I don't own the rights to Medabots. Is this a good thing…? Yeah, probably…
This fanfic is set in the 'Masks' universe; that is, it can be taken along in the same canon storyline as the 'Masks We Wear' series and any other tales that I decide to write concerning that series. It focuses on the character of Henry and what he's like exactly in this timeline.
This story assumes that you know about Henry's sordid past and the ties between him and certain other characters. In other words, if you don't know about the deal with Hikaru Agata, the Phantom Renegade, Space Medafighter X, the Days of Darkness, the Forgotten Robattle, and all that good stuff, please hit your back button now and find something else to read.
Although this is set in the same universe as 'Masks We Wear', you don't really have to read that to understand this fanfic. It might help give you a general idea of what to expect here, but it's not really necessary.
With all that out of the way, those of you remaining are free to plunge into the darkest depths of Henry's mind and learn his view on where fate has left him…
~ * Masks of Bone White and Tarnished Gold * ~
I looked at the man in the mirror today, and asked him just who he really was.
I knew I'd never get an answer, and yet, part of me wished for the impossible: for him to look me straight in the eyes and reply, letting me know once and for all something I never should have had to wonder about.
What name would the glass have given me if gifted with speech, I wonder? What persona would he have named, which face my true self?
Hikaru Agata, a living legend condemned to slow death, an eager, overconfident child whose innocence was stripped away at the height of his career, a boy who lost everything he thought he'd held in the palm of his hands, toppled off his throne and took the endless plunge into darkness?
Phantom Renegade, shadow of the past, vigilante saddled with the name of villain who chose to take that taint and twist it to his advantage, to accept the curse of a ruined reputation and the immunity from the law it offered as a method of trying to right old wrongs even if nobody cared to see things that way?
Space Medafighter X, greatness and nobility reclaimed with deception, arrogance and confidence the perfect veils for a secret that, if revealed, would only serve to topple the king once more from his throne?
Henry, unremarkable, unassuming, and ultimately… unreal? The ultimate deception or simply the ultimate bid to reclaim some form of normality for somebody whose life had already spun too far out of control to rein in?
In the end, which role will be accepted as the real me? One of these, or even another persona, yet undiscovered, uninvented, or unimagined?
Honestly, I'm not certain. I can't even say if this is because I've forgotten… or if I never really knew the answer to begin with.
Oh well, whichever. It really doesn't matter anymore. Very little matters anymore.
In the end, I suppose, nothing really matters. Not the sacrifices you've made or what you've suffered through… Not the tragedies you've weathered or the crap you've endured… Laughter, tears, happiness or sadness amounts to nothing.
Not looking back at all the choices and mistakes and thinking, "What if I'd done this?" or, "If only I'd done that, then…" "What if" and "If only" don't count. The paths you don't take will remain untaken regardless of wishing and regret. All you're left with are the pieces of your ruined life and the knowledge that now you have to try and build something new with those shards.
And that broken jigsaw puzzle will never measure up to the lofty dreams you pursued as a child regardless of how you force them together. Even if you stack all the shards up high, that makeshift tower is all too ready to collapse once you think for an instant that you've made something of it.
I tried so hard, and got so far, but in the end, it doesn't even matter. I had to fall, to lose it all, but in the end, it doesn't even matter…
The chorus from a song I heard somewhere and couldn't get out of my mind. I suppose it suits me. The story of my life… or, at least, of Hikaru Agata's life.
Hikaru Agata… Yes, this body once belonged to a boy with that name. But that child and his ambition were killed eight years ago, dying on the same day that the legend of the Forgotten Robattle and the Days of Darkness was born.
Hikaru… Once I was proud to be called that name. To be the 'Light', the rising star of robattles, to shine brightly and boldly, pride of Japan… pride of the world.
When Hikaru… no, when I… first discovered an abandoned medal and put it into the Hercules Beetle medabot I'd bought, I was only twelve years old. Had I known how much it would change my life, I would never…
…No. Even had I known what fate had in store for Hikaru Agata, it would have changed nothing. At that age, Hikaru was arrogant, impulsive, and bored with normality. The adventure and excitement promised by getting into the world of medabots easily trumped any doubts or fears I might have had. All that mattered was the experience… the concept of becoming great, powerful and legendary!
Hikaru Agata accomplished all of these things. Just not in the form that young boy expected.
With the help of the newly born and named Metal Beetle – 'Metabee' for short – I began my bid for fame. Guided by determination, willpower, and some luck – good or bad, it would be difficult to judge later on – we rose through the ranks, and soon, just after my thirteenth birthday, we received the news that we would be able to participate in the World Robattle Cup.
Thirteen years old… the youngest Medafighter to be admitted into the WRC at that time. Another distinction of honor and pride to help Hikaru's ego swell even more than it already had. Would that balloon had popped sooner – perhaps then the fall from grace would have been both shorter and less painful.
