My eyes opened to the sunlight creeping through the broken window above me. At one time, I'd be tempted to roll over and try to block it out, but those days had long passed. With the rising sun would come the heat of the day, up in the nineties Fahrenheit even this early. It wasn't a stuffy, humid heat like some sort of south Asian jungle. This was the heat of desert, and it hit like a hammer. Without a groan or complaint, I climbed out of my sleeping bag and met the day with a smile. I'm a hero after all. People don't want to see a hero frown.
The room was nothing to speak of, and it was a far cry from the house of my father, Emiya Kiritsugu. Instead of a nice tatami floor, my sleeping bag was laid over wet concrete and broken plaster. The wallpaper was almost nonexistent, and about twenty years ago it was probably red. Maybe this was a child's room, or a couple's. I didn't know anymore. This apartment was a microcosm of this country at large, ownerless.
There was one thing I tended to do at the beginning of big days. I reached into my duffle bag that was resting on the broken counter and took out the two items that I treasure the most. The pendant went around my neck, and for a moment I clutched it with my right hand. It was still warm, and even though it was dangerous to wear a ruby red necklace openly, it was a gift from the girl who saved my life, and the woman I respect the most in this world. The second was a picture that came out of a manila folder. It was faded, and frayed at the edges but I could still see the pair clearly. Two girls, smiling mischievously at the cameraman with a high school gate as the backdrop. They had just graduated and were showing off their diplomas. One was the girl that gave me my pendant, Tohsaka Rin. The other was the girl that I used to love.
It hit me then that I may in fact still love her. I'm first to admit that I have no real concept of self, so love is hard to recognize. Still, my chest hurt a bit when I saw the way her light brown hair framed her eyes, and the smile that was so similar to that of the girl next to her. I used to think that they practiced it. They were best friends after all. I guess I did love her. When I thought about my future, after becoming a Hero of Justice the next thing I wanted to do was return to Japan and marry her. That was assuming she still loved me. There was little chance that she still cared for the man that disappeared for years at a time, even with the explanation I gave her. She was a strong willed girl, and I expected that she had already moved on entirely. I put the picture in the back pocket of my dark pants and finish getting dressed. For today, I had set out my usual attire for this line of work. A dark button down shirt with a Kevlar tactical vest, as well as an earpiece and dark sunglasses was put on with practiced efficiency. I was sure my father would be proud. I wore a utility belt as well, filled with high tensile strength wire, binoculars, flares, and a variety of blades and grenades. A pack on the back held a folded red coat that I only wear during the worst possible weather.
The next room was my armory of sorts. I opened the door that was missing a hinge and moved into what I think used to be a bathroom. The mirror was in pieces and a thick layer of grime covered everything. The faucets didn't work, but that was to be expected. Nothing worked in this city. My weapons were in the shattered bathtub. The self-loading handgun was strapped to my right leg and the assault rifle, an AKS-74 with a skeleton stock, was slung over my shoulder. Rin always told me that it wasn't fitting for a magus to use weapons like these. She always said that I should rely on my magic. Unfortunately though, my projection was less than adequate to deal with the human problems that a hero of justice faced all too often. Maybe if I could project freely, I'd be able to keep from killing people who threaten the weak. Maybe my power would be able to really save everyone, and not just those within my sight.
I smiled at myself in the broken mirror, as reassuring myself that I would reach that ever-distant dream. If you saw a picture of me in my high school days, you'd never recognize me now. My hair was losing its color and my skin had become dark, though I'm not sure if it was from this heavy sun or thaumaturgical overuse. My eyes were still mine, and so was my smile though. I had a reason to smile. Recently I had finally realized the identity of the Red Knight, that nameless Archer from so many years before. I knew I could become a Hero of Justice because, without even knowing it, I had met Heroic Spirit Emiya. I couldn't know this for sure, but when I looked into the mirror now, it was that man that looked back at me. I just had to keep going. I knew I could do it because I already had.
