Chapter Text
A revolting sense of nausea strikes Durandal, causing him to wince and clutch at his stomach. That figure in red, this planet and its smothering crowd and air…
Vince notices, and voices his concern. “You okay?” He hunches slightly to get a closer look. Durandal lowers his eyes, preferring not to look directly at his friend. This entire trip has felt so wrong ever since they got here, and he can’t decipher the reason why. It has to have something to do with the man in red. Ever since Durandal spotted him, he’s been unfocused. Even now he gets the sense that they’re being watched. Ignoring Vince’s presence, Durandal glances back to make sure the red figure was gone, but couldn’t make anything out through the sea of people. Trying not to worry, Durandal looks up and answers Vince’s question honestly.
“No,” he mutters, just loud enough for Vince to hear. Sensing his companion’s worry, Durandal follows up, “Vincent, I need to...we need to leave.”
Vince’s expression softens, and Durandal despises the fact he comes off as pitiful. Vince hides any hint of pitying him as he speaks. “Look, I’m sorry this thing hasn’t been working out. I thought we could just get some fresh air.” He smiles in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Get away from the ship for once, y’know?”
“I much prefer being in the Rozinante than out here.” He rubs his arm in an attempt to mitigate his nerves. “But I appreciate the gesture.” He raises his eyes to level with Vince, who turns away hurriedly.
“Thanks,” he breathes. “C’mon, let’s get off this rock.”
Durandal raises an eyebrow, and stops. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vince stops in his tracks, and turns back to Durandal with a look of confusion. Durandal rolls his eyes. When Vince frowns in confusion, he rolls his eyes, and says in exasperation, “The man in red?”
Vince’s eyes widen. “Oh!”
Durandal rolls his eyes. “‘Oh,’ is right.” He pushes forward, grabbing Vince gently by the wrist, and walks past the fork in the road that leads to the shipyard. “Our admirer was willing to follow us over a considerable distance, and I suspect he’s not one to give up so easily.”
Vince tries not to trip as his companion practically drags him. “You think he’ll follow us off-world? What makes you so sure he’s not just some thug?”
“Do you think someone dressed that extravagant would be trying to simply rob us? Rob you ?”
Vince slowly eases his wrist off Durandal’s grasp, matching his friend’s speed. “Fair point...what do you have in mind?”
In a begrudging tone, Durandal mouths, “We need to draw him out.”
Vince frowns, absorbing his friend’s suggestion. He can see the logic in the idea, but feels a bit wary about it. “Dude, I don’t know how you plan on doing that in a place like this.” He motions to the fluctuating crowd around them, now less brimming than before. Most are either flowing from their shuttles and personal ships, or pushing through the arriving newcomers to leave.
Durandal scoffs, “Don’t you think I know that?”
“Just asking,” Vince says, slightly hurt.
“This port is located on a very large plateau.” Vince notices that the crowd is thinning out somewhat, with their absence giving the duo more space to breathe. “There’s a clearing nearby, right next to a cliffside that’ll give us an unobstructed sightline of anyone coming our way.”
Vince nods, slowly comprehending Durandal’s plan. “And what makes you so sure he’ll follow us all the way there?”
“Nothing,” he says, a nervous smile creeping its way onto his face. “Call it a hunch. Besides, weren’t you the one that said we should get some fresh air?”
Vince sighs. “Fair point.” A question forms in his mind, and he asks in a hushed tone, “Say, if we get there first, wouldn’t that put the cliff…”
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“No, no, be my guest.”
Durandal smiles internally. He increases his pace. “The sun’s getting low. We must hurry.”
“Okay, but maybe—Hey, slow down!”
Durandal remembers Mars. In contrast to his current location, the red planet was a neglected rock, it’s formerly hopeful colonizers eventually losing their will to obey as necessary supplies and food rarely arrived. He remembers Strauss’s tests and games more than anything else.
He does not remember the planet fondly.
Standing near the edge of the plateau, a sunbakes valley thousands of meters below him, he’s struck with a familiar feeling, the setting sun reminding him of his origin from long ago.
So long ago.
Vince shields his eyes from the burning sun, squinting through the glare. At last breaking the tense silence, he says, “I think I shoulda just brought you here from the start.”
Durandal’s eyes revolve and dilate as they look away from the blazing star, and stop on Vince. He opens his mouth to speak, but says nothing, unable to determine an appropriate response. Sweat from the heat glistens on his face, the golden sun lighting up his visage. Durandal’s own body regulates temperature internally, unable to produce any sort of perspiration at all. He finds himself staring at each bead forming on Vince’s brow, fascinated by the organic reaction.
