Stray
By Cybra

A/N: Off-topic but, happy birthday, America!

Disclaimer: Generator Rex belongs to Man of Action.

Chapter 1: Street Rat

Several years ago…

One knew he was old in mercenary years. In fact, anyone could easily argue that the most dangerous man in the world was practically ancient for his profession. Unlike many others, One had reached the age where grey had started to dust his hair and the crow's feet at the edges of his eyes were more pronounced. Of the very few who managed to reach his age in this business, most of them chose to retire long before now. However, One not only stayed active, he even took on students.

Of course, most of these students he disliked. He could count on one hand the number of students he'd felt were worthy of giving them the final lessons he'd learned…

"Master, I believe I'm ready to complete my training."

…and this "Darius" (if that was even the man's real name) definitely wasn't going to be one of them.

"Do you now?" One asked dryly.

Darius gave a sharp nod. "I've trained with you for months, Master. You've said that I'm an apt student."

Truth be told, Darius wasn't wrong. One had told him that, and he'd meant it. The man had learned the new techniques quickly, adding them to his already impressive fighting style. Unfortunately for Darius, he'd also ignored every little correction to the skills he'd already "perfected" that One offered.

Fighting ability was only part of the equation. The humility to accept that there was always room for improvement was another, and this particular student didn't have that.

But most important thing Darius lacked was that special spark.

A loud clang! echoed from the alleyway they were passing. The two men paused and listened intently. One's eyes glanced about and focused on a small shadow in the alley hunched over a trashcan. The source of that shadow must've knocked off the lid.

A plan quickly formed in One's mind. "All right, but first…"

He dashed quickly into the alley, moving faster than most people could track. The small shadow became the figure of a child, too distracted by the rotten apple in his hand to notice One's presence before the man grabbed the boy and pulled him out into the last fading rays of sunset, holding him by the shoulders.

One presented the boy before Darius. "…you have to kill this child."

There was no hesitation on Darius's part as he moved swiftly forward, drawing that ornate knife that he was so proud of. His eyes were locked on the boy, automatically aiming for the child's heart.

Surprisingly enough, the boy One held made no sound. Instead, the child relaxed in One's grip as the shock of being grabbed wore off, replaced by resignation. Those bony shoulders slumped as their owner prepared for the end, not even bothering to scream for help.

However, One pulled the child back at the last moment, pushing the boy behind him as he moved towards his student. A fist flew forward to strike Darius in the abdomen. As Darius stumbled, One grabbed the man's knife hand and gave it a vicious twist, snapping the bones with ease. The student gave a strangled cry, turning to try and avoid further assault only to lose his balance as One swept his feet out from under him. He fell backwards, gasping as One jabbed him in the spine with a knee before letting him hit the ground.

Darius lied half on his side, gasping for breath and writing in pain. He clutched his broken wrist with his free hand, the knife lying just out of arms' reach. "Master," he wheezed, "why?"

One glared down at him.

"I was your best student…Why…?"

"For one thing, you're trying to claim a title that you clearly don't deserve. No student of mine would fail such an obvious test." One sneered down at Darius. "More importantly, I ordered you to kill a child who'd done no wrong to either of us, and you were willing to do so without even the slightest hesitation for no reason other than to obtain my teachings."

"But we're…our job…"

"Yes, our job requires us to at times kill, but we need to have boundaries, limits to what we're willing to do. A sense of honor, you might say." His eyes narrowed. "And I'd never share those final lessons with a dishonorable creature like you!"

Darius struggled to sit up, groaning and falling back to the ground from the pain. He gazed desperately up at his teacher.

One walked back to the boy, looking over his shoulder at his fallen student. He placed a hand on one far too thin shoulder and said, "This little urchin is more worthy of my teachings than you, and I'd prefer to teach him. If you ever set foot on my island again, I'll kill you."

One released the boy and continued walking, leaving his former student in disgrace with the street child. If he remembered the map correctly, the bus terminal was a few blocks over. Due to this being such a remote town, it was very likely that there weren't any buses leaving this late. Especially any that was headed in the direction of home. He'd simply head back to the hotel for the night once he'd bought a ticket for tomorrow's earliest bus.

