[muse]: carbon, a vl dark fanfic

This was once a thriving city.

That's the only thing I can think about as I look down from my rooftop at the decay below: This was once a thriving city. It's never been pretty--I've been here longer than it has; when it first appeared, it was already a rough place--but it was alive, at one point. People lived here. Business took place. Goods and services were exchanged. Money flowed. Commerce--one of the great hallmarks of civilization, even if it was just a lively drug trade.

Not anymore. Dust and ash coat the streets where people once walked and drove and rode. The sky is a sick burnt orange day in and day out. The buildings are falling apart, all their windows long since broken, the glass stolen and used as weapons or resold for trinkets. I've traded my share in glass in the past--it's the way this city works, and if you're going to survive, you need to learn the rules.

It's not like I need to stay here. I could live anywhere else in Videoland--hell, I'm a Gamemaster. I could live in deep space if I wanted to; or carve out my existence in a Zone where one of my kind had never set foot. It might be hard to find one, though; Lita explored most of them before her death--and we're a hunted breed now. Those who are still alive after Travis' purges have fled to whatever corners they can find to hide from him, and they're still running. If he doesn't get them, the hostile citizenry is sure to oust them. It's treason to house a Gamemaster, after all.

I don't know where they are anymore. I check in with Xavier and Shaun from time to time, and I swear I saw Scott picking through the rubble the other day...but it's been nearly eight years since I've seen the others. If they're still alive.

And me? I've stopped running. I never needed to in the first place--Travis' cheats have never worked on me, and never will. But I guess I felt a sense of obligation to everyone else, after our makeshift alliance failed and we scattered. Back then, we thought there was no sense in making easy targets for him. We were sure we could meet up again, in some distant zone, in a year or two, and lead the revolution against Travis. He had the jump on us, when he murdered Lita, but we thought Videoland would rise up against his oppression, if we could just lead them.

Then he caught Lana and Kevin and executed them on the steps of his citadel. I think something vital to Videoland died that day. I know something vital in me died that day. It was the last time I remember crying.

Anyway. We scattered to the four winds. After a year or two of running--sometimes with Shaun and his kids, sometimes on my own; but it was never like the old days, because some part of him died with Lita, too--I finally realized that Travis, great and omniscient as he's pretending to be, still couldn't track me. I'm the single damn dead spot in his power. Somehow, out of all the Gamemasters, out of everything in Videoland, I'm the only thing that's immune to him.

It's sort of cold comfort after seeing the Oracle, the Princess, and the Chosen One of Videoland die. They're the heroes, after all. I'm just some sick kid who got pulled in without his asking for a life like this, happened to fall in love with his new homeworld...and has been fighting for it for nearly sixteen years now.

I'm walking through the streets now. It's stupid--I could get ambushed by a zombie or a hundred other kinds of random monster, and all the ash I'm kicking up makes it hard to breathe. But, sometimes, when I'm down here, with the buildings blocking out the sky, I can sort of pretend the city's like it once was.

This is Vice City, my new home. The place I finally stopped running. It was a tawdry crown jewel in Issac's holdings, but it was still his. Sometimes, I think that's all that mattered to Issac--in the old days. He changed a lot when Travis backstabbed him--nearly killed him, but Dual's always been a stubborn bastard. He didn't die then, and even if I haven't heard anything from him for nearly six years, I know he's still out there. If anyone's got a chance of turning things around, it's Ike. I'll probably be the one to kill Travis--if he can be killed, which I doubt--but Issac will restore Videoland from this mess it's become.

There's an untouched window here. That's a real surprise--Travis sacked the city during the first part of his coup; that's when most of the windows were broken, in the looting. Attrition took the rest--except this one, I guess. I step over to it and scrub eight years' worth of grime off of it. It hasn't survived as well as I thought; there's cracks all through it, like someone's body hit it. Even a couple of bloodstains down lower.

Hell, when did I become such an old man? It's been years since I've seen a mirror--my hair's gotten long again. It's nearly white, too--faded, just like my eyes, I guess. I look like a damn ghost. Feel like one, too--a reminder of a dead age. We thought we had it so bad back then, when the war was this little stale pocket, a thing we did when we got bored...or I guess I did. Shaun and Ike always knew how to have fun. Lita was a trooper; I think she didn't care if she was going to have to fight until the day of her death. The rest of them...I don't know. Guess I just took things too seriously.