I heard the sounds of the morning, gunfire of all sorts. Firefights in the street were a daily occurrence here. There was no president, government or even a police station. A vicious warlord ruled and the governments of the world were content to watch on without acting. Still, a few weeks ago the United Nations ordered that aid be delivered, and today that aid was coming here.
There was a problem though. The warlord in charge of this run down city would definitely try to take the food and medicine for himself. With the arms dealers that arrived daily, he had his own personal militia. In the close confines of the city, the UN forces would be drawn into a meat grinder. I had tried to arrange a meeting with him a few days ago. I had planned to attempt to convince him that he would have a better chance at remaining in power if he treated the people well, but all I got was a savage beating from some of his men. If I hadn't reinforced my body, I might have died then and there.
Now I was left with a single option. I could trust the UN to disperse the aid well if the warlord's leadership was fractured. So, to save the innocent, two guilty men needed to meet their end. The warlord and his second in command needed to die. I had their pictures laid out on the rusted table in the kitchen. It didn't bother me. I knew all along that I wouldn't be able to get by without killing. When I'm too weak to even project ten times a day, there's no way I could survive with that alone. So every day I worked harder. I practiced my magecraft in hopes of strengthening my circuits. One day I'd be able to do it all without any deaths, but not today. I just hoped two was all it took.
I moved to the door of the apartment, and had to correct myself when I started to think of it as 'mine'. It wasn't, and I knew it. I put on a cap as I prepare to leave. People with guns on their shoulder were common, but foreigners weren't. It would be best not to get spotted until I got closer. I opened the door and walked into a rusted jungle of sweat and gunsmoke. I stepped down the hall towards the stairs as a woman dragged her child inside with a fearful look on her face. I gently nodded to her and smiled at her son with closed eyes.
"It'll be ok," I said in their language, but I wasn't sure she understood. As a Japanese man, some languages were harder to grasp than others, and that one was basically gibberish to me.
The hall on this floor hadn't been cleaned in months. Trash was starting to pile up and most doors had broken locks. Thievery was all too common, but usually not out of malice. Most people were just trying to survive. It would all be different soon. Once the hero dealt with the villains, everyone would live happily ever after.
I was down the stairs in a flash, stepping over addicts passed out and people beaten nearly to death. I stopped to patch up a man whose been stabbed. He pleaded with me to save his family as I wrapped his wound with white gauze. They'd been taken by the warlord. I smiled, and told him I would. Then he asked me who I was.
"The good guy," I said. It was best to reply that way. I never tell people why I fight. Telling them my name would only make them more suspicious of me.
The street was unpaved, and the dust swirled everywhere. I tucked my pendant under my shirt and wrapped a cloth over my mouth. I looked like the classic "Operator" that always appeared in American action movies. As I crossed the street bustling with twelve year old cars and screaming women I switched on my earpiece. It had multi-channel functionality and could tap into different networks at the same time. With this, I could simultaneously listen to the warlord's men and to the UN forces that were approaching fast.
Across the street was a bazaar. The already sweltering heat was trapped under the overhangs, creating a crowded oven that I've never been able to adapt to. I gently pushed past dozens of unemployed civilians. Thousands were homeless and many more didn't have food to eat, much less feed their children. They wore rags and desperately bartered for what they could with the scraps they scavenged in the massive junkyards that circle the city. It made me wonder how this city remained in one piece. True human nature was at work here. People, for the most part, worked together to stay alive. The warlord's men would crack down on people hoarding food, so the citizens spread it out and hid it. Some stole, some murdered and some raped, but the people here were still good, just like everywhere else. They deserved better than the hand they were dealt.
Ahead of me was the edge of the warlord's domain. There was a distinct gap between the bazaar and the chain link fence. Guards stood at one of the gaps in the wall, fingers on the triggers of their old AK model weapons. The civilians kept their distance, furtively glancing at the soldiers. They knew that the guards may open fire at any time. While I call them soldiers, the reality is far different. They wear no uniform or badge. They don't follow the rules of war, and they make this city a living hell for those that live here. Most of the crime in the city was actually caused by the warlord's guards. They did it for fun, and loved the power they held over the people.
