A/N: Welp I'm back. Thanks for the reviews everyone.
Act II: Across the Valley
Part I: Trees of the Haunted Forest
Volume 24 - The Salt of Trust
[ - R.O.B. - ]
Wednesday, 26th August, 2076
Master was not in the home - I did not know where Master went.
"Roar." The Cat scratched his chin more thoughtfuller. The Cat very was weird - the way he acted was confusing. He was curious about everything. He was curious about anything. I did not really understand why he was curious about everything; I did not really understand at all.
My new arms were red. The base of my body was now red. The metal still sparkled more nicely. The Cat poked my arm; I saw him.
I whirred. WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?
The Cat raised his shoulders. The Cat pointed at my arm and pointed his thumb to the ceiling. I felt like he liked it.
I. DO NOT. UNDERSTAND. YOU.
The Cat shrugged. "Rmh." He moved to the back of the room. The 'garage', Master called it, the 'garage'. Really, Master had not been home a lot these last days. The day before yesterday. And yesterday, too. I very missed Master. But if Master was out, I thought he might be busy.
It might be okay if he was busy. Master did a very lot of jobs.
Master made me a long time ago. Master built me in 2063. In between Tournament 64 and Tournament Melee. He built me in his house with the big garage. Upstairs, there was a big dining room with beautiful lights and a fireplace. His house had the very big garden outside. Just like this one here.
Master made me for his son. Master made me for his wife too. Their names were Anastasia and Constantin.
Anastasia was a long lady, almost more longer than Master. She was born in the Friday the 16th of September of 2033 and I thought she looked more younger for her age. She was only a few bits shorter than Master himself. Anastasia very was smart and worked at a clinic. A medical clinic. That was where people got treated for illnesses when they were sick. Anastasia 'changed people through food' and she always said that but I never really understood what she meant. Food goes in and out of people. Electricity goes in and out of me.
Electricity does not change me. Therefore food does not change people. But she was very smart. Master always praised her for very being smart.
So I never questioned it.
Constantin was also smart. He was born in the Saturday the 25th of July of 2054. He was also long. But he was not as long as Master. He liked wiping me down in the nights and he was more gentler than most children. They would scratch and pull and everything and it would hurt a bit in some places; I did not very like the children much. Sometimes I would push them away if they were too much. But Constantin was different. Constantin understood the amount of work Master did so that I would not get scratched or dirty.
He very enjoyed playing around with the metal tools and wooden tools - the tools that were in the 'garage'. Or the tools that were in the big garden. Master taught and showed him how to use them, even on me. He learned things fast. His brain was fast. Very fast. He was like a smaller version of Master; Constantin was so quick.
I remember Saturday the 15th of August of 2065. Constantin cleaned me and wiped me down. We left the house in 19:32. Anastasia called a 'SmashCab' in 19:34. I did not understand why the cab was called a 'Smash' Cab if it was not going to be smashed. Constantin was very much that night. He was so happy, I was so happy.
"C'mon Robert! Aren't you excited too?"
A LITTLE.
He pouted. "Only a little?"
IT WILL. BE. FUN.
"That's more like it! He's already there, preparing his super cool moves! It's been almost four years; oh, I really can't wait! Ooh, it's gonna be so good!"
CAN. HE. BE. HURT?
"No no, it'll be fine, trust me," Constantin insisted. "Dad'll get the Falcon PAWWNCH, wait and see!"
"Don't wear him out, Constantin," Anastasia laughed. "Let R.O.B. see it for himself."
"Okaaay, Mom," he huffed.
Constantin had not been here for a while. Anastasia had not been here for a while. My last memory of them was two hundred and seventy two days, an hour and thirty-two minutes after that night. It was in Friday the 14th of May of 2066; a normal school day.
Master sat and relaxed on the sofa; the sofa was seven-and-a-half feet wide and built for three people. The sofa had small flowers on it. Anastasia steamed vegetables in the kitchen - she insisted on only eating vegetables. Constantin came home from school. Constantin asked me for assistance with his homework.
"How'dja do this one? I dungeddit."
MOVE. THE FOUR. TO THE. RIGHT. SIDE. Constantin nodded. THEN. MAKE IT. BECOME. A. NEGATIVE. FOUR.
"Why? Robby, this doesn't make any sense!" Constantin very was frustrated.
SLOW. CONSTANTIN. He pulled his hair but nodded. BOTH. SIDES. ARE EQUAL.
"Yeah…?"
