Chasing a Shattered Dream

A short story written by Wild Knightblazer

Title sounds horrifically emo, I know.

I doesn't own City of Heroes, except for the character concepts of Lee/Wild Knight and Ruth/Sharpye. I made up the name Battle Fox too, but that's probably an actual hero somewhere in the game.

This can be considered an alternate-universe sequel to Democracy, my previous COH story – thankfully, the Wild Knight is still actually a perfectly-in-good-standing level 50 scrapper, but the idea of the Crey arc ending in a not-nearly-as-pleasant manner was, in fact, the basis of my main villain character.

Ruth wasn't exactly sure what it was that unnerved her about this place. All things considered, it was supposed to be even more of a DMZ than the actual DMZ in the Rikti War Zone. No villains (or heroes) could pick a fight without a bouncer being alerted and forcibly ejecting the offender from the club. Even if there was no physical violence involved, verbal harassment would be more than enough to shout for help and have DJ Zero or one of the bouncers coming down on the offender.

All things considered, she should have felt safe.

But hell, maybe it was just the presence of so many villains around her, or maybe the fact that the entire club was just hanging in extra-dimensional space (or some equally technobabble-riffic term like that), that sent shivers down her spine as she sat down at the bar on the heroes' side and ordered some seltzer.

"Too young for alcohol, my lady?" a man in blue tights and a strange design on his chest said, smiling at her and tipping his glass.

"I'm twenty-one, thank you very much," Ruth said, something she instantly knew she would regret.

"Ah, then I may have the pleasure of buying you a drink?"

"I'm taken," she said shortly, knowing full well that she wasn't. "If you're trying to pick me up, piss off. I'm so not in the mood for that tonight."

The man blinked, and Ruth was ready to whip out one of her throwing knives if he planned to continue…but mercifully, he simply muttered a quick apology and stood, taking his glass elsewhere. He gave her a quick salute before he was out of sight – a gesture she didn't return, but appreciated all the same.

"That was cold," another man said, and she sighed before she turned to the newest person to accost her. "Not in the mood, huh?"

"No, I'm not," she said, giving him a severe look. "And fork the club rules, I will stab you in the eye if you even so much as glance at me funny."

"Take it easy. Sheesh. I'm just here for something from Paragon's wine factory." The man shrugged his armored shoulders. "I haven't had one of in a while, I miss them."

Ruth grunted, took the glass of seltzer water she was offered, and took a sizable gulp. "Whatever." She placed a coin on the counter, which the bartender accepted gratefully before he turned to the armored man.

…Wait. He misses them?

Out of the corner of her eye, she took another glance at the man sitting next to her. Although he looked the very image of "holy knight" with his white armor, the various blood-red markings that streaked it ruined the effect. Even worse was the scar across his eye, and the equally blood-red war paint streaked across his face in what was presumably an attempt to cover the scar.

…Oh, and he's a brute from the Rogue Isles. Lovely.

Still, he was being much less of a sleaze than the so-called hero in blue tights, so she simply shrugged and returned to her seltzer, shielding her eyes from the bright flashing lights coming from the main dance floor.

"Bloody hate loud places like these," the Brute suddenly said, jerking Ruth to attention again. To her surprise, he wasn't even looking at her as he spoke – he had turned his stool away from the bar and was leaning back against it as he sipped his drink. "I'm going to end up with a migraine if I stay too long."

Ruth hesitated, knowing he was trying to talk with her…but again, hell, he's being better about it than blue-tights-man. "Then…why are you here? Paragon's wine isn't that good."

The Brute laughed harshly. "Say you, perhaps. I suppose it wasn't all that brilliant, but after months in the Rogue Isles, having the chance to go for some Paragon wine is like striking gold, especially if you've had some before."

Ruth's lips tightened. "Well, shame you had to throw that away and get arrested, huh?" She knew she was speaking presumptuously, but she also had a fair chance of being right – for some odd reason, the majority of villains from the Rogue Isles seemed to be made up of escaped convicts from the Zig. They really need to think about tightening their security.

The Brute chuckled. "Shame indeed."

And suddenly, Ruth blinked. Because the tone in his voice suddenly rang a bell. She sat straight up and surveyed the man again – white armor. Opposite of black. Blood-red streaks. Still red-colored. Black cape that was tattered. Possible. And two swords – they're rapiers, but that hilt design…

…No. No goddamn way.

