Never let a wound ruin me
- Lupe Fiasco, "Battle Scars"
punch-drunk in a war of attrition
It had been over ten years since his father died. And the time in between had just blurred together into one giant fog, where successes and failures, love and pain, balanced each other out on fate's scale. Ike had never been given the chance to pause and reflect, to take his whole life into consideration, to understand the weight of loss and carrying on. Grief was a process. A process took time. They'd never been given time.
He used to spend nights out, not thinking. Roy had a car. Roy'd never had a father. They were friends. And even though Roy had always been the kid with bloody knuckles and dirt on his face, he was cool. They'd hang out at the edge of the illegal parties. Rarely talking. Faded. But not loud about it. And that was fine with Ike, who was tired of people trying to pry words out of him, as if they had any right to the thoughts in his head.
He didn't need comfort. He didn't need friends. His father was dead. Rent was due. His sister had tuition fees. His mother was coming out of rehab.
There was money to be made. You couldn't stop to think about the particulars. You just had to get it done.
He'd wasted so much time without thinking about it.
He'd seen his friends after graduation, just before his first deployment.
On the street corner, huddled together with the noise of idling engines, Ike had watched the sun rise over a dull flat landscape and felt the world around him start to shatter, like an egg from the inside out, as he were just now being born into a very uncertain future.
"Your girl?" Roy asked, with a nod in the direction of Lucina's house.
Ike glanced that way, long enough to see the wooden gate close as she disappeared into the backyard.
She would climb in through her window using a tree. He'd watch her do it many times before.
"No," he said, surprising himself a little at the truth of it. "Just a friend."
"Too bad," Roy said.
Ike was already engaged. No one really knew. He'd tell Roy eventually. Of all people, Roy wouldn't judge.
"When you heading out?" Roy asked.
"Next month."
"That's cool, man. You're gonna see action for sure."
"Yeah."
"When you come back, Imma be running this shit."
"I know you will."
Roy was a fuck up. But he had ambition. Ike wanted the best for him.
Fox revved his engine. His window was halfway lowered. He made a signal to the rest that he wanted to head out.
Roy nodded back. Then he turned to Ike. "You riding with us?"
"Yeah."
"Nice!"
They took off together. A squadron of misfits, out to terrorize the peace one last time and stir up dust in this town of nowhere, where the powers that ruled the world had chosen to dump the leftovers of his father's war.
Ike knew he'd be back. Whether standing or in a coffin, he'd always find his way back here.
He should've never left home, Roy thought. He should've stuck to the damn job at the factory.
'Cause what the everlasting fuck was this shit?
Lying on the floor of Marth's suite, the lights dimmed, his head pounding, waiting for the feeling to return to his limbs.
Yes, you just beat the shit out of some VIP with diplomatic immunity. This is how guys ended up in prison without due process.
His head hurt.
Roy closed his eyes.
Violence was physically draining. He had gone in hard, full commitment. Now he was numb in the face. His limbs felt heavy.
His mind drifted halfway between sleep and the waking world.
He had dreams about the years in between. When he'd caught his first high. And spent the hours and the days of the next decade chasing that same feeling. Because he didn't have anything else. Just a burning want, a longing for something better. What was the raw need in his blood, pumped by his heart, daring him forward, through the dark and the streets? Where was it taking him? Why did he always run?
A while back, Snake had sat him down. To go over the results of his medical assessment, a pre-hiring condition. Had shown him a tablet screen with the PET scans. "This is an image of a normal brain, Roy. And this - is yours."
Didn't know exactly what he was looking at. But he made himself look at it.
Slowly, the pieces fell into place.
So that was it.
Too many years of taking hits. From a childhood spent in the combat zone, to an adulthood built on stopping other people's fists with his skull. The images were lumpy masses of cool blue shadow over black. But the one that was his had flashes of red and yellow where they shouldn't be. And there were a few holes where he was sure they didn't belong.
And so his past started to make sense. The last few years when he couldn't hold a thought in his head for longer than a minute, and every time he put his fist through the bedroom dry wall because he didn't know how to deal with shit. The ways he'd tried to self medicate. He had thought that the alcohol would calm him. And when it put him to sleep, it did. Or it seemed to. But he'd wake up with a headache that never really went away. And the rage that would eventually take hold later. Could never remember much during those times. The days had bled into years.
Nothing had been real until it hurt.
