The sands were always quiet, save for the wind. The sun hung straight above, a silent bringer of shimmering heat. Invisibly, millions of invisible particles of radiation darted back and forth in the air near the surface. The landscape was a product of the otherworldly powers that had been brought to bear in the first invasion from space that Earth’s contemporary host had experienced.
In the worst moment of the war, major portions of the west coast of the former United States had simply been sunken into the Pacific, a horrid surge of ocean flooding inland for many miles. Anyone on the coast was simply gone. When the waters receded, the remaining land they revealed was shredded, much of its surface powderized into a fine radioactive sand. Some of the more discerning among the anomalous weapons brought to bear left bizarre new features in the new coastline. Arcadia, formerly a landlocked city, now was a part of the coast, a divot carved up to its doorstep.
In the years following, rebuilding went well enough. The boon of construction-specialized Robot Masters, along with existing experience from the Wily Wars, helped keep things fast. In almost no time, Arcadia took advantage of its new waters, incorporating a massive harbor complex. Re-terraforming technologies were tested for the first time in their fledgling form, most notably a massive, bioengineered forest, designed as a buffer to halt the encroaching desertification.
Most humans and many robots stayed clear of the sands and the woods. Yet, still, those lands were not empty. Ruins were left in both the forest and the dunes. Nature returned where it could. Dr. Wily established his final tower deep in the desert. Eventually, dissatisfied robots began to inhabit the area, founding the community of Tin Can in a spot right where the forest met the desert.
On one day in particular, long after those events passed into history, a resident of Tin Can was out on a walk, sand crunching beneath his boots. Sparrow was a completely average humanoid Reploid, originally designed for Neo Arcadian civilian work. He was draped in a simple cloak to keep the sand out. Underneath, his joints had cloth covers affixed. These measures weren’t perfect, but they were good enough for a day’s outing.
He happened upon a cluster of low buildings, partly buried in the grit. Their features had been worn down by the winds over the decades until even their corners were rounded and indistinct. For a while, Sparrow leaned against one of the structures, enjoying its shade and idly looking at the mountains on the horizon. Through the haze, the Reploid had trouble picking out details, but he’d been up in those mountains before, on a camping trip. They were within the band of forest that held back the sand. He remembered that from his campsite, he’d been able to distantly see the glow of Neo Arcadia’s high-security artificial forestry, and a looming facility in the middle of it all. An odd sight, and one he hadn’t been intent on investigating.
Presently, curiosity got the better of him, and he went inside to see if there was anything good. Contained within was a dense space full of racks and racks of tools and tires and machines- a storage shed for a hardware store. Presumably, the larger of the structures outside.
After a sufficient search of the storehouse, Sparrow walked at a pleasant pace towards where the real treasure was bound to be kept. He hefted his current prize, a nice and sturdy wrench. He tilted it flat so its polished surface caught the noontime sun, glinting brightly. Pleased, he mused to himself.
“Yep, yep, they just don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”
With his free hand, he pushed along a rattly old flatbed dolly. Its wheels had little traction in the sand, but it slid along well enough. The wood of its bed was warped and rotted- clearly, at least some level of flooding had hit the area before it’d desiccated. Sitting atop it was a bundle of bungie cords with hooks. All in all, the storehouse had contained a good setup for dragging home some loot on short notice.
Far behind, his stalker crept along. This individual had been pursuing Sparrow for miles, hiding behind dunes and old unidentifiable remnants of infrastructure, undoubtedly quite frustrated at the Reploid’s recent break. Certainly, the stalker had sprinted forth recklessly the second Sparrow entered the shed. Now, as the unaware quarry approached the ruined store, the stalker sped up, hoping to catch his prize before Sparrow could enter the building. Right as the Reploid reached the door, before Sparrow could pry apart the sliding glass, the pursuer barked out.
“Halt! On Neo Arcadian authority, you are required to turn around! You are not free to go at this time!”
Sparrow whirled around. He was caught off guard, but his response carried a level and cool tone. “I’m not Neo Arcadian.”
The stalker shot back, “Don’t be absurd. It is a crime to be outside of the city without official business. You must come with me without resistance to stand trial.”
“You got a name? I’m not callin’ you ‘Officer’”.