Arrogance blinded me to silly superstitions. Confidence blinded me to all but the ultimate goal – to be the best. Recognition of my sheer skill as a medafighter.
I had many who claimed to be my friends at that time, but only two people I considered worthy of that honor – excluding my medabot partner, naturally. Only two humans I thought to be worthy of fighting alongside Hikaru, as the 'Magnificent Medafighters'.
Joe Swihan, from America, and Patra Abdul, from Egypt.
It may have seemed strange, that the two considered most equal to Hikaru were children from other parts of the world, people I never would have met were it not for the fact we were all top robattlers from our home countries. Incredibly different backgrounds, different lifestyles, different in all areas but one – the only one that counted or mattered.
We were the best.
Certainly, there were other similarities: all of us were arrogant, certain of our superiority over less talented medafighters. Only our teammates were truly worthy of being called our peers… everyone else were just obstacles to be overtaken, bumps in the road to true stardom.
'Magnificent Medafighters'… The most magnificent thing about us in the end was how ignorant we ended up proving ourselves to be to the truth.
Friendship? Were we friends? I want to say yes, because the other possibility is too painful to consider… That we only considered each other friends because we were the elite, the top of our class.
Then again, if it wasn't friendship we shared – comradeship, perhaps – it wouldn't be so painful to recall all that happened to Hikaru Agata.
We must have been friends… or else, why would it have hurt so much to hear what Joe and Patra said about Hikaru eight years later, after it all had come tumbling down?
The Forgotten Robattle… An apt name, since I spent the next eight years of my life trying to block those memories from resurfacing, turned my back on Hikaru Agata and attempted to start anew.
But there are certain details that continue to stand out clearly, those that can never be extinguished no matter how much one tries, no matter what is done to cover up physical evidence, the mental scars remain.
Shame. Frustration. Self-anger. To have been so blind…! To have my eyes opened to the truth only to see what my arrogance had cost me…!
Screams. Wails. Cries. Death given a million voices, all blending into an endless shriek of agony and innocence forever lost, lasting for ten full days, echoing forever in the back of my mind for all time afterward.
Blood. So much blood on my hands. Crimson running down the torn remains of my medafighting outfit, soaking into every pore of my skin, and it won't come off, it won't….
Running. Fleeing the past, a hopeless flight. Knowing it's impossible to leave it all behind, but I can't face it, I can't face them, I can't…!
Bodies. Twisted metal littered among mounds of flesh and bone, charred testaments to the war that will rage for ten entire days. Causalities mounting all around, human and medabot alike, and though I keep telling myself it's not my fault, I see their dead fingers pointed at me in silent accusation, those blank, staring eyes…
Impossible to leave it all behind without leaving Hikaru Agata behind. So he became another of the fallen. Unofficially, to be certain: that name was never mentioned among the casualties, only as the cause.
The only names mentioned as victims of the attacks were the names of Hikaru Agata's family. Mother and father, among the first to perish… but certainly an enviable fate compared to the alternative.
"Such a shame," the whispers claimed, "for them to die in such a terrible fashion… But at least they never had to hear their darling son named as the cause for the Days of Darkness. They never had to live with the shame of that stain on their family name…"
Hikaru Agata was the last member of his family to die. Though the body was not destroyed, the cocky young boy who would be one of the greatest medafighters in the world no longer existed.
All that remained in his place was a confused and terrified young man who'd lost his innocence at too tender an age.
Thirteen years old, and Hikaru's life had ended.
Was that when Henry was born? I'm honestly not certain. I know that Henry would be the name I decided to use when I started trying to find a place, if not back in the Light, then at least out of the heart of the Darkness.
But the process between…? I don't remember ever choosing an official name for myself during that period of transition.
The closest may have been the Phantom Renegade, thief, runaway and traitor. That became my persona for whenever I decided to lash out against the society that laid Hikaru Agata out as a scapegoat, to try and prevent such tragedies from occurring again.
You see, they were covering their tracks so quickly, wanting everyone to just forget about the Days of Darkness. Ten days of suffering, death and destruction – transformed by controlled media and destruction of all related materials into the Forgotten Robattle. All that remained were the memories of the survivors, memories that faded for many trying to piece together their lives and move on.
Too much money had been invested into medabots, too much depended on their continued functioning and working, to simply give up thanks to ten days of horror.
So everything was swept under the rug, and life continued as per normal for most of humanity.
But the young man once known as Hikaru Agata could never forget. Something had to be done to prevent the threat of another time of darkness erupting.
Thus, the Phantom Renegade appeared; thief of rare medals, menace to society who was really doing everything he could outside the corrupt law to save it. Irony in its purest form.
However, the most unsavory of the things I did to survive are things I could never attach to the Phantom Renegade, or any of the other names I've come to call myself by.