YOU CAN. TAKE FOUR. FROM. BOTH. SIDES.
"Ah- ahh, okay," he murmured.
NEXT. DIVIDE. BOTH BY. THREE. YOUR. ANSWER. IS. X. EQUALS. TEN.
"You can do that too?" I nodded. "They never taught us that… Man, Ms. Garcia's so dumb."
SHE. IS. DUMB.
Constantin giggled. After they finished eating the vegetable-only dinner, Anastasia said goodnight to me. Master and Constantin wiped me down. He always wiped from the top to the bottom; it very felt satisfying to hear the sound of the cloth. Or "content", as Master often said. Constantin was sleepy, so Master sent him to bed.
"But Dad, tomorrow's a SATURDAY!"
"C'mon, kiddo," he said. "Up tah bed."
"Daad… I'm not even tired yet," Constantin whined. "If I try to sleep now, I'll only end up tossing and turning."
"I'll let ye read fer half an hour; how's that sound?" Master compromised.
"Okay," Constantin beamed. "Goodnight, Robert!"
GOODNIGHT. CONSTANTIN.
I watched him walk up the stairs slowly. Master waved to me. I waved back to him.
I a bit felt sad, seeing him leave. But I was happy for Master to get his rest; and for Constantin to sleep more.
But that was the last time I saw Constantin.
And the last time I saw Anastasia.
I had not seen them for a while.
I liked their company - I liked it when they were just with me.
I had not been home in a while either. I left home in 2069. I fought in the year 2069 in Tournament Brawl when Master took me over here. I had not seen home since then. Master was more quieter after that.
I did not miss that home that much. Not the big home with the big garage, not the home with the big garden.
But I was still very wondering where Anastasia had been. And where Constantin had been. They were out of the home one day and then I never saw them again.
This was in the big home with the big garage and with the big garden. I asked Master where they were. Once or twice I asked Master. Master did not respond. Master always very got angry when I asked. I did not really understand why he was angry. I did not really understand why he turned red either; maybe they died.
I did miss them.
"Hmh." The Cat turned to me. The Cat held a part in his hand. I thought then that he was like Constantin - the way he fiddled with things.
DO NOT. TOUCH. IT.
The Cat continued. "Raor." Perhaps it could not read.
ARE YOU. LISTENING. TO. ME?
The Cat turned around like he was trying to find more things. He twisted the wrench around his finger and dropped a piece of metal on the ground.
CAT! I beeped. His eyes widened until they were double their original size.
HELLO. WHAT. ARE YOU. DOING?
The Cat scratched his head "sheepishly". That seemed to be a correct application of the word. But I was concerned about the floor. I moved over to the spot. The spot where he dropped the tool - the sound it made very was loud and hollow too.
"Ihr," he said. The Cat pointed to the floor. He crouched, knocking the ground.
The noise was hollow.
I DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND.
The Cat ignored my message. "Hrrh." He moved along to the left and knocked the ground again. And then he moved again to the left. And knocked the ground again.
And again.
And again. The sound was no longer hollow after the fourth knock. The sound was more sharper.
The Cat moved back to the start and faced me. He gestured curiously at the floor, eyes becoming more wider.
"Incineroar?"
I peered. The end of the cable stuck to my back. I could not move any farther than ten feet from the charging point in the corner. So I peered over. I was curious.
The Cat ran a finger along the bottom. There was a black outline. A black square on the floor. WHAT. IS IT?
"Ro-ro-oar." He moved to the front and pointed. His pupils grew.
?
The Cat poked the front door more wilder.
DO. NOT. POKE.
"Reh," he commented. The Cat knocked at it instead; he was excited.
YOU. WANT. TO. GO. IN THE. HOUSE?
He shook his head 'vehemently'.
THE… DOOR?
The Cat confidently nodded, pointing with both hands. Then he pointed down at the square. And then he pointed back again at the door.
TWO DOORS?
"Roar!"
THERE. IS. ANOTHER. DOOR?
"Rwarh!" His teeth shined in the basement light.
I saw no handle. Or bar to unlock the door. I could not see it. And the black outline was faint. I could barely see that either. I had never before seen a door to the basement.
But The Cat was saying different.
He was saying there was a hidden basement in the house.
[ - Mac - ]
Thursday, 27th August, 2076
Are we still on for tonight? I typed into the brick.
Lines of a childish social nervousness I'd not experienced since the school years etched themselves across my forehead when I knocked at the door to unit 17.