"Take your pills, Roy. That's a direct order. It's an experimental drug. But between that and what's going on with your neurons, I'd take my chances with the meds."
Roger that, super soldier test tube baby man. What was the worst that could happen?
The worst had already happened.
He was still on the floor and half asleep when the door opened.
Someone moved in the room. There was the sound of running water. A refrigerator door opened and closed. The sound of water pouring into a glass.
Marth shook him awake. Propped him against the wall. Slid a pillow under his neck. A glass of water slid into his hand. Roy opened his eyes. He drank the water.
Marth took the glass away before Roy could break it against the floor.
Marth didn't know it wasn't like that anymore.
Roy leaned back. Stared at the ceiling.
His mouth hurt. Probably because Ganondorf had punched it. Ha. Bitch.
Marth settled down next to him and lay a head on his shoulder. Roy reached for his hand. And was surprised that Marth let him take it.
On the bed, Mewtwo stretched, yawned, and sat up on his haunches. His eyes glowered in Roy's direction. His tail flicked back and forth.
Roy flipped him off.
Marth made a disapproving sound but didn't say anything.
Roy tried to find a good place to begin. "You know... did I ever get it right? Like, did I ever do the right thing at the right time? Or does it just keep falling away from me?"
Marth took a breath. Then he brought something out from under his arm. He unfurled it like a scroll, so Roy could see it.
The Sacaen flag.
"This," Marth said, "is a token. We pass it between us. Those who stand with Sacae will stain it with their blood before passing it on to the next."
"You guys are so fucking dramatic."
"You know blood contains DNA, right?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Once you mark the flag, you've made an oath, and you are bound by it. You will be held to it."
"That's valuable information, you know."
"I know."
"Who's keeping tally?"
"Me."
"You about to go rogue?"
"Yes."
"Breaking ranks with the Altean government?"
Marth was silent.
"You're good with going to prison for it?"
Marth folded up the flag, slowly, respectfully. "I'm not like you," he said.
That hurt.
"Can I change your mind?"
Marth glared at him. And the fire was back, in those eyes, Roy had missed it. He'd almost forgotten. Beneath the calm, Marth harbored a glorious anger. It was fucking beautiful.
It was hitting Roy in all the right (or wrong) places.
Roy pressed on. "I mean, like, play a little double agent for us."
"Us?"
"I'm done staying on the sidelines."
"This isn't your type of fight, Roy."
"Well, if Ganonfuck wants to make a play, so can I."
"He has his reasons."
"Yeah, I'll bet."
"We are temporary allies out of a shared strategic reality."
"You trust him?"
"That's a stupid question."
Marth sat up a bit so he could look Roy in the eyes. "I need to know your reason."
"What?"
"Why? You never wanted to get involved before."
"Things are different now."
"Are you working for Snake?"
"It's not a secret. Not to you, anyway."
Marth studied his face for a long time. Then he pulled a small notepad out of a pocket. Tore off a page. Produced a pen out of another pocket. He passed the pen into his left hand and began writing.
Then he slid the note into Roy's hand.
Roy stared at it. No words, just symbols. It didn't make sense to him.
"Take a picture," Marth said, "on your phone, and send it to Snake."
"This better not be a nuclear launch code or something."
"Well, it could be a Metal Gear launch code."
"That'd be worse. They'd have to pull an old man back into field work. That's elderly abuse."
"He should have retired at least five years ago."
Roy sighed. His headache was receding. He pulled out his phone. Whatever happened, happened. Snake knew how to handle things. And Marth always knew more than him. It was frustrating.
He took the picture and sent it.
He turned to Marth. "Now what?"
"Give him, maybe, thirty seconds."
Marth folded the note into a square piece and threw it sideways, like a card, in Mewtwo's direction. The Pokemon caught it midair and zapped it into vapor. Then he sent the cloud of smoke out the window of the balcony.
Roy counted to twenty-nine before the message came through on the codec.
-Roger. Good work.
Marth laid his head back down on Roy's shoulder. "I didn't expect you to get involved with this."
"Yeah, well. Guess I couldn't keep going on like I was before." His head still felt fuzzy. But things were coming back into focus. The clarity, however, was coming in hot.
Snake pinged him again.
-Your assignment is over. You're due out in the next 72 hours. I'll be in touch.
Roy took a sharp breath and said nothing. But he instinctively tigthtened his grip on Marth's hand. Marth noticed but knew better than to ask. Instead, he just returned the squeeze. It was like he already knew.