Thirteen-year-olds can't find much work that's considered legal.
But there were other options available… Acts no sane person would wish their child to commit, but for a young man fending for himself, with no other resources…
Work is work, no matter how nauseating a prospect it might be. Money is money, no matter where it comes from.
And when you're on the streets, praying the cops won't recognize who you once were and just surviving each night one at a time… All the morals bred into you by the society that's turned their back on you don't mean shit.
From a homeless waif of thirteen to hardened young man of sixteen… About three years fending for myself on the streets, and feeling the pain and stress of every last damn second.
It only ended when I managed to convince the owner of a little corner store I was of legal age and could work for him. Any hours he wanted, any time night or day… didn't matter, so long as I got paid.
To this day, I thank whatever deity decided to cut me a break and allowed him to accept a teenage punk off the streets as his newest employee.
That was when Henry was officially born. Devoted worker at the Hop Mart, always punctual, always doing his best, willing to give up what little he had just to keep the store running and at its best.
It's easy to put your all into your job when you've already experienced the worst possible alternative. Easy to put everything into making it work when you don't have anything otherwise.
It was only after I'd managed to pull myself out of the shadows and earn a decent, modest, semi-normal lifestyle that the last identity I would claim evolved into existence. The one I didn't realize was still a part of me until it was too late, the one I should have known was a vital essence of my soul all along.
I foolishly thought at first I could control it, feed the desire in other ways. I threw myself even further into my work at the Hop Mart, especially when it came to one particular aspect. It was the one thing that should have repelled me after my history, after Hikaru's rise, fall and death, and yet…
I needed it. The thrill of victory in a robattle – I thirsted for it, longed for the indescribable feelings of accomplishment and worth. Something I hadn't tasted in years, and shouldn't have ever wanted after what happened to Hikaru…
But robattling had become a vital part of my soul. Having tasted fame and fortune once, I wanted more, cost be damned. I wanted – needed – to hear my name screamed again, regardless of what might happen – or what they called me.
Hence, Space Medafighter X was created.
He was the perfect outlet for all that remained of Hikaru Agata: remnants of arrogance, pride, confidence and thirst. The thirst for fame… recognition… power… All things once possessed, then lost, things something within me longed to claim again.
All in all, he was everything superhuman – superficial – about Hikaru Agata in its purest form. An outlet to be as flashy and cocky as I desired – and never interfere with my other personas.
Yes, all of my identities were supposed to remain isolated from each other. That was the easiest way. Phantom Renegade was forever meant to be the villain/vigilante; Henry the mild-mannered working class civilian; Space Medafighter X the famous superstar.
Pity things never work out the way you plan.
Even with all the work I'd done to establish my new lives, there were things I'd never been able to let go of. Common sense dictated I should, to keep the ghost of Hikaru Agata from haunting me forever, but sentimentality's a bitch.
I should have pawned off the parts of my old medabot partner as soon as I hit the streets, but several factors prevented me. One, the chance – however unlikely – that those meda-parts might be traced back to a runaway from the law and help end my new life before I found a way to get it started.
Another – Metabee was my friend, undeserving of such a fate. He was supposed to be the greatest robattler ever, not reduced to scrap metal just because he'd been dragged into something nobody wanted to happen.
It was suicide to hang onto his body – yet, he had always proven to be my closest friend. I couldn't abandon him.
Then, seven years after Hikaru Agata and Metabee's career as partners ended, Henry found a chance to give a Hercules Beetle medabot another chance at a somewhat normal life.
One of the regular visitors to the Hop Mart, a young boy named Ikki Tenryou, reminded me all too much of Hikaru Agata. He was roughly the same age, and seemed just as determined to one day become a champion medafighter. Even though he didn't have enough for a medabot of his own, he often visited to look at the different models out, and we talked a lot.
He seemed the perfect way to give Metabee another chance at life. Since Metabee was an older model, it would be simple to give him up for a reduced price – not to mention the fact that, since he wasn't actually part of the store's inventory, I could pocket the money myself without having to worry about the manager finding out.
Well, what the hell do you expect? Loyalty to one's job aside, I wasn't about to let anyone else make a profit off of me giving up the body of my former best friend.
I never expected Ikki to find a medal by himself – let alone that particular medal. Chalk it up to a minor mistake made by the Phantom Renegade – another mishap in what later proved to be a regular comedy of errors.
Still, I desperately wanted it to work out. A part of me privately exulted whenever I saw Metabee and Ikki together – it both helped repress and brought out memories of Hikaru Agata working with his own new partner to try and become the best.
Bittersweet memories of a more innocent time, before innocence became just a figment of the past and a boy's youth the only common point in a splintered road breaking into three intertwined paths.
Memories that became all the more poignant and terrible as they climbed through the ranks, making it to the top three in only a year's time.