There was no response by the time the wooden panel shifted inwards to reveal a tired Byleth's face. It softened as I moved into the frame.
"Morning," Byleth said softly.
"Morning. Fancy coming in, young master Mac?"
"I'll take you up on that, thanks." The door slammed shut behind me.
"That hinge is a little bit loose for my liking," she noted, scratching her side.
"Yeah, that thing was slammin' around quite a bit yesterday."
"You don't say," she commented.
"Tea?"
I spun around to see Byron carrying in full gothic clothing. "Thanks, B. I-I really don't mind; water's fine too if you're not bothered, hah." Their unit was similar in layout to mine, except the stairs were on the left and were parallel to the entrance; it also had switched places with the kitchen peninsula.
The similarities finished there. The duo placed two cushionless chairs in the place of a couch - fine enough for eating a brief meal, but their backs and seats seemed solid to the point of discomfort. Wooden patterns adorned the sides. They were artistic and elegant, yet I couldn't help feeling a little bit unsettled in their presence; hell, perhaps… sterile would be the right word - not in the 'infertile' sense - but dry, old and in some aloof way, depressing, foreign; and what was best of all was the fact that they had a TV, but it hadn't been turned on or plugged in. The remote was nowhere to be found either.
The entire living room, if you could call it that, was spacious for that very reason. They're from a different time altogether. I watched as B poured the water. The man's quietness made me realise I'd never properly taken a look at him.
The first thing that really struck me about their strange, strange outfits were the fact that they were robes - not t-shirts, not jeans, no, robes. B's robes were fitted more like a medieval tunic with sleeves. He had a tall, lean form, perhaps just shy of six feet tall - along with his relative quietness, one might take him as someone lacking in confidence, yet there was stoic power in his silence; in fact, an enviable sort of masculine grace might be a more appropriate descriptor of the man's air. B's clothing was thick and seemed like it should impede his movement, but somehow seemed to flow with him as he set the kettle down. "Here."
"Thanks a bunch, man. Don't mean to trouble you."
"Don't sweat it," she told me. "You're welcome in our house, young master Mac."
"Thank you, Byleth." I spun on my toes, waggling my eyebrows. It took me some half a second to find her - she was a good four or five inches shorter than me. In fact, I'd barely noticed the height difference at first. Heather grey tendrils of smoke flickered, lashing into dark wisps as they licked out towards her pupils, where their lives ended. "How have you been settling in?"
"Well enough." B nodded, affirming his sister's statement. "Everything is… interesting, to say the least. We have figured out how to use the white… switches along the door.
"I see you've figured out how to use the kettle too, hm." The white device sat upon a stand on the kitchen top with an orange lever that would flick towards O or I depending on whether the fluid inside was finished boiling.
"He did, not I," Byleth said. "It wasn't much of a hassle to us."
"You have kettles back there too?" B gave a knowing smile. I realised what I had asked them, and I nearly shat myself.
Are you a human vegetable?
"A form of them," she snorted. "No, er, elleck…?"
"Electricity."
"No electricity. Your invention makes daily life very convenient, though, I will add."
"Not mine." I wonder if their environment was exactly like the people in the medieval ages did. "I know this sounds out of the blue, but, uh, what was your life like over there?"
Byleth leaned against the fridge tentatively, as though the frigid metal box was going to eat her. "Well, we were mercenaries, Byron and I; in essence, military work for the clothes on our backs and the food in our stomachs. We operated under a church. I suppose the power of such institutions in this world, in your world, has diminished; but they were not only places of religion in times past.
"For the organisation, we protected caravans, guarded treasures, and other jobs of the like. If and when it came to it… we killed." There was a hint of regret in the girl's eyes, but it was guarded by a mask of stoicism. "And on other days, people we knew were killed. We have experienced loss, Mac."
"That's unfortunate, Byleth. I'm sorry to hear that." Despite the dislikable, hot headed reaction that the girl had to the entire situation yesterday, it seemed more understandable, given her upbringing, if it could be called that. Yet, it still unnerved me slightly that Byleth had killed and was capable of killing. I was somewhat numb to it - seeing as her brother seemed to keep her in check.
"Don't sweat it, Mac," she said calmly. "We're used to it."
"How'd you end up over here, then?" I watched B drag a broom across the floor.
"The church," Byleth recalled, sipping her glass casually. "We were introduced to this tournament in exchange for wealth and for funds provided to the organisation. Byron and I decided to take it for that."