He heard the faint sound of footfalls behind him. He turned his head, preparing a throwing knife if that worm Darius was following him.

To One's surprise, it was the boy whose life he'd risked, bare feet quietly slapping the cement with each step.

One turned his attention back to what lie ahead of him. The child would give up soon enough. He continued walking.

But for each step he took, he heard two of the child's. Periodically there was a horrible hacking cough which stopped the boy's steps. Yet each time One was certain the boy would quit, there came the hurried half-run of the child, a glance back showing him scurrying to catch up.

After several minutes of this, One stopped and turned around.

The boy stopped as well, reaching out to lean heavily on a lamppost.

"Why are you following me?"

"You…said…You said…" The boy gasped for breath, the sound coming out as a death rattle. "You said you…wanted to teach me…"

One frowned. "I have no time to—"

"Don't you dare promise me something you can't or won't keep!"

One's eyebrows shot to the sky at the vehemence of those words.

The child bent over, coughing and wheezing. Thick hardened mucous struck the ground as the boy spat it out. Even as he continued gasping, he raised his head to glare at the mercenary.

Those brown eyes showed so much. True, they shone largely due to fever but not even that could hide the determination. He was clearly on his last legs yet the boy wasn't about to let One off the hook so easily. Those eyes promised that this boy would follow him until he simply dropped dead.

One couldn't help but be impressed. He'd only said he'd teach the boy to humiliate his former student, but now…

He pushed the idea out of his head. "Boy, do you even know what I teach?"

The child shook his head.

"I teach the martial arts. Fighting techniques," he said at the boy's uncomprehending look. "And not the safe, afterschool sports styles, either. The pure styles which can be used to kill." He narrowed his eyes. "Train under me, and your bones will break and your body will bleed. You could even die in the process."

The child lowered his head, staring at the ground.

One started to turn away, satisfied that he'd convinced the boy to give up on such a ridiculous notion.

"…All right."

One turned back, unable to wipe the utter shock off of his face. "Come again?"

The boy wobbled as he attempted to straighten up. Then he repeated, "All right."

"Kid, don't you understand that you could die from my training?"

"Yes, I do, but…" He coughed before looking back up at One. "…at least I wouldn't die out here, right?"

One locked eyes with the kid, trying to understand.

Before the mercenary could say anything, the boy slumped a bit, staring down at the sidewalk again. He said quietly, "If I'm going to die, I want it to be while trying to become something worthwhile than as just another piece of trash."

It was clear the boy's energy was flagging. He'd probably collapse at any time now.

One looked over the boy again. He truly was a pathetic sight. Undersized and grossly underweight, it was easy to see the kid's bones even with his skin coated with all that grime. The filthy rags that passed for clothing were barely hanging onto him. Everything about the boy screamed that he was the worst choice of student One could've ever asked for.

Yet he found himself walking towards the kid, turning his back on him and crouching down. "Hop on."

The boy hesitated.

He looked back. "I said I'd teach you, but even I can't teach anything to a corpse."

Seeing the logic in that statement, the boy climbed up onto his back. One jerked a bit as he felt something small jump onto him and took a bite. In addition to all the grime, it seemed the kid was crawling with insects.

However, One simply stood up and started walking, mentally noting that he was going to have to find the kid something to wear. Those rags were better off destroyed.

"What's your name, boy?"

He felt the child's shrug. "Whatever you wanna call me, I guess."

So the kid was a completely blank slate. This was going to be interesting.

"Well, my little shadow, I suppose I'll just have to come up with something."

Sneaking the kid into his hotel room had been no trouble at all. With a room facing the outside, One hadn't needed to carry the now-sleeping child through the halls.

One frowned as he adjusted the collection of skin and bones he cradled in his arms. It truly was a miracle that the boy had managed to survive while in such horrendous condition. He could easily hold the child with one arm as he unlocked the door.

The boy had curled up into a ball, his head resting in the crook of One's neck. His slick, greasy hair rubbed uncomfortably against One's chin. The man was going to need to take a shower after all this and wash his clothes if the dark smudges on his sleeves were any indicator of what his back looked like right now.

