What Is For Naught, a no more heroes fanfic

What Is For Naught

When Harvey Moiseiwitsch Volodarskii told the fifth-ranked assassin he had his parents to thank for giving him such a fine name, Travis Touchdown calmly replied with: "My parents are dead."

The magician was taken aback by this. "Oops! Touchy subject! A question that should not be touched upon."

But Travis said, "That's okay. Really, it is." The smile on his face reassured him that it was okay, that it was an honest mistake and not at fault for his compliment.

In the briefest of brief moments, Harvey felt the smile's delicate strain, the frail glimmer of everything and not-anything but something reflecting in the amber tint of those glasses.

But was it all for naught?

When Thunder Ryu could no longer hold the beam of Speed Buster's gun at bay -- knuckles paled to a bleached, bony white, slate grey eyes staring death down the bridge of his nose, and immobile stance faltering before the overwhelming pressure -- Travis could only watch helplessly as his master succumbed to oblivion's numb embrace.

Before he died, Thunder Ryu -- the old man Travis secretly saw as a father, grandfather, and mentor figure during the years of diligent training in the art of swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat -- imparted his final words to his most prized student: To perfect the beam katana. Aim for the top, for he had nothing left to teach young Travis.

Only when the blade's synchronicity in his grasp the hard-fought, sweat-drenched, blood-soaked, tear-stained power would be his and his alone to carry.

But was it all for naught?

When Missus Christel told Travis that he had been conned by her daughter -- that there was no such thing as a United Assassins Alliance, no ranked battles or assassins hunting him down to claim his title -- he could not believe what he had heard. What was he fighting for, then? What was the point of these games? What the hell did Sylvia take him for?

"Another sorry kid," sighed the mother. "You are not her first."

When Travis trekked through Santa Destroy, chasing after the black-suited person who took off on his Schpeltiger, he wondered why he was still playing this charade.

When he was riding across the countryside on the open highway with the castle looming ever closer in the hazy sunset horizon, he thought back to the day when his life was changed forever. The day his parents were brutally murdered. The day the girl robbed him of everything and not-nothing he knew and loved. The day he decided to become an assassin.

But was it all for naught?

When Dark Star (A father? A stranger? An opponent? Travis didn't care) urged him to remember that face, that name in his mind's darkest corners that refused to be uttered, that memory he could see flickering like an old silent film behind those lens with such vivid clarity, the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place.

When Jeane told him about her past -- of the lie their father lived, of the double life she lead as a sex slave, of the revenge she yearned to enact on the man who made her waking moments a living, breathing, sentient hell -- her reason of justice, albeit convoluted, made sense.

When he bid her good night and cut her in three, gave his former love and the half-sister he never knew til now the last merciful act he would ever make -- he held no cruel apathy or resentment towards her. Though he was saddened by this loss, he still cared deeply for her. Because of that epiphany, he felt oddly at peace.

But was it all for naught?

When Travis asked Henry why he was addressing him as if they were friends, Henry smirked, pushed his katana against the Tsubaki MKIII, and said: "Because I'm your twin brother!"

When he told him Sylvia was his wife of ten years, Travis couldn't help but think he was part of one messed up family.

But was it all for naught?

After a good minute, Travis Touchdown decided that no, not everything was for naught. He learned who killed his parents. He learned who his father was behind his facade and why Jeane did what she did. He learned why Sylvia manipulated him and who 'Mister Sir Henry Motherfucker' turned out to be.

So what next?

Ah yes. . . . The exit to Paradise?

He had to find it. But how? Where would he find it?

"I want to bail, but there's no way out, is there?"

"That's right. All we can do is keep running."

"Then let's find that exit they call Paradise."

Now if he could just get the beam right up to Henry's Adam's apple, then not-everything and not-anything but something would be worth all the trouble and habberdashing in the end. . . .