"Lee?" she whispered quietly – and yet, somehow, over the noise of the club, the Brute heard her and snapped to attention before he could think.

"…What'd you say?" he asked quickly, his armored fingers drumming against his glass. "Do you perhaps have me mistaken for someone else?"

"…No," she said, standing up. "No, I don't think I do, Lee Roland."

There it was again – the Brute flinched. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Stop being coy, you idiot!" she snapped, suddenly reaching up, grabbing her mask, and pulling it off, revealing her face to him. "It's me! Ruth! You haven't honestly forgotten me, have you?!"

The Brute – Lee, formerly the Wild Knight – looked at her for a second before his lips tightened and he swung his seat around. "Of course not. However, you would do best to forget me. I'm not worth it anymore."

"How the hell can you say that?!" Ruth almost shouted, clenching her fists. "You realize how painful it's been for me? For us?! I mean, god, Teresa's been almost in constant tears since we saw your face in the news, and you've been in the freakin' Rogue Isles without-"

She stopped speaking very quickly – possibly due to the rapier at her throat.

"Sir!" the bartender said sharply, throwing down his rag and picking up a taser. "Move an inch and I'm going to be forced to restrain you!"

Lee sat there, glaring at Ruth from under an overgrown fringe, before he retracted his sword and placed it back at his side. "Sorry. I'm a little high-strung…I won't do it again."

"You better not," the bartender grumbled, putting the taser in a pocket on his apron.

"…God damn," Ruth whispered, unable to move. "You really have changed. I can't believe you would've ever done that to someone you considered a friend."

"Don't get me wrong. I treasure my times with you two." Lee returned his gaze to his glass of wine. "But as I said…things are different now, and you would do best to forget that you ever had a connection with Lee Roland. It will only get you in trouble."

Ruth clenched and unclenched her fists. "…Will you at least do me the courtesy of telling me what happened? Why you haven't come back?"

"You try getting back into Paragon City with a criminal record without a licensed hero swooping down and beating the shit out of you," Lee said simply. "There's nothing I can do to challenge that criminal record – and believe me, I tried. I fought my hardest to overturn that arrest warrant, I pleaded my case the best I could. But Countess Crey had everything and everyone in her pocket – from my incompetent lawyer to the judge himself. There was nothing to be done."

"…You didn't…"

"And then once I was in the Zig…everything changed," he said quietly, not looking at her. "No, I don't mean I suddenly 'saw the light' of villainy or anything lame like that. But I saw the worst of humanity in there. And I knew I was a victim of the worst of humanity."

Ruth stood there. "…What…what do you mean by that?"

Lee considered his wineglass for a minute before he finally replied: "…Prison changes you, Sharpye."

Ruth flinched noticeably. …He used my hero name. We never used our hero names with each other.

"It did things to my mind. Especially being in such close proximity to villains I myself had arrested. I saw and heard things I never would've dreamed of." He gave a small snort. "Thankfully I was never the prison bitch. But it did happen. Just not to me."

"That's a lovely thought," Ruth found herself saying, falling back to the snappy comebacks they always used.

"I know." For the first time, he stood up straight and looked at her – still carrying his wineglass. "You want to know what's even better? The stories of hero brutality. Of so-called heroes taking sadistic pleasure in beating or otherwise torturing their opponents before arresting them. So-called heroes who saw the world, the city, everything in it as nothing more than a set of numbers, a math problem to be solved on their way to the top, and fuck those who got in the way."

Ruth swallowed. "…You heard those stories from cellmates?"

"I did."

"What the hell inclines you to believe a bunch of real criminals? A group that you definitely had no membership in?"

"Because one of them was Battle Fox."

The name was like a slap to Ruth. "…What?"

"Battle Fox. The hero who saved our lives more than once. The hero who stopped to give us help, who deigned to bring us with him when he was assigned to the deadliest villains." Lee's expression did not change in the slightest. "He was my cellmate. And he had a story of hero brutality to go along with his arrest. For a crime he actually did commit."

Ruth wanted to shout. She wanted to accuse him of lying, to slap him across the face, to shake his shoulders and snap him out of it. And yet she could not move.

Because I know he's telling the truth.

"It's interesting when an idol of yours goes bad," Lee said. "You find yourself trying to defend their actions, even though they admitted those actions were wrong. He asked me that question. 'You're not my lawyer. Why are you defending what I've done? I've accepted the fate that is mine and mine alone. Why can't you?' Never found a satisfactory answer to that."