"So I'm going to guess that the whole point of this was for me to get to you," Roy said.
"You're starting to understand."
"They wanted to get you in position. Because if you resigned they'd lose you as a connection."
"Yes."
"Got it."
Marth had all the information Snake wanted. There was no way Roy could have gathered it all on his own. In the notes, Snake had emphasized getting to Marth. Now it made sense.
72 hours was soon. Too soon. Suddenly he didn't feel ready. But then again, no one really ever was.
He just felt guilty. For the others. Mac. Lucina. Terry. Pichu. Doc would understand, though. Doc would take care of everyone. He'd hold the group together.
He wasn't done with this place. But he had to be. He knew what his purpose in life was. There was another front line calling.
"Don't go out and do anything dangerous, Roy."
"Well, that's a matter of perspective."
"Be serious for once. The business that Snake is involved with isn't a joke. It isn't a game. It isn't like what you're used to."
Roy turned and kissed the top of Marth's head.
They were running out of words. And time.
If you're gonna say it, better say it now. For all you know, you're not coming back.
Roy took a breath. "Can I ask you something?"
"Hm?"
"You ever think about getting married?"
He had good energy, Min Min thought. Good enthusiasm. Good speed. Lots of offensive moves.
If only he'd stop running into her punches.
He hadn't quite figured her out yet. And she was pretty sure she had figured him out.
She'd taken a few hits from him, and she was winded, but still in the game. The closer she got to the edge, the farther she was able to launch him.
They stared each other down. But he broke first and came in, charging. She dodged, grabbed, flung him off stage. Then she followed. Blocked his counter hit, and connected with the spike.
They fell together, but he went down first. She heard the bell above them. The roar of the crowd. Then it all faded on the descent into the dark, into the arms of the net.
When she was a kid, she had always wanted to join the circus. Her family used to take her every year, in summer, when the traveling carnival was in town. Her favorite act? The trapeze artists. She had liked how they'd flown through the air. She used to sneak in early to watch them practice. She remembered how they fell with such confidence. How they trusted the net to catch them.
Now, as she climbed her way back up, she paused to take in the underside of the stage, something the spectators never got to see. Amazed at how the spotlight found her, realized that her face was now on the big screen, and everyone was cheering for her.
She tried to do like Twintelle had suggested. Smile, pose, wave, but never forget your footing. Photo ops were not worth a broken ankle.
She lost sight of Mac. Even during the post fight wrap up on stage, he was nowhere to be seen. In keeping with Twintelle's advice, Min Min kept things short and sweet with the cameras, before she gave a final bow to the crowd and ran off stage.
Her blood was hot. Her face was flushed. She had won. She would advance to the next round.
But first...
She needed to find her opponent. They had to shake hands. To Min Min, this was mandatory protocol. Non-negotiable.
She was running late for a meeting with Twintelle. And she needed to start her recovery routine, or else she'd regret it tomorrow. When the adrenaline and the excitement and her last energy reserves ran out, she'd collapse where she stood and sleep for a good couple of hours. She'd rather be in bed when that happened, rather than the floor.
She jogged down the back hallways, sidestepping press and cameras, Pokemon, their trainers, and other fighters. She checked every door she could open.
There was one more room towards the very back, next to the door that opened to the dumpters in the back parking lot.
She knocked. Heard nothing. And so turned the knob and threw it open. Only to find her way blocked.
"Can I help you?"
The girl had long hair and stone cold eyes. She looked Min Min up and down, arms crossed.
"I..." Min Min glanced at the door. She hadn't noticed before that there was a handwritten sign taped to it: YoUng liOnS.
She'd never heard of them. The other teams had official-looking plaques on the doors to their dressing rooms. Maybe these were last minute contestants?
Seeing Min Min's hesitation, the girl softened her tone. "Are you lost?"
"No! I'm looking for Little Mac."
"Oh. I can take a message."
"Well..." Min Min hadn't expected it to go like this. She reached into her back pocket, hoping for business cards. She'd had a few printed out. What she eventually fished out weren't those, however.
"Here!" She had no choice but to offer what she had with both hands.
"Um, okay?" The girl took the slip of paper from her.
"They're coupons! For the ramen shop across the street. 50% off! But only if two people dine together."
"Oh. Uh, thanks. I'll just..."