"Hm."
"How about you, young master Mac?" Playful sarcasm lined her words.
"I… well, no one aside from me, my boxing coach, my parents and my best friend know about this dimension in my home dimension. So for all official purposes, I'm still there. One of the tournament organisers from this world thought I'd make a good match for the fighters, for some reason - I was about sixteen, by the way, this was 2072…? 2073?" I waved a hand. "Some time like that. Y'know, I'd be an underdog. Dad said yes, mom said no; big fight, dad convinced mom, and interdimensional travel did its thing, and here we are."
"Huh." B's lip curled in thought in the background as he swept the dust off the carpet onto the side.
"Yeah, I know. Kinda ludicrous, right?"
"That is 'kinda' ludicrous, Lord," Byleth grinned, placing her water on the countertop. "By the way, Mac, what brought you to our house today, anyways?"
"Uhh… I guess I did want to check in on you guys, but…" Her puzzled look prompted me to continue. "I want to allay your fears about Palu."
She squinted, instinctively grabbing the glass again. "Go on."
"Palu…" Don't reveal anything about the attack, Mac. This hasn't been publicised on TV and in the news for a goddamn reason. "Y'know what Before anything else, I want to understand why you distrust her so much." That was my best move, likely.
Byleth sighed. "Oh Lord. Had we been discovered prior to our official debut, the non-disclosure agreement legally permitted our immediate disqualification from the tournament. Our Black Cards would have been revoked, Mac," she said. "Is that not worrying or concerning at all to you?"
"I get that. I really do." I sighed. "Look - perhaps I come from, or, well, grew up in a different background to you - in fact, I really do," I commented, gesturing towards the black screen of the unplugged television, "but I want to express that there's little to fear here. Or, more like, there's no-one to fear here.
"As of right now, we don't have any way of knowing why the disguises don't work any more. And the fact of the matter is, they didn't work for me, Jane, or Pit either that day, so I don't really think that it was because of- it was that you two were specifically targeted, for the purposes of breaking your NDAs, at least. None of us, including Palu, know why this, well, has been the case - trust me when I say she wouldn't withhold information if she had it. I know her better than-... wait, uh, as well as anyone."
She pointed a single eyebrow, like an arrowhead, up to the ceiling, swirling the contents of her cup in a circular fashion. Byleth's moods seemed to be almost unhinged; from extraordinarily excited at the sight of a television upon her arrival here, to hostile and worried on the day we came back from Pit's fiasco. Her squarish-shaped face, although very pretty and welcoming at first glance, never really exposed anything about her or how she went from her bubbly high highs to standoffish low lows.
Like to her brother, who was silently cleaning the floor, the look on his face purely blank and almost unthinking to an extent they were both closed. Elegant and reserved. Those two words fit them the best. Byleth seemed, also like her brother, somewhat light in her movements too, in spite of the weapons they wielded that collectively appeared to be equivalent to the weight of an eighteen-wheeler. Perhaps that was because she was short, unlike B.
Or maybe she was actually of average height for a woman, but Jane and Palu's existences gave me a different frame of reference.
Regardless of my musings, there seemed to be a lot of underlying conflict beneath the woman's skin. A higher concentration of conflict, in a bizarre sense, given her smaller frame.
I realised I never paid much mind to how fitting her clothing was to her persona. Compared to B, Byleth's outfit was much tighter. It was like she donned an armored… shirt, if you could call it that; it was adorned with black and grey metallic-looking plates. It was like her emotions were being constricted, pressured by the midriff-baring top that shone hot light in the warm evening sun. The shirt emphasised her figure.
Shame and attraction pulsed through me in equal parts. Hey. I nicked my lip, shaking my head.
My eyes followed her hand so I could be distracted by something else; it rested on her hip gently. The liquid in the cup continued its stormy motions, while her cloak seemed to float in the gentle wind coming from the window B recently opened for ventilation. The flora's freshness touched my smell.
"Your trust in her is admirable, believe me. I will consider your word," she pressed. "But I'll warn you… I've been backstabbed before, Mac."
Her irises turned glassy, and glass was fragile. She set the glass down for the first time in minutes on the countertop opposite.
"Oh. Well… I'm sorry to hear that." A wave of shame passed through me for how far I'd pushed her, even if it was of her own volition that she spoke.
"Don't be." The girl's face strained. "As you said, I live in an absolutely different era to yourself; trust runs scarce. When it comes down to the wire, you can only trust yourself to cut through it," she snorted ruefully. "I've been in do-or-die situations before, young master Mac."