Anything to distract him from the reason they’re here.
He will enjoy this while he can. He hopes he is wrong, that the red man was nobody in particular, but he hasn’t been wrong yet.
“Hey D?”
Durandal breaks his daze off of Vince’s features, and asks, “Yes?”
“We got company.”
Turning away from the sheer drop, Durandal looks the way they came, and ignores the old structures in the distance to see a small figure, gradually getting closer and closer. Zooming in, his enhanced vision allows him to make out the figure is cloaked, and moving in a brisk pace. The only tint of red on his form is the sun’s glare bouncing off of him.
Wait, what? Durandal drowns. Another person on their tale? Perhaps working with the man in red? Or someone unrelated?
Vince questions, “Is it him?”
“No,” Durandal whispers. “It’s someone else.”
Vince steps next to Durandal’s side, hands hanging loose in case he needs them. He moves slightly forward, barely an inch ahead of Durandal. He asks, “Is he armed?” Durandal shakes his head. The newcomer slows down as he approaches, the folds of his cloak masking everything that isn’t his face. Vincent’s brow furrows on making out the approaching intruder, and clenches his fists.
“Get behind me.” In a rare instance, Durandal obeys, and inches back.
His march doesn’t cease until he is only a few feet away, as his boots crunch on the rusted dirt, and halt. Sunken eyes on a gaunt face stare past Vince, and drill into Durandal.
In the heat of the sun, Durandal’s veins fill with ice.
The man tears his gaze off of him, and moves over to Vince.
He had only caught a brief glance of the guy, but Vince recognized him from the marketplace almost immediately. While the assailant he had run into almost an hour ago had looked nearly shocked, his eyes dig into Vince with pure vitriol, as if the very sight of him is an insult.
Getting sick of the overbearing tension, Vince finally breaks the silence unceremoniously. “Who are you?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Vince’s mouth shuts tightly with a grimace. That wasn’t the response he was expecting.
“I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want any business with you, so piss off before—”
“I’m not here for you. I’m here to have a word with him .”
Durandal never felt more dread in his life than when those eyes bore into his. He stammers, “Vince—”
The man points defiantly at Durandal.
“I know that voice. The last time I heard it was eons ago.” Durandal is unable to respond, and only stares in utter confusion.
The man brings his hand back to gently shove off the cloak, revealing his full form underneath.
Every inch of the man is covered in an olive alloy, matching the same color scheme on Vince. The armor is heavy, with age showing in its many cracks and scratches.
Located right on the chest is a symbol that looks identical to—
Vince notices it the same time as Durandal, and says in a fashion more blunt than Durandal was thinking, “What the fuck?”
“Answer me very carefully, because I know when you lie.” He steps closer now, only a few feet away from the two, and completely ignoring Vince’s presence.
“Why do you have his voice ?”
Durandal’s mind is currently in the AI equivalent of panic. Millions of details (his face) and questions (who is he?) race past and over each other, and it’s only Vince’s alarmed voice that manages to pull him back.
“D, what’s going on?” He glances back, “Who is this guy?”
“I…” I don’t know.
Vince blinks, dumbfounded as for the first time the egotistical android is rendered mute, and turns around. He steps forward, tightening his fist in preparation. “You want him? You’re gonna have to go through—”
An android body comes with many perks. Carefully handcrafted to overcome and improve every single shortcoming of the human body it’s based on, each of the inherent senses are improved to the point of superhuman. It is this which allows Durandal to see every twitch on a human’s face, the slight sharp breath Vince takes when anticipating a blow, the soft breeze raising specks of dust off the dry ground. The technological achievement that is his mind allows him to process over a million frames every thousandth of a second. No detail is hidden from him or his fellow android colleagues.
Even with his sight, Durandal never sees the punch.
A crack tears through the air, as Durandal only just manages to not be hit by Vince’s flying body. His friend is launched with incredible force, and lands several feet away, lying limp on the ground.
Every single alarm coded within screams, as Durandal’s shocked gaze snapped to Vince’s inert form. Eyes wide, he shouts his name. “Vince!”
He steps forward to run to his fallen friend’s side, but is stopped as the intruder grabs him by the arm. Millions upon millions of lines in his processor crash and blend together in numbers and words, rendering Durandal frozen in what qualifies as fear in an AI. His free hand desperately tries to unclasp the iron grip on his arm to no avail, as the imposing figure’s eyes dig into Durandal’s own.