One year… The same amount of time it took Hikaru Agata and Metabee to rise to the top. Even if they only got to third place, it was still too powerful a coincidence, too great a similarity.
Their companions at the top? More reminders of what was and what will never be.
In second place, Koji Karakuchi, a dark reflection of Hikaru in both appearance and personality. Every time I see that spoiled, egotistical brat, listen to his boasting and witness his overconfidence, I see a boy too much like Agata for his – or my – own good.
Hell, if he'd taken Metabee as a partner, watching him would have been like witnessing Hikaru's entire past played out right in front of everyone.
Arrogant to the point of where part of me desperately wants to strangle the boy and scream, "THE WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU!" – and another part wants to take him away from this world, shield him from the harsh realities already beginning to wear down upon him.
Koji may have started to face some of those truths – that he's not invincible, that he can be defeated and does have faults – but not nearly enough to completely shatter his beliefs. He's been shaken, but not broken… and still fails to recognize that if he doesn't accept these truths completely, the fall will be a lot harder than the tumbles he's taken.
Even his own experiences at his World Robattle Tournament, while startling him in their own right, haven't completely taken away his arrogance. His confidence was shaken for a bit, but… in the end, he came out mostly the same. Even the threat of losing Sumilidon didn't appear to shake him enough.
Oh, and Ikki's other companion in the top three? Why, Space Medafighter X, naturally – in the top slot where he belonged, or felt he belonged.
Truthfully, both of his new partners were arrogant fools – the only thing separating them was that one was older and had already had his world shattered once, even if he hid everything behind a smirking mask.
Multiple masks, actually – the connection behind two of which would end up revealed in the worst possible manner before the tournament even began.
I had become accustomed by that time at the many personas I had perfected over the past eight years – enough so that sometimes I couldn't help letting certain aspects of one bleed over into another. Different masks for different situations – it became so natural I even began doing so literally.
The mask I adopted for Space Medafighter X had been based off the simplistic one the Phantom Renegade wore. I had found that easier to handle, as I was used to the feel of that sort of mask hiding my real features. Making certain the similarity couldn't be noticed was as simple as a palette change, a thin sheet of sun-bright gold over moon-pale white.
It worked perfectly… until, in the middle of a pitched battle, Space Medafighter X fell protecting Ikki and his mask broke, revealing the Phantom Renegade underneath.
It really didn't help that all of Ikki's little friends were present at the time, and all witnessed the Phantom's 'face' underneath Space Medafighter X's mask.
If it had been just Ikki, I might have been able to stop it from spreading. As it was, soon all of Japan knew that Space Medafighter X and the Phantom Renegade were one and the same.
The superstar was now also the villainous vigilante, and vice versa.
And suddenly my already fractured life was shattered again.
Now what could I do? The three personas I'd built and nurtured separately were never, never meant to merge together! Each was supposed to be its own thread in the complex pattern I'd managed to weave for my life, never quite crossing, but each supporting the others…
Instead, the threads were fraying. And soon, I fear, they'll snap.
After so long, I think a few people are beginning to figure out the truth. Ikki, good old, loveable, but dense as a brick at times Ikki, is obviously just beginning to catch on, thanks to certain mistakes I've made…
Mistakes? Was it a mistake to give Metabee a second chance with Ikki? To give him another try at a life in the spotlight as a great medabot with a great medafighter, to let him start over despite the stain on his past?
No, that couldn't have been a mistake. Even if it turns out to be the thing Ikki – and, after him, others like Erika, Koji, the Screws, Rintaro, maybe even Karin – uses to make the final connections between Henry, Phantom Renegade/Space Medafighter X and Hikaru Agata…
It may have been the best thing I've done in the past eight years, the sole bright spot for somebody who used to be the Light, the shooting star.
So where does this leave me? Staring into the mirror at my reflection, wondering which name truly belongs to the man I see?
I am nearly twenty-two years old, but part of me died at thirteen.
I have dark black hair that I've usually kept trimmed short, except for when I couldn't even afford haircuts, simply because this style was a small way of holding stubbornly onto my childhood, as grim as it ended eight years ago.
I have dark eyes that are all too used to seeing life from behind a mask, be it literal or figurative.
I have way too many old scars, bearing the evidence of some on my chest from when I needed some outlet for the pain, and others deep inside where nobody can see, hiding all of them just as carefully from prying eyes that would ask too many painful questions if they knew of their presence.
I have several names, and no idea which one truly suits me best… which person I face in the mirror right now, unmasked and unshielded.
A child legend that lost his innocence along with everything else he coveted?
A thief who considers himself a tragic hero fighting against both evil and the law?
A devoted employee at a convenience store with no apparent life outside his job?
A flashy medafighter with an inflated ego and a love of posing for the camera?
Many names, and not a single one for the face in the mirror – whoever he really is.
God have mercy on this soul.