The word had edge this time. B disappeared up the steps, broom still in hand.
She scowled. "Would you like me to give you a piece of advice?"
"Sure."
"Betrayal bites," she started. "If and when your person is attacked in this lifetime, outside the battlefield; if and when your life is threatened… That's when the people you think are close to you appear for what they truly are. I've had it happen before, believe me."
Wait.
Wait a sec.
"S-say that again?" Cold steel against sweaty palm.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"If you're ever attacked… the people you once believed to be true to you as the salt of the earth; your relatives, your friends, your family - they may betray you."
A pulse of fear ran under my skin. I was losing it.
No, no, no-
"-no, no, no, I mean… you said something about appearances? Who they truly are?"
Yes, that's it. It was along those lines.
"If you're ever attacked, or your life is in danger, they may appear for what they truly are," she repeated patiently. "Is this what you meant?"
It all made sense.
"I understand, Byleth," I nearly shouted. "I get it."
"Do you really?" Heat rose to my face. I was sweating; it was as though my frame of perception finally shifted into its correct place as God intended it to be!
Smoke whipped against the edge of her pupils tersely, like a prisoner escaping jail, the clear bars of it guarding her inner feelings and true emotions. There was a desire, a drive in me that wanted to extend a hand to know her and whatever her mystery was more.
Now was not the time, though. No, not now.
Not today.
"Thank you." My arms squeezed her tightly. "Thank you."
How have we not considered anything of the sort? It's crazy, and maybe we didn't want to think about it, but that makes things so much more complicated.
"I.. suppose you're welcome, Mac," she whispered, pushing me away gently. Her face displayed nothing but bewilderment.
"I gotta go. I'll be back sometime, tomorrow, next week, whenever," I nodded, backing out. "I enjoyed talking to you, trust me."
"And you too," she sighed. In passing as I crashed on my existent couch, I realised there seemed to be more on her mind. I flipped on my phone to call Palu to rush her with the theory, it read something else entirely.
Centiskorch 20m from now, the message read.
Well…
Crap.
Palu would have to wait.
Red cotton balls gathered in the sky so I was hoping it wouldn't rain.
I really hope she's coming soon. I'm getting anxious just thinking.
Worried clouds, heavy with their age and wanting to die, had heated red bottoms and donned dark caps. They scattered amongst each other decorating the skyline and were still. But then again, I caught myself staring at them; I came to the realisation that they were moving, ever so slightly, with the progression of the cool wind. The heat of the evening was counterbalanced by the presence of this very breeze, the licking of air upon the bristles of my ever-thin forearm hair denoting it.
Right now, I've got a lot on my plate. It feels like too much. Let's break it down. I have to fight, I have to work, I have to investigate and I have to protect.
I sipped water from the bottle; a wet mouthful danced around the inside of my mouth, a defining relief. I wanted to wait to keep it in.
The first thing.
Millilitre by millilitre, I allowed brief rivers of the liquid to drop, the gulps being more like brief partings in the wall of my throat - my lip dried when I was done.
Fighting… Smash… regardless of whether I want to or have the mental space to, I still have to battle in the first Singles tomorrow - there's no choice, I just have to do it. And this time, my livelihood is not on the line, so I don't need to worry about it too much. I mean, I can shoulder the humiliation of another loss… should it come to that.
I shied away from the very thought, an irked grimace spreading across my face.
Let's not think about that.
The thick hoodie responded to my statement. Hoo, hoo, it taunted. The article of clothing had turned into an echo chamber for the light breeze.
Second. Work. Training people with Jane. Tutoring. Do I really need the money now? I have a decent flow; I mean, the Hands do pay a living- surviving wage. I've got savings. But is it even about the money… The easternmost cloud from before threateningly resembled a knife, having arrived straight overhead.
No. It's not.
The thoughts seemed less and less my own.
It's about having a sense of proper normalcy, isn't it? It's about having something to do while this entire thing blows over. It…
It contributes to the illusion that everything is fine for me, doesn't it?
I didn't know who I was asking in the walls of my skull when I said-thought that.
Everything… is fine, though. Or is it?
Can I truly do anything about this?
Am I powerless?
"Mac." I peered up to see the serious face of a blonde soldier.
"Good to see ya - how are you?"
She didn't reply.