“You stole me away years ago.” Each word strengthens his hold, and Durandal is certain his arm is starting to break. “You threw away the lives of hundreds for your crusade. I saved your life , damn it. I know you remember me.”
“I-I don’t know who you are.”
The grip on Durandal’s arm deepens, and the android feels his endoskeleton dip under pressure. Panic lances through him for the first time since the Marathon . “I know I’m not crazy.” His voice is teetering on the edge of breaking, and Durandal can only stare as he tries to formulate a way out of this.
Ow…
Vince tries to speak, a ball of pain spiking up his chest causing him to gasp and cough.
Did I just get hit by a fucking train? He clutches at his chest, and his hands brush upon the area where he apparently was punched. Looking down, he sees his armor is very clearly dented inward from the blow.
Letting out a groan, he carefully pushes himself up with his elbow, and freezes.
Durandal is struggling to pull himself free from the clasp of him —
He kicks himself up to his feet and breaks into a sprint.
The man tears his glare off of Durandal, letting go of his arm to deal with Vince.
He’s too slow. Vince runs into him with the force of a freight train, and tackles him into the ground. The assailant falls into the dry ground with an oomph, the assault knocking the wind out of his lungs.
Vince doesn’t waste any time.
Propping himself up, he knocks away the clumsy block the assailant throws up and drives his fist into his face with a crack.
And again.
And again.
After pummeling into his face for what feels like seconds, he slows down to cease his barrage, and breathes.
No longer does it resemble the gaunt skull wearing a skin mask. The bloodied visage beneath him shakily raises its head, ruined features and all, and blinks.
Then grins.
Vince frowns in confusion, too distracted to focus on the man’s hands.
Which leads to his head being encaged by iron claws, which promptly pull him down by his hair and into a blinding headbutt. The blow is strong enough to kill most, and Vince tries to parry away the man’s forearms, but in the vulnerable state he eats a punch that sends shockwaves through his skull. His vision flashes red, and he goes limp for only an instant, but enough time for the man push Vince off with a kick, sending him stumbling away and onto his ass.
Scrambling back to his feet upon regaining stability, Vince just barely manages to get onto his feet before dodging another blow from the hulking goliath.
He digs his feet into the ground, and adrenaline rushes pounds his heart as he grapples with what may be the embodiment of rage. He had taken note of the man’s height advantage on him earlier, but failed to register how towering he truly is until now. Blow for blow, Vince only just blocks the man’s lightning fast hooks, so fast he can feel the air around him be pushed away by their pure force. He recognizes the boxing stance and signature striking pattern. Barely. If his earlier attack had slowed him down, Vince can’t tell. The man’s relentless in his attack. Vince can’t afford to pay it any mind either, as the man roars and weaves under his swing to grab him by the neck.
Instantly Vince gasps in an attempt to breathe, and he drives his fist down onto his opponents head, hard enough to break any regular man’s skull and bury into the cerebral cortex, but this only manages to enrage him further. Vince feels the grip on his neck tighten, and begins to see spots before being lifted into the air, and slammed into the ground with enough force for him to see stars and shake his bones. Vince rolls away just in time to avoid a crushing boot, sending a brief shudder into the ground.
Vince knows this isn’t an ordinary fight. He’s never fought someone as strong as this one, one hellbent on killing him for no other reason beyond pure hatred.
He needs to end this soon .
With the man veering around to land the killing blow, Vince takes his chance. He pulls his arm back as he stands up, and drives his fist into the man’s skull.
Plasteel and rubber meets skin with fury, and Vince can see waves ripple through the assailant’s face as the punch sends him into the ground yet again. Vince scrambles to apprehend the unknown intruder, and locks an arm with his legs. The intruder shouts in determination, and uses a free arm to assault Vince’s arm.
Refusing to let go, Vince pulls as hard as he can, and the unknown figure screams as his arm is pulled out of its socket. With frightening speed he manages to get a good angle with his free arm, and grabs Vince by a strap on his armor. Vince is unable to react as he is thrown off to the side and into the dirt some feet away. Quickly getting back up, he sees that the man is already on his feet, left arm hanging lower than the other, loose and disjointed. Not ready to give his opponent a chance to fix his arm, Vince storms forward with the intent to tackle him to the ground and finish the job. The intruder waits until Vince is close enough to swing his loose arm using his own body’s momentum, striking Vince under the chin, and sending stars into his vision. Catching himself before he loses his footing, he focuses back on his opponent, and pauses.