The stalker scoffed. “I am Neo Arcadia Simple Enforcer Number Oh Five Six Dash Zero Zero Six Three Four. You may refer to me as Agent 634.”
Sparrow rolled his eyes. “Always the numbers with you Neo Arcadians. I’m gonna call you… hm… Scarab. ‘Cuz to me, it sure seems like you’re just smearin’ shit around the desert.”
The offended agent sputtered, “Sc- Wh- I!”
He reached for the buster pistol on his belt. “You are under arrest!”
Sparrow chuckled, unintimidated by the weapon. “I told ya, I’m not Neo Arcadian.”
The Reploid pulled the side of his cloak into view, revealing the black stenciled hyacinth. It was the Tin Can emblem- and for good measure, in block capitals beneath, ‘TIN CAN’ was printed, also in stencil.
Scarab suppressed a double take. This complicated things for him. Still, he doubled down. “Fool! There are only Neo Arcadians. The world is united under the banner of Neo Arcadia. So come with me! I won’t say it again!”
The Neo Arcadian Reploid tightened his grip on his pistol, clicking off the safety. Wordlessly, Sparrow slowly held up a small device. It was a black rectangular prism with a lens on its large surface. It flickered to life, projecting an abstract shape in the air- a sphere, around which orbited several triangles, pointed outward. They slowly rotated, but picked up speed.
“Only gonna warn y’once, Scarab Shitbeetle. Put the gun away and fuck off outta here.”
This actually deflated the tension somewhat for Scarab, at least for a moment. The absurdity of it! “Do you think I’m an idiot, Suspect? Do you think we don’t know all the parlor tricks your rusty little town employs? Like we haven’t been keeping an eye on that loathsome little rat of a leader for years?”
With his next words, Scarab raised the gun. “That’s a hologram, and you’re gonna try to fool me with it. It’s not gonna-”
Silently, the whirling hologram zipped at the smug Reploid. Its triangular blades chopped down at his shoulder. Sparks flew, and his face froze as he watched his gun arm cleanly detach, the cut edge of the metal glowing. A second later, the pain registered. Scarab dropped to his knees, howling and babbling incoherently.
“Well, y’won’t be needin’ this, so I hope y’don’t mind.”
The Reploid walked up to him, grabbing the gun from the inert hand on the ground. He opened up his robe as he stuffed the buster into his belt. With the robe open, the overwhelmed Scarab spotted a hefty power bank strapped to the criminal’s thigh. A cable ran from it to the hologram emitter he still wielded like a protective magic amulet. Moaning and sobbing wordlessly, he shrunk away, tumbling ineptly onto his back. Looking back, Sparrow realized the floating weapon was menacingly close. He withdrew it.
Sparrow dragged his cart over to Scarab and got to work, heaving the Neo Arcadian up onto its bed. The hostile robot tried to resist, but he was weakened from the pain and the shock to the system. As Sparrow worked, he monologued smugly.
“You were right, we do love our holograms. Very useful escape trick, but it don’t work if the target’s got spectral filters or just knows the game. So we, uh, developed a bit of an upgrade. Takes a bunch more energy- hence the battery- and I don’t know rightly how the science works exactly, but ol’ Tanuki said it’s something to do with refocusing the lensed suspended light back onto itself a bunch of times before it leaks and becomes visible. Sort of a denser, tighter version of a hologram. That make any sense to you?”
Scarab didn’t respond, still making loud pain sounds.
“Oh, right, guess y’can’t really form sentences right now. ‘Cuz of the extreme pain. I get it. Anyway, how it works is, the hologram gets really friggin’ hot. ‘N you can just… use it like a knife. Like those old videos of hot knives in butter. Makes really clean cuts, too.”
Satisfied that Scarab was securely lashed to the dolly, Sparrow dropped the detached arm in front of its owner, tying it down with his last bungee.
“Well, anyway, m’point is, it shouldn’t be too hard to get this ol’ thing fixed and wired back on to ya. Good as new, more or less. Now, here, I gotta cover both sides of the wound. Don’t want too much sand getting in there, now do we?”
As the Tin Canner procured some spare cloth covers, the pain suppression subroutine in Scarab’s mind began to slowly ease in. Though its function was more or less merciful, its purpose was entirely utilitarian- it dulled the pain just enough so an injured Neo Arcadian could either continue to work or seek repairs.