"So you just accepted it?" she said, her fists shaking. "You just 'accepted the fate that is yours alone'?"

Lee shrugged his armored shoulders – the same pauldrons he wore as a hero, just painted different colors. "What else could I do? You saw where fighting the system got me."

Ruth had no witty comeback to that. But for the love of god, I wish I did. "…How did you escape?"

"Same way several hundred other villains escaped," Lee said matter-of-factly. "Arachnos forces, blew a hole in the side of the Zig, air-lifted several hundred villains out, I was among them. Nothing much to it. Other than that, though, I've avoided as much contact with Arachnos forces as I can."

"Then who do you work for?"

"Who said it was for anyone?" Lee replied shortly. "I'm just trying to survive. That's all anyone can ask for in the Rogue Isles." He finished the last of the wine and placed the glass back on the counter, along with a sizable tip for the bartender – who clearly didn't appreciate having to pull out the taser earlier, but he took the money and the glass without complaint. "And now, if you'll excuse me, it's back to survival of the fittest."

And he started to walk away.

For a second, Ruth just stood there, trying to comprehend what had just happened. And then: "Wait! Hold on a minute, you moron!"

The Wild Knight stopped short. "…Moron? Stretching a little thin, are we?"

"Well, you are!" Ruth said, clenching her fist. "I mean, what, that's it? You just give up and head for the Rogue Isles? You leave me behind? You leave Teresa behind?!" She walked straight up to him and grabbed his shoulder, trying to spin him around so she could look at him in the eye – but he stood solid as a statue. "You leave behind that abstract idea of justice that you've been searching for your entire career? You just give up on it?"

The two super-powered beings stood there for a moment, in the midst of a de-militarized zone, barely on the fringe of the mob of other super-powered beings cutting loose and having a good time.

"…I didn't just do anything," Lee said so quietly, it was a wonder Ruth heard him at all. "And I am insulted that you think so. I did my best. I held on to the idea of catching 'justice' as long as I could. But it evaporated into nothingness when an Arachnos Night Widow told me I was one of Arachnos's 'Destined Ones.' Something I took to be a crock of shit – along with abstract, high-minded, foolish ideas of other such concepts." He reached up to his shoulder and clasped her hand gently, removing it from his shoulder. "Including justice."

"…Then what about us?" Ruth asked weakly, her hand seeming to melt inside the Wild Knight's gauntlet – and I'm not even sexually attracted to him. "Me and Teresa? You're the best friend we've ever had. And you're leaving us?"

"What else can I do?" Lee said shortly. "The last thing I want is to drag you two down with me." Finally, he turned around, still holding her hand with delicacy seen rarely in the Rogue Isles' population. "As I said earlier. You two would be better off to forget me. Forget you ever had contact with the Wild Knight. Swear off any relations you had with him, especially if the authorities ask, and condemn his actions. And should we meet on the battlefield, I would be insulted if you two did not fight me at your best."

I feel my heart cracking in two. I feel my hand barely able to move in his grasp.

"I hold nothing against you. Either of you. You were the greatest friends I ever had, and I loved you both." He squeezed her hand – again, gently, delicately, a gesture one would not expect from someone called a Brute. "But I can't go back. Not now that I know what I know. I'm done with the old life, because the dream that the old life chased for so long has been shattered."

"…Then what will you do?"

"Find a new dream," he said simply. "I'm resourceful. You guys know that. I think I can pull that off, at least." He shrugged. "As for actually achieving that dream? Who knows. Maybe I'll have better luck this time."

I can't say anything. I've never felt so speechless in my life – but she finally began to feel the drips of tears falling down her cheeks.

"Don't cry," he said, reaching up with his other hand and brushing her cheek so as to wipe away a tear. "You two are strong on your own – stronger than you realize. You'll make it."

"Will we?" she asked, barely audible over the club noise.

"You will," he said simply, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "I believe in you."

And then he released her, turned around, threw his cape back behind him, and was gone.

Hiding, likely forever, in the criminal underworld of the Rogue Isles.

And Sharpye – Ruth Harrison – stood in the middle of Pocket D and, in spite of his request, cried.

That's all. Questions, problems, traumas, concerns, etc., please leave a review at the door. And take a look at Democracy, if it so pleases you. That one is in sore need of some hits. (end shameless self-promotion)