They looked past me at first, thinking that I was one of them. The clothing did it really. Not many people wore tactical vests, so they must have thought I was one of the higher ups. It was too late when they noticed my hair. Before they could react, the first was already falling. My open palm had struck him on the point of the nose, cracking the bone and spraying blood everywhere. He fell, blinded and in pain. The second was barely able to raise his rifle when my fist hit him square in the throat. He gasped for breath that would not come, and my next punch knocked him out entirely.
I drew a single edged knife from my belt. It was certainly easier just to use weapons I had on me. Through these dark alleys lay the way to the hotel. It was probably the single nicest place in the city, and rumors had it that the warlord himself resided there. Of course, I knew better than to trust rumors. I had confirmed his presence personally. I moved at a full sprint towards the building in the distance. There were guards stationed every hundred meters or so, but I managed to avoid most of them. They weren't well trained and were more worried about their next meal than a threat to their boss.
As I got closer to the hotel, something slammed into me from the side. I was knocked from my feet and rolled to escape heavy blows that followed me. I rose with my knife in a defensive posture, ready to take on any attacker. One of the guards, barely a kid, was swinging at me with what looked like a cricket bat. He was scared, and I empathized with him. I was in a hurry though, and didn't have time to talk him down. He swung again and I ducked under it. As I got close, I stabbed my knife into his calf and slammed my fist into his groin. I've done this dozens of times. It's not crippling, won't cut an artery, and hurts like hell.
"Stay still," I said before I ran on. The alley quickly opened up to a large parking lot. In modern cities, it would probably be filled with luxury cars. Here the only things parked were wrecks. They were scattered about, some burning. The smell of petroleum was thick in the air. Still, it was open ground and I moved fast. There were four guards at the door of the hotel. One of them saw me as I approached and let loose a burst from his assault rifle. The bullets hit all around me, but none struck home. I ripped the handgun off my leg and fired accurate shots. They landed around the guards' legs, and as I expected they broke and ran. They weren't disciplined in the slightest.
I pulled a tear gas grenade from my belt as I entered the hotel. I tossed ahead of me and the soldiers playing cards at the front desk scattered like roaches threatened with Raid. I fired two bullets into the wall to convince them to remain elsewhere. A burst of fire came at me from an open door nearby I ducked behind the front counter and waited it out, clenching my teeth as the bullets hit the metal and wood shielding me. Then I stood and emptied my pistol at the doorway. The return fire ceased, but I wasn't sure if I had just scared him off or if he had run out of ammunition entirely. For a second, I was concerned about the safety of the guards, but that quickly passed. I might have been willing to save the lives of my enemies, but I wasn't stupid.
I checked my surroundings as I reloaded. The hotel was nice, nicer than I had expected. A fine rug covered the floor and the ceiling was tiled. The lights were all working and the elevator seemed to be in order as well. Only a stupid attacker would take the elevator though, and I turned left and right looking for the stairs. To the right was a marble staircase, and I made my way towards the top floor. Suddenly I was under intense fire. Someone below must have radioed upstairs. Militiamen poured fire at me from behind stone pillars above. I ducked behind a pillar of my own. The fire was too intense for me to lean out and observe, much less return it. This was bad. If I didn't move, I would be surrounded and gunned down. Even now they could be rallying below. I heard footsteps coming down towards me and instinctively raised my pistol. A militiaman nearly walked past me, and before I could react, I had unconsciously pulled the trigger twice. He cried out as the bullets tore through his chest. He coughed blood and fell, rolling down the stairs. The militiamen above opened fire again, but it was less confident now. I leaned out and emptied my pistol at them. One was shot through the leg, and nearly fell. At the last moment his comrade in arms grabbed him and pulled him to safety. Then that man was struck in the hand. His scream echoed in the narrow stairway. His fingers had basically exploded, spraying blood and bits of bone everywhere. By now the accumulated blood had begun to drip down the white marble stairs, staining it dark red and making for slippery footing.