“Now, I gotta wonder, what army are you part of? Prob not Leviathan’s crew, ahaha! Her kind don’t really prowl out in the desert. Probably not Fefnir, either, ‘cause you only had the one pistol and I was able to get it off ya before the trigger pulled. Maybe Harpuia’s, hm? You don’t look like a pilot, but he also covers a lot of the more general enforcement bullshit, right?”
Sparrow’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, though it didn’t lose its relative joviality. “Or maybe… you’re one of Phantom’s, hm? You did sneak up pretty good on me. Wonder how long you were tracking me? But… Nah, I bet you woulda just knifed me in the back if you were his.”
Scarab’s moans had dropped off in volume, but he was still just a bit beyond speech. Nonetheless, his eyes bugged out a bit at the open mention of Phantom. The Cutting Shadow were a secret, one that was illegal to discuss as fitting with their clandestine nature. Scarab was himself only aware as a dubious privilege of military enrollment.
Sparrow completely missed the facial reaction of his captive, focused as he was on the path ahead of him as he pushed the cart.
“Well, in any case, I know one thing for sure. Yer a low-ranker. And it’s gonna stay that way. Humanoids never get far. Too delicate to be stationed at any real important point. The career for you’s probably been reporting and tracking down minor offenders, usually on the streets, right? You’re a long way from home. And that’s also how I know you’re probably a grunt. Anyone with real pull knows to steer clear of us Tin Canners for the most part.”
Scarab croaked a slightly indignant response, wincing as his mouth moved. “What?”
“Hell, I dunno why you freaks let us be. Ya sure hate when escapees reach us, but y’never roll all the way up for a fight. Thing is, you could probably take us. Our tech’s good- lot better than we started out, so I’ve heard- but we’re not a real military. Y’know what I bet it is? They’re afraid of what we know. They know we’re the last people around that really know shit about Wily tech. Doubt that means anythin’ to you in particular, but I also doubt your superiors wanna find out what we have. Or maybe they’re afraid of what knowledge might disappear with us. Or, or, maybe they think they can get something from our research if they hit at the right time? Or, I guess maybe we’re just not actually on the radar as much anymore. After all, we do keep to ourselves. It’d be a lot of trouble to wipe us out. Whatever the reason, it was really fuckin’ dumb of you to run up on me like that, Beetle Man.”
Mercifully, Sparrow’s yapping finally trailed off. Scarab opened his mouth to speak. His voice was hoarse but the pain was enough at bay that he could think and speak.
“Where are you taking me? And why didn’t you finish me?”
The Reploid pushing the cart didn’t think for even a moment before responding.
“Well, I didn’t need to finish you. You’re neutralized enough, yeah? And I’m takin’ you to Tin Can, of course! Gotta get that arm fixed before we figure out what we’re gonna do, and before you figure out what you’re gonna do.”
The captive robot shuddered. He was being taken into a Maverick den. What twisted things would happen? “What do you mean, what I’m gonna do?”
“Well, obviously, we don’t wanna hold onto ya for no reason. And to me, it seems pretty obvious that you were out here unsanctioned. Hoping to catch some prey that would look good to your boss. Probably bad that you did that, and you were hoping that nabbin’ me would make up for it. Am I right or am I right?”
Scarab looked away, sullenly.
“Yeah. What I kinda figured. So, uh, we need to make absolutely sure our evidence is straight and you can’t go telling them we grabbed and tortured ya. It’d be pretty stupid of you to say that, but we gotta be sure. And as for you, well… You can go back, I guess. Dunno why you’d want to. You can also try to make it out in the wastes. Kinda a shitty idea, buuuut I’ve heard some bands of Mavericks make it work sometimes. That’s usually further inland, though. Or you can stay with us. Me personally, I think that’s a pretty good option. And I’m being damn gracious by offering it after what you pulled.”
Scarab wanted to spit back that he would never willingly consort with Mavericks, but between the dull pain and the humiliation at his utter defeat, he didn’t have it in him. All he had to do was endure until this supposed repair to his arm. Then he could go back home.
Home, where all he had was slim Energen rations.
Home, where it was discouraged to make friends with coworkers.
Home, where he was behind on his arrest quota.
Home, where his superior officer berated him and threatened him with retirement.
Home, such as it was. At least there weren’t Mavericks.