Her relaxed demeanor from the day I saw her last had vanished entirely, replaced by a significantly less receptive young woman. The café - though more a diner - had really blown up in popularity since we'd first come a few weeks back; perhaps it was the novelty of consuming meals cooked and served by those fire Pokémon.
I pulled the hoodie closer over my head, trying to avoid the large swarms of people who squatted on the edge of their tables like locusts; though the latter detail of that was mostly my imagination. What was not imagined were the irritating little sparks of heat that stung the nape of my neck like bees.
To my relief, we'd been seated in a private booth in the far back; though it wasn't separated by a door, the partition between us and the next group reached to the ceiling. The glazed windows looked out to the riverside.
"Hey, Sam," I said, clearing my throat. "I saw it; well, ya probably know that by now," I scoffed, sympathetic. "I'm sorry about what you had to go through."
"Let's not talk about that," she grimaced wryly.
Samus' features were sharper than Palu's but much sharper than Byleth's; the high cheekbones accentuated the shadows upon the sides of her face, reflecting a combination of severe, dangerous beauty. I did not want to get on the wrong side of this woman.
"Yeah. Okay."
"You called me here for something, didn't you?" Samus said curtly.
"You're gonna need to keep this down. I haven't told many people about this," I hissed. "But… I reckon something's not right. That is, within the organisation; hell I wanted to share this with you first, because you might be able to provide us an insight; second, because… you're probably involved. I genuinely like you, and I do think you deserve to know this. To protect yourself."
"Thanks, I suppose. I'm listening."
"Not a word to anyone," I stated.
"My lips are sealed. Fire." Her eyebrows narrowed in focus.
"Okay. Well, on the night of your intended match, Palu… couldn't actually make it. It wasn't that they had cancelled her match with you on a whim. Sam, she… she was knocked unconscious in front of us. Me, Pit, Jane and the new cat."
Samus' blue eyes seemed to ignite. The hair carried in her high ponytail swished about when she cocked her head, but her lips barely moved.
"You're serious," she realised.
"Dead serious. She's fine, definitely, but-" I faltered. Telling her about the disguises right now… not a good idea.
Especially given Palu doesn't even know about the new connections I've made herself.
I glanced up, bleary-eyed. "Kid?"
"Goddamn it, I'm 19; stop that already," I snorted.
She allowed herself a singular dry laugh. It came out more almost as a cough.
"You were saying?"
"Well, Palu's fine, but… she's injured. She's staying at home for the time being, because, well, we didn't think it would be wise for her to be leaving the house. We don't know motives or anything," I bluffed, though it was a half truth. "What's probably worse is that the police have said zero to us about her assailant; the captain was interrupted by some other guy winding up dead. Absolutely nothing has hit the news… it seems like a big, big cover up. And for what? Well, I dunno."
"I'll get this straight. Your girlfriend gets beaten up and replaced by the dragon who killed my parents so the crowd has a fun, nice little battle to watch," she finished.
Cool venom laced her tongue.
"She's not my-" The woman opposite raised a bemused eyebrow. "Screw it. Yeah, sure, whatever; that's what I'm seeing. What I'm interested in now is… well, what do you think?"
She gazed out to the quickly blackening water. "A long time ago, I told them that if I saw him here, no matter how popular or how highly demanded he was, I'd be out the door. It shocks me in hindsight that I even chose to fight him. The Master Hand-"
"Wait, the?" I interrupted. "As in, it's a title?"
"It's not a giant floating hand, you know," Samus laughed. "It's a title; don't be stupid. A hand moves and manipulates all it wants at will; a symbol of having power over our physics and our bodies for the duration of the tournament."
"Gah. Dammit, I had no idea," I muttered. "Sorry for interrupting you. Go on."
"If they ever put him on, I was going to leave. He was quick to agree. At least at the time. He was so desperate, oh he was; and I accepted his offer to fight for this stupid fucking tournament. That Master Hand always seemed so trustworthy… Alas, I of all people should know about the dangers of trust. It has been 15 years since that, Mac, and he's broken his promise without so much as a warning. It was put on television like sport." Her voice was shafted abruptly.
"H-hey, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Samus snapped. "I'm fine."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"I'm sorry," she winced. I must've flinched or something.
"It's all good," I shared. "I understand you're probably pissed off."
"Yeah. Right now… you can understand this. I'm livid, Mac," she growled. "I told them I wanted to leave - and like you, there's been no goddamn response. Nothing. I can't get out of here."
