a push from what little governments had survived the fallout, giving X a more...ethereal feel.
His blues that he had lived his entire life with were gone, a silly thing to mourn, but stripped away among the rest of everything X held dear. It was replaced with whites and golds, a false promise that X could save everyone, like some kind of angel or savior for the world.
It made X sick, this falsehood and promises of salvation. As if X was anything but a failure. His armor had been designed to adhere to his body as closely as possible, and had been polished to a shining white, like some beacon of hope in the plains of desolation.
Zero would have said it suited me…
X shook his head at that thought, the idea of his partner’s soft affirmations being the thing to finally tip him over into despair.
He supposed he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.
“Greetings, Master X.”
There came another headache. Mega Man X cursed under his breath, turning away from his sulking window to face the largest stretch of a “human” that he had ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Dr. Weil approached him, one of the key members of Neo Arcadia’s parliament, and the oldest living human left on the planet.
Living is not how I would describe him…
X schooled his thoughts into place, letting the tiny spark of pettiness well up and subsequently die inside of him.
“Good evening, Doctor. Is there anything I can help you with tonight?”
X spoke evenly, vaguely aware of the headache pulsing under his tight pony. He would do anything to be able to rip it out and let his hair flow over his shoulders. But, Weil would surely report his “Master’s” disobedience to the Council, and a lecture would surely follow. So much for being the leader here.
“Ah, I just wished to run some paperwork by you, there have been more and more reports of rogue mechaniloid and pantheons along our foraging routes. I know it is informal for someone as esteemed as yourself to take charge of patrols, but it may be necessary. The energy crises grow ever more dire, and the seal on the Dark Elf won’t hold forever.” Weil’s twisted grin remained on his face throughout his report, the paperwork in his hands holding more stress and dread than the man perhaps knew.
Or maybe he knew just enough, being the one who always seemed to be the bearer of bad news, and finding joy in his role.
X knew Weil enjoyed testing the android to see how far he could push X’s limit of stress management. Why he did, he would never know, seeing as how X’s survival and health were directly tied to the Dark Elf’s seal.
X had always kept the man as far from him as he could, but there was only so much he could do.
“I see...and this couldn’t wait until the morning? I’m aware of the good doctor’s rapport for diligent work, but I ask that the evenings be saved for myself.”
X chided as professionally as he could. God how he hated this.
“My apologies, I was aware of your...nightly activities, but I felt that this should be brought to you immediately, seeing as how your duties have been shifted tomorrow so you can take lead patrol.”
Weil dipped his odd, encapsulated head, his eerie grin piercing through what little remained of X’s comfort.
“I’m sorry, did you say my duties have been rearranged? Without any consultation with me? Forgive me Doctor, but you are aware of how dangerous it is for me to leave the city.”
X grit his teeth to keep from yelling. His adopted way of speech driving him insane, he wanted to scream and shout about how absolutely ludicrous the idea was.
Weil only shrugged, dipping his head again.
“Forgive me, Master X, but the decision is final. We feel it would be best if you protect the salvage teams tomorrow from any..stray threats.”
With that, the doctor bid X farewell, and left.
The android remained standing at his window, his uncomfortable armor pinching his “skin” and his back aching from remaining ramrod straight.
This didn’t feel right, everything in X’s being was screaming at him that this was wrong. The further he was from the Dark Elf, the more strain on the seal there was. For safekeeping, he had remained solely in the inner sanctums of Neo Arcadia, putting as little strain on the seal as possible.
But now, every day, the Council seemed to be pushing their luck, forcing X farther and farther away from Yggdrasil, with Weil always being the one to give the final push.
This seemed too far. Much too far, this was a risk that they shouldn’t take.
What X would do to have Zero here...to have anyone here...
Mega Man X inhaled sharply at the thought, his disastrous thoughts finally doing him in. He would do the patrol, if only to shut the Council up. Maybe then, he could get some rest.
He retrieved his helmet from the sill of his brooding window, placing it on his head and waiting for it to properly come online. The helmet was the thing least modified about his body, even with the addition of little wings on it, the one thing that had remained a constant, the azure metal comforting in a way he hadn’t had in a long, long time.