He took the boy to his room's bathroom, shaking the child awake. "Little stray, I need you to strip."

The boy jerked awake, gazing at him warily before complying.

One ignored this, merely starting the bath before going to his suitcase. He searched through the contents for something the boy could change into once he was clean. The mercenary ended up laying out a long-sleeved shirt several sizes too big for the scrawny child. It looked like he had a shopping trip on his hands tomorrow.

Returning to the bathroom, One picked up the ruined fabric the boy had been wearing. Turning off the faucet, he ordered, "Get in. I'll be right back."

As the child slowly climbed in, One swiftly left the room and proceeded to toss the rags into a dumpster. He returned to the room in less than a minute, just in time to see his new student start drifting off in the warm water.

One knelt beside the tub and proceeded to dip a wash cloth in the water, lathering it up with a bar of soap. As awkward as this was, the kid was clearly too exhausted to properly clean himself. And, as One quickly noted, the built-up coat of grime wasn't willing to come off so easily.

With each scrub, the boy's skin grew a little paler. Using one of the provided plastic cups, One poured water on the child to rinse off the loosened filth. Then he would start scrubbing again. The water grew murky from the mix of dirt and soap. So murky, in fact, that he had to drain the tub several times and refill it with fresh water in order to get the boy clean. He also washed the boy's hair, feeling some satisfaction as the fleas—not lice, actual fleas—met their grisly fate of drowning. Judging from the red dots all over the boy, he'd had quite an infestation of the horrible little beasts.

And of course there were scars. Jagged, ugly scars that decorated the boy's body. A few old circular burn marks gave mute testimony to just how cruel humans could be to one another. One shoulder had bite marks, most likely from a dog.

The mercenary observed all this in silence, the child periodically opening his eyes to impassively watch him work. Yet he didn't bother to ask what had happened. It was over now. The kid would have to stand up and move on.

At last the boy was clean, four once perfectly white washcloths having been sacrificed in the endeavor. One drained the bathtub again, drying his charge off with a towel. He then carried the boy off to bed, setting him down and handing him the shirt.

"Put this on and lie down. I'll see about getting you something to eat." He frowned, once again taking in the emaciated body. "…Probably some broth would be best."

The boy complied immediately, yawning hugely as he burrowed beneath the blankets.

"I'll be back. Don't let anyone in, you hear me?"

"Yes, Master."

One paused. "Why did you call me that?"

"It's what that other guy called you," the child mumbled sleepily. "You taught him and now you're teaching me."

One couldn't help the smirk. Smart kid to connect the dots like that. He picked up the "Do Not Disturb" sign, exiting the room and placing it on the outside doorknob before heading off to the local store.

The trip to the store only took a few minutes. On his way back to the room, he stopped by the front desk, extending his stay for a week. As much as he'd like to return to the safety of his island, the boy was in no shape to go anywhere.

He wasn't at all surprised to see that the boy hadn't moved an inch nor did he react as One warmed the broth in the kitchenette.

When the broth was ready, the mercenary walked over to him and shook the kid's shoulder.

"Wake up, little shadow. I brought you something to eat."

The boy jerked away, blinking slowly at him. His entire form was stiff with fear.

One showed him the mug of broth. "Drink this and then you can go back to sleep."

The boy calmed, gratefully taking the mug and drinking it down slowly. The kid was clearly savoring the warm meal, perhaps expecting that One would change his mind and toss him out in the morning.

One watched him in silence, only occasionally reaching out to steady the mug when the boy's hands shook.

He wasn't going to simply toss the boy out now. He'd said to Darius that people in their profession needed to set limits, maintain some sense of honor, and he'd given this boy his word.

Once the kid had swallowed the last few drops, One took the mug as the boy dropped instantly back to sleep. He left the mug in the sink and sat down in one of the chairs by the table. He wasn't feeling sleepy yet, so he might as well set to work.

He pulled out the notepad he always kept in his jacket inside pocket. He slid the pen out of the spiral binding and started to write.