"Ask him to come have ramen with me later tonight. They open until midnight. I'll be there at 8 p.m."
"Ah... Well, in that case, wait here. I'll be back."
The door closed in front of Min Min's face. There were sounds of a muffled conversation. After a moment, the door opened again.
The girl nodded, eyes stern. "He's busy, unfortunately."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Well...I'll be honest with you. He's kind of a sore loser."
From somewhere behind her, a voice exclaimed, "What?! That's not what I said!"
The girl looked over her shoulder. "If you're going to reject someone, you better come here and do it yourself."
The only response was silence.
The girl turned back to Min Min. "Yeah. So. He won't be able to make it. He'll be too busy sitting here and hating himself."
Suddenly Mac popped up behind the girl. His face was taped up and bandaged. So was the hand that he raised to wave at Min Min.
"Hey! Thanks for dropping by. Sorry to run off like that. We can - "
Min Min stuck her hand in his face. He looked at it and awkwardly took it. She clasped him back with both hands and pumped vigorously up and down.
"Thank you for the fight!"
"Uh, yeah! Sure! You're wel - "
"Come have ramen with me later!"
"Nice of you to offer. But - "
"I have to go now! See you later! Maybe! I will wait two hours! Please don't forget!"
"I - "
"Thank you!" With that, Min Min spun on her heel and tore out of there like a whirlwind.
Victory! she thought.
"Don't be a sore loser," Lucina said.
"I'm not a sore loser."
"Oh good. Then you're going to meet her for ramen tonight."
"8 p.m. is a bit late to be eating, isn't it?"
"That never stopped you before."
"I'm watching my weight."
"Since when?"
"Since now?"
"Don't bullshit me."
"I'm not!"
"You really don't want to get personal with her? I mean, that's fine. She's a competitor, and you don't have to be her friend, but you should show some sportsmanship. At least you should have talked to her when she stopped by instead of trying to make me do it for you."
"I really didn't mind that part!"
"Really? You acted like you were kinda sore about losing."
"I'll be honest... I don't know how I should feel right now."
Lucina slid into her leather jacket. "Are you going to skip the press interview then?"
"Can I?"
"I can't tell you what to do, Mac. But you're going to lose out if you skip."
"Really?"
"You have a chance to show people that you're going to get back on it. You have to show them that this won't bring you down. You have to fall before you can walk. How well you take a loss is going to determine how far you go."
"I understand what you're saying. Really. I do. But I just don't feel it right now. I know I should. But I can't."
"You feel how you feel, Mac. I'm not going to tell you that you should feel any different. Just don't let it get in the way of doing what you need to do. Once the opportunity passes, it doesn't come back. It's better to look back on a loss than to look back on what you never did. Time only moves forward. When a day's over, there's no going back. A loss, a defeat - that's something you can learn from and make right later. But you can't go back in time and reclaim a lost chance."
Mac let that one hang in the air for a bit. He didn't have a response.
"You did good."
They both looked up at the sound of Roy's voice. The door had swung open and no one had noticed.
"Where were you?" Lucina asked.
"Got caught up in some things."
"We could have used you," Lucina said. There was a hardness in her eyes that made the other two grow quiet.
"Sorry," Roy offered
"It's all good!" Mac didn't like conflict.
Roy pulled up a chair next to him. "I watched the match."
"Yeah?"
"You had good ideas. Good reflexes. But you just couldn't get the read on her."
"Yeah, I know."
"Did you do your research beforehand?"
"Uh..."
"I used to skip that part too. But you gotta know that every fighter has been recorded, and you can find footage of anyone's fights. Before a match, you gotta research. There's a lot you can learn that way."
"Yeah... Guess I got a bit too caught in the moment, ya know?"
Roy's hand clamped down on Mac's shoulder. "We've all been there."
"I need to rethink what I'm doing."
"Rethink?" Lucina chimed in. "That implies you were thinking in the first place."
"Hey!" But at least Mac was smiling now. "I got ideas, okay?"
"You might do better in loser's bracket," Roy said.
"Yeah?"
"It isn't over yet. Not for you, not for any of us. You ever been in the pit?"
Before Mac could answer, the door flew open again to reveal Terry, Doc, and a very nervously bouncy Pichu.
"If you're all about done," Doc told them, "we're on right now."
Mac shot to his feet. "Alright! You ready, little guy?"
"Pichu..."