Vince watches as his assailant looks down at his own arm with bewilderment, his forehead straining in an attempt to give it life, but falling in shock as it fails to move. Vince can tell it’s back in its socket, but for some unknown reason it refuses to budge.
Not being one to pass up an opportunity when he sees it, Vince charges forward with his teeth bared, and drags his attacker to the ground again.
His arms lock around his neck, blood from his battered face spreading onto his gauntlets, some of it Vince’s own, but he doesn’t care. In this position, Vince bears the full weight of his opponent, and ignores the oppressive weight as best as he can.
A gurgled cry chokes out, and the man in his headlock tries to use his good arm to set himself free, but Vince squeezes tighter, causing the man to begin thrashing on top of him animalistically, desperately reaching for something to grab onto and give him an advantage.
Only a few more seconds…
He can’t breathe.
The son of a bitch broke his arm or something. It’s dead, and his mistake has just cost him another death.
At the hands of an imposter.
No . As Roland tries to scream, only to let out another choked gasp, he refuses to accept it.
This is wrong! His eyes briefly catch with the soft ones embedded into his killer’s face.
Through the bruises and swollen cuts Roland managed to inflict, he can see just how young he is.
And Roland realizes why the eyes look so familiar.
I-I can’t—
“Stop.”
He freezes. His counterpart breathes momentarily, then relaxes his grip.
This is his chance. Roland grits his teeth, and —
His body refuses to budge.
What?
His counterpart speaks, and Roland repulses at the sound of his voice. “You,” he pants.
Roland can still move his eyes, and he shifts them to the direction of his voice to see a familiar face.
Some distance away is Joyeuse, hands in his pockets, looking as casual as ever.
“I knew this would happen,” the Seer spills out. “A shame it had to be so uncourteous.”
“You’re...an AI?” Roland spots the green-haired Durandal in the corner of his eye. Joy’s violent red colors shine in the light of the sun, showing off the artificial lines running down his skin. “Who are you?” Durandal asks.
A chill runs down Roland’s spine as he gives the same answer from forever ago. “A friend.”
The other, still reeling from the adrenaline, steps forward, but halts when Durandal orders shakily, “Vince. Wait.”
Vince?
Familiar, again.
He wants to scream. He needs to scream, to say anything.
Joyeuse carefully strolls forward.
Vince sniffs, “Keep your distance”
Joy looks down, and locks eye-contact with Roland.
Nothing behind those distant eyes.
“You are lucky. He did not mean to kill you, otherwise this ordeal would’ve gone much worse than it already has.” Roland doesn’t have to look at Vince to see the bewildered look on his face. He’s more used to the nonsensical claims his “companion” loves to make.
The red android’s demeanor was almost amused by the fact his companion was almost killed, and nearly killed Vince.
His heart jumps as he remembers how he only managed to see the last portion of the fight, and he runs to Vince’s side in a hurry.
Vincent jolts at his touch, but quickly relaxes upon realizing who he is.
“Come on,” Durandal pushes. “You need medical attention, now .”
Vince, completely spent, dully nods, and lets himself fall onto Durandal’s shoulder, who helps him stay standing. He holds Vince tightly, arm looped under his shoulder so as to not allow him to fall over.
The red android walks up to the two as nonchalantly Durandal could describe, a neutral expression having replaced the one from before.
“Forgive my friend. He is not himself.”
Too many questions race in his mind, so Durandal picks one that’s most appropriate.
“Who are you really?”
He answers without a single twitch of his features. “You can call me Joyeuse, if you wish.”
Durandal frowns. “Why were you following us?”
“To keep an eye on you, and ensure he—” Joyeuse nods his head in the direction of Roland, “—did not hurt you.”
Vince mumbles weakly, “Nice job.”
“I was not referring to you. Cyborgs tend to survive most obstacles in their way.” He smiles.
Durandal knows better than to let that slide. “Why are you working with a battleroid?”
His head turns back to Durandal, seemingly unsurprised that he knows what Roland is, and he seethes at the question. “Reasons I will explain to you in due time.”
Besides, he’s not going to take his eyes off of him now.
Why can’t he move?
“Had I not intervened, you would’ve been worse for the wear, Vincent Callahan.”
“How — You know my name?”
“I know everyone’s name,” he says with an almost invisible smile. “Except for this one here.” Joy’s boots crunch on the dried dirt and rock, getting closer to Roland’s face. He slowly crouches down, and Roland sees the perfectly pristine features more clearly now.
The AI's mouth opens, and blood rushes to Roland's eyes.
“Rest. ”