I took my chance here. Ten feet up on the other side of the stairway was a door. Before anyone could react, I had reached it and kicked it down. Beyond lay a long hallway, carpeted with the same maroon found in the lobby below. I sprinted down the hall. Every twenty feet or so was a door of dark wood, flanked by two exquisite lamps. Ten yards ahead, one of them opened, revealing a shirtless man loading an assault rifle. Before he could even lock the magazine in I had dropped him with an elbow to the face. I didn't even break stride as I charged the other end of the hallway. The door there opened and two men rushed in. Behind them I could see another stair, my ticket to the Warlord's room. These two were ready though, guns loaded and aimed. I was faster though. I fired my pistol, dropping one with a pair of shots to the chest, and the other with a lucky hit to the temple. I cursed as I passed their bodies. I had already achieved a higher body count than what I had hoped for.
I leaped out the hallway and began sprinting up the stairway once more. My handgun was out of magazines, so I quickly holstered it and unslung my assault rifle. A door opened a few steps up and a soldier stepped out, only to get the muzzle slammed into his stomach. As he fell, I stomped down on his knee to incapacitate him. A light fixture near my head shattered as more gunfire erupts from above. One of the shards slashed my forehead as it passed, and I quickly wiped away the blood before it could blind me. It stung, but wouldn't be crippling. I fired a wide burst from the hip, striking one of the militiamen in the shoulder. As the others dove for cover, I advanced with rifle raised. They looked up to see the barrel of my assault rifle and immediately cover their heads with their hands. They were in bad shape. Most didn't even have a single spare magazine, and their arms were so thin it looked like I could snap them by squeezing too hard. The warlord here starved his own men as well as the civilians. It was sick.
"You guys keeping a family here?" I growled. One of the men, boys really, nodded and ran into a nearby room before leading out a woman and child. The militiamen looked as scared as their hostages. The child looked at me with wide eyes. He had probably never seen a foreigner before. The mother tried not to look at anyone too closely, and simply kept a firm grip on her child's hand.
"Get the hell out of here. It's not safe!" I yelled to no one in particular as I ran further up the stairs. I hoped they decided to listen to me. This life wasn't their fault. Militiamen like them are always scarred on the inside and out. They were broken, and it scared me to think that if I were born somewhere else, it could have happened to me.
I crested the top of the staircase, and immediately stumbled backwards as something struck my chest. It felt like I got hit by a steam powered piston, and I barely avoided falling back down the stairs. I clutched my chest as pain spiked through me. I had a broken rib, definitely, maybe two. The bullet that hit me was only stopped by the tactical vest I wore. With only a second to aim and with such low quality weapons, these guys were either really lucky or really good. In the five seconds it took me to reload my rifle, I'd made a decision. There was no way the personal guards of the warlord were hired guns. These guys worked with him every day, and knew exactly what kind of man they were dealing with. It left me with little choice. I switched the weapon to semi-automatic fire and spun out of cover.
There were two men using the wide double doors at the end of the hall as cover. I fired twice, but they simply ducked back and avoided the shots. I continued to shoot as I advanced. If I could keep them pinned, then I could close and kill them. I advanced, firing slowly, but enough to make them keep their heads down. I approached, and as soon as I saw the first one, I dropped him with a shot to the chest. The other reacted, but my limbs were flowing with prana. The last shot in my magazine punched through his forehead and splattered the wall with his brains. He hit the ground with a loud thump as I reloaded. I advanced carefully, panning the rifle around to search for more targets. Two more men opened fire at me, and I felt my vest struck twice more. One round glanced off my rifle and I quickly dropped it in reflex I rolled forward towards them as bullets struck all around me. I ripped the knife from my belt and threw it. One of the men cried out as it pierced his shoulder, and by then I was standing. An image formed in my head, and I concentrated my magic.