If he was to leave Neo Arcadia, and possibly get himself into a fight, then he needed to be fast, and accurate. This meant a trip to the shooting range.
With one final glance, he turned from the ocean, heading inwards into the sanctum to prepare for his first trip out of the city walls in years.
-----------------------------
“I delivered the message. He has been informed of his schedule change, and is leading the first patrol out of Neo Arcadia. Be prepared, we have one shot at this.”
“Approximately how long until he reaches the agreed upon point?”
“It shouldn’t take him more than half a day, if the convoy keeps its speed.”
“Understood...and Doctor?”
“What is it?”
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Master X has been as diligent as he can be to help humans...are we sure this is what’s best?”
“X has been humanity’s protector for a very long time. Using the Dark Elf, we could finally give him the utopia he has strived his whole life for. We just need to break the seal.”
“Ah...understood sir, thank you. We will move forward with the plan.”
The line disconnected as the doctor smiled, his plans falling seamlessly into place.
Soon, Omega will return, and the Dark Elf with him. I can finally achieve what I have been striving for since the start of the Elf Wars.
Summary: Shot by a bounty hunter and left for dead, you’re saved by an unlikely pair in the dead of night. (Set pre-game with young John and Arthur)
Warnings: Canon-typical violence and language, references to dead animals, gun violence, description of wounds, nihilistic/borderline suicidal thoughts
Word count: 1,389
Masterlist
—
It is raining and you are going to die.
Thunder rumbles through the open heavens as rainfall pounds blood into the mud of the dirt road beneath you. Lightning arcs, crackles, splits the sky. For a heartbeat it lights your surroundings, just enough to show how very alone you are, pinned beneath a dead horse and bleeding out from a gunshot to the shoulder.
The man who shot you lies dead as well, riddled with holes you put in him just a few yards up the road. The bastard. What are the chances a bounty hunter would recognize you this far North? What are the chances you’d run into one sitting on a stolen horse at the dark end of dusk on an otherwise empty road? Your teeth grit into a grimace. You’ve never been lucky, and the glint of moonshine on metal as the storm formed above you only further exemplified that fact.
Your legs are all but numb now. The left is badly sprained - probably broken, if you’re honest with yourself. Hands slick with blood and rainwater as they are, it’s hard to keep pressure on your shoulder. More blood oozes out with every heartbeat.
You hadn’t realized that dying would be this boring.
Or take this long.
Or be this lonesome.
So far as you can tell there’s no one else around for miles. The storm isn’t letting up, and the wind that drives rain sideways into your face is a painful and unwanted reminder of how alive you remain.
If only you’d been knocked unconscious in the fall.
If only he’d had better aim, a more sinister voice whispers in the back of your mind.
Then, distantly, the wet suction of hoofbeats in mud. You must be delirious, because something treacherously close to hope bubbles up your throat and comes out in a strangled cry. It’s barely audible over the storm.
“There’s somethin’ in the road,” a scratchy voice shouts to be heard.
“No there ain’t.” Someone else, a little older.
“Is too,” the first voice insists. “Look there.”
Look here.
Another flash of lightning illuminates the landscape. Your eyes meet two strangers’ wide and helpless. They stare back just as shocked, just as wary. Like a wild animal caught in a trap you are willing to gnaw off a limb if it means freedom.
“Please,” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Please spare me, please kill me, please save me? You’re not sure which. Please.
One of them jumps down from their horse and rushes to your side. “Help me lift this damn horse, Arthur!”
The other one - Arthur - hops down with a curse, hat low on his brow. It takes three tries to lift the mare enough for you to squeeze out. Your breath comes out in body-wracking sobs. You’d been stuck for over an hour.
“Can you stand?” one asks.
You try to move your leg and bite back bile. “No.”
More muttered cursing.
“Arthur,” your rough-voiced savior warns.
The next lightning strike is much closer. You watch Arthur’s hard mouth draw into a line in the flash. “Fine. Your horse will take the extra weight.”
Dead weight, your mind helpfully supplies.
And so your fate is decided.