A lull held in the atmosphere. Hell, he always used to send us letters and nice things like that; it's hard to believe. Her face was alert, resentful and determined - and as ridiculous as it was, I couldn't help but wonder whether or not she was capable of feeling… sad. As a human, she must be; yet her emotional fortitude was uniquely powerful and betrayed close to nothing of it.
"Hrmh?" A yellow fox broke the quiet, holding a pen and notepad.
"You ordering?" I questioned.
Samus grunted an affirmation, giving a thumbs up to the Braixen idly. We pointed to seemingly random images in the menu; the place's food was extraordinarily cheap for its quality, and you couldn't go too far wrong. Perhaps most importantly, the meal ironically wasn't even the focus of the gathering.
"I have a few questions, Sam. Hope you don't mind." The fire-type vulpine, satisfied with our orders, walked off.
"Shoot."
"You said the Master Hand… naw, screw it, I'ma just ask. Do you know his identity?"
She blinked. "Yes and no. We know that he's purposely anonymous; but no one knows who he is. I say yes because no one in the public even knows a 'Master Hand' exists, so having this information is a big deal."
"I know that much, at least," I snorted. "Well, why's he anonymous? Or, well, why has the organisation decided to hide his identity?"
"Try to answer that yourself; you're a smart kid," Samus winked, though the light gesture felt more detached than it was probably intended to be.
"Oi, screw off," I snorted. "But I suppose… managing this large number of people who are essentially superheroes in the extended multiverse probably means they hold a large amount of power. After all, they are in control of where we stay, who we fight, things like that etcetera."
"Precisely," she confirmed. "This is my current belief. This has… other implications, though."
"In what sense?" We don't know who they are. Are they known to anyone at all? "Are you wondering about government higher ups or things like that, and whether or not they know this person's identity?" I queried, peering outside. Small lines of water punctuated the side of the sky, a brief drizzle raining down onto the Dokmus River.
"No," she murmured, scrutinising me. "But go on."
"The tourney organiser-people are definitely in contact with the Belterran military for coordinating defense in emergency situations. That was part of the fighter contract, after all, wasn't it?"
"That's a sharp observation." Samus's head permitted a brief nod. "I've never thought of it like that before."
"I was also thinking about legal status - an anonymous pocket of power, the Master Hand is, so y'know, how are they determined? And how does power change hands?" I asked.
"I don't know the answer to either," she admitted. "But your latter question is the very same thing I was asking myself. We don't know when or how that power changes hands."
"Like, between years?" The athletic woman opposite nodded.
"Well… That makes sense, bizarrely. I remember the day tha-" I caught myself again on my words. "I mean, I got a letter once from the Hand and he didn't really seem… his personal self. It was typed and not hand-written, things like that," I recalled.
"You came in the last event, didn't you?"
I cocked my head. "What, Tournament 4?"
"Yes," she noted. "So if the change in tone is to hold any substantial meaning, we would expect the change of power to have occurred between now and then," Samus deduced.
A whip of raindrops lashed against the side of the window.
"Shit; what does that even mean?"
"Corruption. Maybe." Samus' tone was nonchalant.
"What are their goals, then?" I fumbled. "Money? Power- how the hell are they gonna try and grab political power from this tournament?"
She shook her head grimly. "Power. Again, maybe. But not political power - this tournament in and of itself brings a lot - a lot," she emphasised, "of money to the organisers. Probably billions.
"They're connected to the government, too. How else do you expect this country to have 25% tax rates at highest and have the fastest railway facilities, the most efficient and well-taught education systems, as well as the strongest world military?" Samus scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised there were bribes."
"What? Bribes?" I knit my eyebrows.
"Bribes," Samus said.
"As in, match fixing?"
"Precisely." I gritted my teeth. I felt my jaw flaring.
A storm cloud settled over my head as thunder crackled opposite. The lights coming from the opposite side of the Dokmus River, in the offices and apartments, were the colour of lightning. My mind barely noticed the otherwise adorable Chimchar bringing the beautifully plated dishes of food to the table; the tantalising smell was still appetite-arousing, yet I felt a sickness in my stomach that coerced me to mentally reject everything.
I forced myself to look in the proverbial mirror. There was now the possibility that everything I had experienced, the losses, the wins, the pain and stress… had been fake. Round one was Pit. Round two, Donkey Kong. Round three, Wolf; round four, Ganon - and of course, Bowser in fifth. In the middle three of the five matches I'd fought, I'd felt like I was at some sort of an immense disadvantage; and I was battling my absolute best in the last of them.