It's starting to get dark. The sky is still orange, but there's a lot less light. I need to get back to my roof; the zombies will be out as thick as fireants in just a little bit. I'm covered in ash, too, but I guess there's no chance of a shower. It's just as well; this was the last white coat I had, and I don't know why I was saving it. Now it matches the damn black walls, makes me less of a target. Just as well.

There. I'm back on the roof, just in time for the lights to come on.

Vice...well, I don't rule it like Ike did. I'm not a leader. But I've tried to make it as safe as I can--there's a few tricks I've learned about my immunity over the years, and one of them is transferring just a little of it to Videoland. Vice City is a dead zone to Travis now--and it's become a bit of a refugee camp. Sure, zombies and monsters roam the streets, but they're mostly cut off from Travis, and they're nothing my refugees can't handle. Eight years under Travis' generous rule have made the Palace's orphans harder than they ever thought they could be. But they're not ready--they'll never be ready to face him. If the uprising ever comes, I know they'll be leading the way to his citadel...but he'll still cut them down.

Down below me, the lights start coming on. Mostly candles, though there's some magical lamps, glowsticks, and flashlights down there. Sometimes, at night, it looks like the stars have fallen from the skies and come to rest in Vice's streets. Other times, I can squint really hard, and it almost looks like the city's alive again. But despite the lights, it's still deathly silent down there. There's no laughter, no singing. Barely anyone talks anymore, except to barter off little bits of glass for things they need. The noisiest it gets is when they fight--and usually, fights here are to the death. I--

"Corey."

I recognize that voice. Low and dark as the man himself. He's almost purring, the bastard--he's finally found me. I turn, and there he is, behind me. I may look like hell, but he hasn't aged a day--he's the same beautiful twenty-five he's always been. No matter how many times I've tried to hurt him, to make him bleed, he'll always be that same ageless, scarless twenty-five.

Bastard.

"Travis," I say. "Guess you finally figured out what was goin' on down here."

He smiles at me, his perfect teeth white in his dark face. "I've 'figured' what was going on for nearly two years, Corey. I was waiting for you to screw up and forget to renew your little 'dead zone'. And now you have."

Shit. He's right; it's the first of the month, and I forgot to repeat the steps I took to fix my patchy work. Shit, shit, shit, I've doomed all of us. "So I did. So you stopped by for a chat, just like old times. Cry your pardon for not fixin' the place up."

His smile widens a little; he's got me trapped now. I know he's thinking that, I can see it in his eyes. Bastard. "Just like old times, Station. You screwed up, like you're doomed to, and now I'm here." He looks around; I take the opportunity to put a hand on Chrysaor. Saber's been with me for ten years now, and has yet to fail me; I've killed him with it before, and I'll do it again, if I have to. He'll make me, I know he will.

"Why do you let yourself live this way, Corey? You're a Gamemaster--you could have so much more. I've told you there's still a place by my side...we could rule Videoland together! Look at this!" He gestures toward the refugee camp. "Why do you insist on living like the common sprites when you could be a king?!"

Here we go again. This is the same argument we've had since I turned my back on EVIL, and I imagine we'll be having it until one or the both of us die. That is, if I felt like arguing--and it's useless. I'll never get through his damn thick skull--Videolanders are PEOPLE, not just collections of pixels and code. That's why I serve the Palace, and will until I die. Because they're people, and I owe it to them as a fellow person. So I need to tell him again: "'Cuz, Travis. You've heard this before, an' I'll say it until I die: They're people. Not pixels. An' my home is not a place--it's those people. Down there." I nod to the lights below; God, they're so beautiful. They're the remnants of civilization, and they're still beautiful. Like hope.

He laughs at me. Yep, that's the usual response. "Then here. Let me--"

I don't wait for him to finish. I know what he's going to do. The last of my people are doomed, my city is doomed, and I'm going to outlive it only because I can withstand his damned Snow Crash.

I can't take this anymore. He's stolen everything I have. He's not going to take my city from me, or my people, or those million points of light.

I draw Chrysaor. "Enough, Travis. This ends tonight."

One way or another, this ends tonight.