Arthur throws you up into the saddle behind his bony compatriot, and to his credit he isn’t unkind about it. Not that it matters; Your leg and shoulder scream out in pain with every movement. Your only mercy is that the ride isn’t long.
The rain starts to lighten over the narrow deerpaths and overgrown game trails you follow in almost complete darkness to what looks like an abandoned homestead at first blush. Nature has done its best to reclaim this place. Weeds run rampant, tall and unchecked, and there’s a hole in the cabin’s roof that doesn’t look new. They hitch the horses out back and lift you carefully, carefully to the ground. The impact still leaves you hissing in pain.
“Sorry.”
“S’fine,” you wheeze.
Propped up by the boy you rode with, you gimp your way inside. His lean body has a wiry strength you wouldn’t expect as he maneuvers you into a rickety chair at the dining table.
“John,” Arthur barks, “get a fire going. I need tweezers and a hot iron if we’re doin’ this right. That bullet’s still in there.”
John leaps into action, leaving you woozy and clutching your shoulder.
“Here.” You’re offered a bottle of whisky. Arthur watches with a careful expression as you cry out pouring some in the bullet hole, then swallow down half the bottle with a grimace to try and numb the pain.
“You done this before?” he asks.
“Why else would bounty hunters be shootin’ at me in the middle of the goddamn night?”
He snorts softly. “Fair enough.”
You almost laugh at the absurdity of your situation, but John brings a strap of leather for you to bite down on and without another word Arthur digs the tweezers in the flesh of your shoulder to root out the bullet.
You scream.
“There she is,” Arthur murmurs as metal finds metal.
It’s a wonder you don’t black out. You wish you would. But then it’s out and the singe of scalding metal on flesh and the smell of burning skin overwhelms your senses in a white-hot flash of pain.
Your skin is clammy with sweat and the remnants of rain as you sit there gasping for breath. Setting your leg isn’t pleasant, but far easier. The two boys watch you carefully. If you didn’t know better you’d say they were almost impressed.
“You’re pretty fuckin’ tough, you know that?” John says. Now that you’re looking at him he seems just about your age. Up close and under lantern light you can see faint scarring around his neck. His dark hair lies long and limp, untamed. The line of his mouth and the glint in his eyes is a little mean. You like it.
Arthur, meanwhile, regards you silently. He can’t be but a few years older, early twenties at most. His sandy blonde hair is dark from the rain and his larger frame fills the chair opposite you not with menace but… promise. The promise that if you threaten either one of them after this you won’t walk away. You like that, too.
Gentlefolk were never your kind.
“That bounty hunter,” Arthur says slowly, deliberately, “what was he after you for?”
You meet his discerning gaze. You’re not above lying but these boys just saved your life.
A life for a truth.
“You ever heard of the Ghost Rider of New Austin up in these parts?”
“You’re the Ghost Rider?” John interrupts.
You look at them both, wary but open. “I been runnin’ North ever since they got a good poster of me down there. That horse that crushed my legs I stole off of some rich bastard outside of town. Just plain dumb luck to run into that bounty hunter so late, and that he recognized me.”
“Did plain dumb luck put those bullets in him, too?”
Your gaze hardens. “No.”
“You ever heard of the Van der Linde boys?” It’s your turn to be surprised. “We been runnin’ with him a long time now.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Arthur says, “when John and I turn in the score from the homestead we just robbed, you’re comin’ with us.”
You open your mouth to argue but he shuts you down just as quick. “How long are you gonna last on that leg, with that shoulder, and no horse?”
“C’mon, Ghost,” John says. “We’re down a rider and we just saved your life. You get all healed up, ride with us, and we’ll call it square.”
Kindness is never free, you should know that better than anyone.
“…Deal.”
There’s only one bedroom unspoilt by the rot eating away at the rest of the place, so the boys cozy in as best they can on the spongy, waterlogged floorboards while you try not to aggravate your injuries on bedsheets riddled with moth holes and a cot that’s seen better days.
The rain has stopped now, only a soft drip, drip, drip heard from the hole in the roof, and for the first time in a long time you feel confident that you are going to live.