But the playing field wasn't level to begin with.
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, threatening to leap out.
"This means the world to you, doesn't it?"
I nodded.
Dewdrops on the side of the frosted glass, sliding and racing each other to the finish line; they frolicked playfully as another one of their fathers' angry booms cascaded down from the very sky they themselves were borne from.
Samus didn't mince words. "I can see that," the woman commented gently. "I understand, as much as I think the opposite. And I can certainly see you put your all into these matches, Mac. But I would implore you to consider other possibilities. Match fixing isn't the only, though it is the most likely.
"And if we get to the bottom of this, I will be your ally," she spoke. "Don't worry."
"Errh eyirrh!" The fire-type monkey chirped in front of me and flashed an OK symbol with its thumb and forefinger. Samus briefly patted the Pokémon, dismissing it. It danced away.
Clearing my throat, I closed my eyes.
Snap out of it.
"You've been through things that're way, way worse than I ever have, if the stories are true," I hoarsely whispered. "This is nothing. I'm on your side." The pain was bad, but the guilt of talking about it to a woman who had nearly lost everything was worse.
She averted her gaze. "Th-thanks. Let's not talk about that, yeah?"
"I get it. Let's not."
I turned my focus to the food.
The air of toxicity diffused itself out till I could bring the spoon to my mouth. The soup was tasty, yet… underwhelming, as though it could not satisfy any considerable need I had for it. I watched Samus do the same - and gradually, I became more and more aware of the other guests speaking at the tables behind the partition.
"You heard about Angus Latrell?" A female voice asked.
"You're a few days late to the party," a man laughed. He sounded vaguely African-American, whatever the equivalent was here.
"Yeah, well, I'm bringing up this because they're holding the funeral today, smartass."
"Hoh, really? Hell, I ain't even know that."
"The guy owns like a third of Dokmus and just turned up dead in the river - no one knows how he died; I think they've been saying that 'he drowned'."
"Heh. You seriously believe that?"
"Nah," the woman dismissed. "Sounds like a coverup."
"Yeah. Oh well. Don't miss him much - he ain't do jack for anyone with his big pharma and overpriced medicine. In the world of rich people, I s'pose," he chortled. The girl laughed along with him.
Wait.
Powerful people… Does this have anything to do with?
I punched in some letters into my phone hurriedly.
This can't be a coincidence.
"What's up?"
I ignored Samus. On my screen a news headline shouted at me, rudely demanding my full attention.
WATCH: DURING FUNERAL, ANGUS LATRELL'S SON-
My mouth opened when I saw the second name, the name of the son of this 'Angus Latrell', mentioned in the sentence.
"Mac, what is it?" Samus asked. She was concerned.
"You- you wouldn't know - wait-", I muttered, "this can't be a coincidence."
"Tell me," she urged.
I steeled myself, tapping on the panel's white triangle.
"Belterran billionaire Angus Latrell, founder of the conglomerate Antrell Corporation, drowned two weeks ago in the Dokmus River," a newswoman said. "During the funeral procession today, a bizarre occurrence took place where his son; presumably in a state of shock and emotional distress, ran away while his elder brother was dedicating a tribute to their late father."
The pixels danced in mechanical harmony to create the scene of Angus Latrell's funeral; the video was silent, with irrelevant commentary running over it. A multitude of people stood around the headstone in the flowery field; but two stood out to me.
Both were men.
Both wore suits.
Both were young; but one was perhaps just shy of twenty while the other was possibly five years above that threshold. The second was taller, and given the way that the gazes flickered, it was reasonable to say he was the elder brother and was making his eulogy. I stared hard at the other as he shook his head decisively. He pivoted and sprinted off. His hands rushing to his head.
I was stunned.
I had no idea what his last name was, so me clicking on that article was just out of inquiry, and I didn't think that it would actually be him - but I didn't even need to scrub the video back to the ten or fifteen frames on screen where his fingers were not covering his face, because I knew. I didn't even need to check - but I wanted to, and I checked - it was real; I had to hear it, but from myself.
The first time I spoke, the words that came out were just a tiny, weak and dehydrated croak that didn't hold any meaning or substance.
The second time, though, I heard the words, or word, of my own voice.
Clearly.
"...Rupert?"
A/N: If ya liked it, why not drop a review? Thanks for reading as always. Personal note: I'ma be enlisting very shortly so I won't have as much time to update lol.