"Hey, that's not quite the energy level we need." Mac knelt down to Pichu's height. "Don't be nervous! You'll do fine."
The Pokemon made a face and shook its head. "Pichu..."
Mac scratched the mouse between the ears. "I was a little on edge too. Just do your best."
Lucina joined in. "You didn't come this far to give up, did you?"
"Pichu!"
"That's it!" Mac scooped up his teammate. "Let's go kick some ass!"
"Pichu!"
"Charzard ass!"
"Pichu!"
Doc held the door open while Mac spun through it like a human tornado, Pichu on his shoulder, followed by Terry. Lucina started after them, but stopped to look at Roy.
"You coming?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
They held a nighttime photoshoot in the garden and turned it into a press event. Robin had picked the location. The fountains and the statues made for a good backdrop. It fit in with the team brand.
They had sponsors, but they had room for more.
So Robin played up every angle they had. Samurai Goroh's temper and his criminal background. Corrin's dragon blood and her photogenic looks. Byleth's lack of emotion and his need to take the stage only while in drag.
The last element was what landed it for them. Every time Byleth stepped out in front of the cameras in his female form, their views shot up by exponential proportions.
When asked about his gender, Byleth only would say, "Male...with a caveat."
Tonight, he had taken on his female form. Makeup professionally done. Wig properly set. Corrin had helped him pick out the heels and the leggings.
And the photographers seemed to love it. They kept their lenses on him more than on anyone else.
Robin was the one who answered press questions.
He had anticipated everything they threw his way. All but one.
"Your teacher's old rival has assembled his own team, and they were a last minute entry into the tournament. Any thoughts or strategies on how you plan to handle Team Lions if you ever met up in the arena?"
Rivalries were highly marketable. Robin made a split second decision.
"Lions may be the kings of the jungle. But dragons rule over all of creation. We don't see them as a threat. There is not a single one of them that is on our level."
It was brutal. It was rude. But he had to be. If Roy was anything like what they said of him, if he was anything he was supposed to be, he wouldn't walk away from a challenge as open as that.
"If they want to fight us, let them come."
What he had not expected in that moment was the sound of something crashing. Everyone turned, expecting, perhaps, a violent bus crash, multiple casualties, something possibly tramautic...
What they found was Little Mac taking a chaotic shortcut through the garden, trampling flowers and knocking over marble statues in his wake. Pichu rode on his shoulders, electric cheeks buzzing. Terry held onto his hat as he sprinted after them. Roy and Lucina ran to keep up, following a trail of destruction, of toppled signs, broken lights, scattered decorations. Doc brought up the rear on his bicycle, blasting loud music from a speaker attached to the back compartment.
Cameras snapped as the Lions cut through the press conference. Robin stood mute, watching the strange procession rip through the crowd of spectators. None of the intruders acknowledged him, except for Doc Louis, who flashed a quick grin and a peace sign.
"Assholes!" Samurai Goroh shouted at their retreating backs.
Roy only answered with his middle finger, but the group didn't stop.
Robin blinked. "Uh...well."
"You called them out. And they answered."
Robin turned around. "Sensei!"
Marth stepped up next to him, wearing white, sword at the hip. "I came to see how the press conference was going."
"Well, it was fine a minute ago."
"I'll talk to them. That was disrespectful."
It was. But...
Robin lowered his voice. "It's good for views."
"There's still a code of conduct. If we're held to it, so should they be."
On the outskirts of the city, they had set up camp. The desert was peaceful and dark. Sue set her eyes on the stars above. She looked for constellations that she knew. She wished she were home.
Then she looked out on the horizon, the skyline of bright lights.
The city was there. Foreign territory. Very likely hostile.
It was time.
She approached the fire. The others had gathered around in a circle. She knelt down in front of the wooden chest. The latch was easily undone. She lifted the lid.
The bone mask stared back at her, hollowed eyed, patient. She pulled it out with both hands. The horns made it heavy.
She flipped it carefully in her hands and set it over her face. She secured it with the ties.
Then she rose to her feet. The others dropped to their knees.
She turned and took the reins of her horse. Head bowed, she offered a prayer. Then she mounted.
Ike gave the signal.
Horse and rider faced the city on the horizon. Together, they took off. The cold desert wind cut through her clothes. But her blood ran hot.
We won't stop, she thought. Not until we feel the concrete streets beneath us. We've come too far to stop.
A lover not a fighter on the front line with a poem