"Trace. On." I said as two blades appeared in my hands. They were opposites and twins at the same time, Kanshou and Bakuya. The favorite swords of the Red Knight had become my favorite weapons as well. They were easy to make, and easy to maintain. When I first projected them, they felt as natural as could be, like I had forged them myself. I breathed out, and the first sweep with the swords killed one of the men that shot me. The twin blades ripped across his chest in a heartbeat. The other struggled with my knife. It was protruding from his arm, but as I turned towards him, he drew a revolver and emptied it at me. Four of the shots missed, one glanced off the white sword in my left hand, and the last grazed my left thigh, drawing a spurt of blood. Bakuya punched through his ribcage in an instant. Then I breathed out and allowed the weapons to dissipate The two swords shattered like a broken window, disappearing into nothing.
The room was quiet, and I reached down to up one of the assault rifle's that was scattered across the ground. It was an AK-74, a lot like the gun I had brought with me. A bit old, but it would do. I raised my head suddenly as I heard a clatter from the right side of the room and turned to find a man pointing a gun at me with shaking hands. I calmly turned the assault rifle towards him and his shaking increased for a split second before he dropped the weapon. He crawled backwards until he ran out of room to flee, and curled into the fetal position to protect himself from me. The sight of a white haired man covered in blood must have terrified him.
"Please spare me!" He begged. "I'll give you anything you want! Money, weapons! Women?"
"I don't want any of that," I said. His face fell and his mouth opened. I didn't let him speak again. His body jerked as the heavy rounds tore through his chest and embedded themselves in the bed drawers behind him. Then he slumped to the side and gave out a final sigh. His chest pumped blood, staining the beige carpet crimson.
I quietly looked over the room. It was of a quality that even the most successful salarymen couldn't afford. Money and expensive drugs were stacked on the bed and the dresser was covered in jewelry and fine suits. It was finery that no one else in this country could even dream of. All this had been wasted on a murderer and a coward.
"You killed him!" came a shout from the bathroom. I turned quietly and immediately recognized the man that was standing in the doorway The rat-faced man before me was the second in command I had researched. He had advocated "culling" the population to keep order. I would hear none of his nonsense. I pulled the trigger twice more and nodded quietly to myself as his body fell back onto the tile floors. He was still twitching, coughing blood all over his front. I fired again, and the twitching stopped. It wasn't cruelty. Even an evil man doesn't deserve to suffer.
There was a radio on the dresser, probably used to give long ranging orders from the safety of the hotel. I dropped the rifle and began fiddling with the channels before eventually finding the one I wanted.
I cleared my throat and spoke, "Attention, your leader is dead. Lay down your weapons and return to your everyday lives. There is no reason to fight anymore." I said it all in the country's tongue. Hopefully it would discourage more resistance.
As I walked down the stairs, the militiamen that I had spared watched me go. There was no reason for them to try to avenge their boss. Maybe they would take my announcement to heart.
"What do we do now?" asked one of them. He was no more than fifteen, just a child. His eyes were like mine back then. He was empty, without a purpose in his life.
"Burn this building to the ground." I said. Nothing good could come from anything inside, not the money, not the drugs, not the weapons. "Burn it to the ground and help each other out, not as soldiers, but as people."
I didn't know if they understood, but I left without another word. My earpiece was crackling.
"Task force two," said a voice, "approaching the outskirts of the city. No hostile contact."
I smiled and broke into a run, moving as fast as my wounded body would carry me. I pumped prana into my limbs, reinforcing them as best I could. I had only projected once today, after all. In thirty minutes I managed to reach the large junkyard on the city's east side. From atop an industrial crane, I watched the armored vehicles enter the city to meet no resistance. I couldn't hear a single gunshot. As the sun reached its highest point, I smiled quietly. How many people had I saved today? A hundred? A thousand? Fifty thousand? I wasn't there yet, but I was getting close.
My name is Emiya Shirou, and today is November 8th, 2010.
