Roland Mills

Roland spent hours just riding the rail and wandering, not seeking anything, just letting fate and wind push here here and there. His thoughts kept him in good company, more confused with what happened, and also very impressed with the trick L pulled. It was well past dark when his feet inevitably took him back home, as they always did. A glint of neon light off shiny metal caught his attention, snapping his head up to peer at the wooden door that opened onto his house. A piece of old looking parchment had been pinned to his door by a knife so new it was still very shiny and chrome. The knife was a cheap pocket fixed blade that could be bought for five credits at nearly every corner store in the city. The parchment was meant to look like something out of the legends of the old world. Kanji, done very boldly but with an amateur hand adorned its face. He couldn't read the old words, but he knew their intent well enough. Only four other times in his life had this happened.   Yanking the knife from the wood, Roland caught then unfolded the parchment of the formal challenge letter.   Let it be known that I, known as Dead Hand Jack, am calling out and issuing challenge to the one known as Roland Mills. I will wait for you tonight, in the area known as four corners alley in Neo Tokyo. Tonight, I will end your life as a fighter from this moment until your last.   He was tired, no, he was exhausted on a level he'd not known before. It had been an exciting day, and interesting day, and he was really looking forward to ending it with a hot shower and bed. And then this fighter, one he'd never even heard of, decided to issue a formal challenge and not even give him the courtesy of setting it for several days from now? "A Light damned amateur with an ego the size of the Octant." He wanted to rest, his bed was right there, but he knew he couldn't, his heart wouldn't let him. A challenge must be answered. A few minutes later the whine of a motorcycle motor and the screeching of tires adds to the sounds of the night as he leaves to answer.  

The smoke of burning incense drifted through the small dojo. Eddies of air swirled the smoke into small spirals before settling again. Despite the chill air, sweat trickled down Roland's body as he moved slowly, precisely through the forms. He kept things in check, using only the water and air forms. Flowing grace, smooth transitions from one position to the next, absolutely no hurry, the movements as inexorable as a river, and as light as a kiss from a breeze in summer. You spent too much time in here, practicing, perfecting your art. And while you may be smooth as silk in here, when it comes to talking to people who aren't fighters themselves, you're rather hit or miss.   "I know. That's why I come back here."   To hide away?   "No. I do it because everything always returns to one." As he says that he indeed returns to the beginning of the form, resting for a moment before moving into the next. "I never really thought about those kinds of things."   You've always been so absorbed in your training that you never let yourself even consider.   "Exactly. I always focused on being the best student, the best martial artist, the best son I could be. I didn't allow room for anything else." Fast movements are easy. A kick that snaps out and back can be done a hundred times before it starts to burn. But one that takes ten seconds to fully extend and retract works the muscles to near failure after only a few, and tests balance just as hard.   But things have changed now?   "It's been almost seven years since he left on the expedition. And it's taken till now for me to start understanding the other lessons he was trying to teach me." The smell of the sandalwood incense permeated the room, keeping his mind calm and focused after years of training. "There were always some things that I was slow to learn." He laughed and moved into "Wind upon the grass" form.   So you move into the one that emphasizes bending over rigidity. Are you finally ready to learn the other lessons? That inside voice chuckled.   "No time to start like the present. And, I don't know, maybe something could be there, or maybe I'm just not used to really good friendships. And this could go either way."   You did find her passed out in an alley that first time you met.   "I did. And I remember her snarling at me the second time when she learned my uncle is a Ranger-Colonel."   She was so pissed. They both seem to laugh, both the inside voice and the outer one. In the moment of the laughter he lost balance and stumbled, catching himself before sprawling.   "It took me weeks before I got her to trust me enough to get within ten feet of her. She's always afraid that I'll out her to her mom, or haul her in. But I'd never do that."   People are free to make their own choices, and we cannot make them for them. We can only offer comfort when needed, and protection when we must. As he used to say.   "Dad was always full of little quotes of wisdom like that." It had been over an hour of slow movement through the sequence of forms, and the exertion now left him sweaty and exhausted, but with a much clearer mind.   So what are you going to do?   Roland thought for a moment, watching the smoke drift on invisible currents. "Wintertide is coming up. I think I'll do something for that. Not sure how she'll take it, seeing as she's not used to people just liking her for her, and not looking to just use her. But I can't help but just be nice."   You remember what she said around the pond, don't you?   "I do, which means I need to head out soon." He looked at the time and realized just how late it was. "Okay, maybe tomorrow."   You're starting a new skill from scratch. And this one involves close contact with people. You up for it?   "Dad said that I needed to be worthy. That I needed to prove myself and know myself before I'd be ready to learn the last thing he had to teach and he'd come back. And I can't be truly myself if I don't try. I've put aside this part of myself for too long. Time to take a chance on the unknown." He felt the voice inside nod, then go quiet. Roland took his time cleaning up the little dojo and putting things back where they belonged, the stick of incense having given up it's last. He bowed in reverence toward a small shrine that looked out upon the dojo before walking out. The chill of the night bit into his skin as he stopped at the railing and looked up and west. "Miss you dad. I know that, wherever you are, you're keeping people safe, like you did me. Maybe when you get back you'll come with siblings for me." His laugh lightly echoed across the stone and wood of the house and surroundings. "I'm trying to become the man you were, the man you wanted me to be. I only hope I can be half the man you are." He watched the stars, what ones he could see that weren't drowned out by the lights of the city. "Maybe we're looking at the same stars right now, like we used to, right here. I love you dad. Good night." A shower and bed awaited him, and he certainly wouldn't keep them waiting. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Why? Why did I do that? Why did I say that? Those questions rolled through Roland’s mind as his body moved through the forms. Shirtless, the sweat poured off him as he worked himself to the point of exhaustion and a little beyond. His heavy, black, cotton gi pants snapped with the force and precision of kicks perfectly executed. The muscles in his arms, shoulders and back burned with exertion as he kept up the dance, seeing opponents before him, circling him, coming at him and his response to them. His father had called it a walking meditation, a way to clear the mind and ease the soul. But today, it wasn’t working, no matter how hard he focused the words kept playing over and over.   You’re an idiot. You’ve known them for what, a few weeks in total time? And almost none of that was ever in close company. The block slipped, just a little too wide, the next overcorrected, and he could feel the phantom opponent’s fist graze his bicep. You stepped too far. You were trying to be playful, friendly, fun, and yes a bit on the flirtatious side. And it’s all fun and games until you let your mouth get away from your brain. A turn, but the block was thrown too early, the side kick clipped his ribs, causing him to stumble ever so slightly. You know Roo doesn’t care, and so even in jest why did you bring her into it? He didn’t see it coming, another phantom, this one connecting solidly with the side of his face.   And L. You found her in the street, in an alley, passed out and vulnerable. Of course you were going to help her, it’s what you do. It’s what Father would have wanted. He regained his balance, the attacks coming faster now, but his hands move with the grace of years turning kicks and punches aside, sliding between opponents and hammering them with precise blows in return. You’ve done good in your life, you’ve trained, you’ve used your skills to help others, and you’ve lived in a way that would make Father proud. A roundhouse sends one opponent flying, a reverse punch slams into the gut of another sending them down. This time he sees the punch coming clearly, almost feeling the phantom wind from it. His hand snakes out and traps the wrist, the follow up knife hand strike to the neck is pulled with just enough force not to kill, never to kill, not even opponents that don’t exist. He let’s go as the last one falls.   Roland’s heavy breathes sound through the small dojo, exhaustion burning in every muscle. But then. Foot steps on the mat. You had to think. The footsteps are heavy, almost shaking the floor, not with size, but the simple power of the phantom they belong to. You had to relax and cut loose, to play along, to consider, for even a moment, that someone on your path. The phantom stands in perfect stance, perfect form, no openings in their defense and ready to launch an attack with any limb. It vibrated with power. Long ago, you made a choice! Fast, too fast, Roland didn’t even see the phantom move before the fist hammered into his belly. You decided that you wouldn’t bother with any form of romantic interest. Roland dodged, only barely, as the next punch whistled by his head with the force to crack bone. Hell, you had those girls in school who were more than willing to date you. They even offered themselves to you, but you refused. Block, block, counter, block, block, miss. He didn’t bring his leg up high enough or fast enough to absorb the impact of the roundhouse aimed at his ribs. Roland’s balance shattered and he was sent sprawling. He snapped back up and was rooted in stance again just in time to block the next series of blows.   You were too busy to bother with such things. You were going to make Father proud, his perfect little student. You’d let nothing get in the way of that, not love. Even blocked the punch hit with enough force to bruise his arm. Not romance. He couldn’t keep up with them, he could see them coming but they were just too powerful, and blew through his defenses. And certainly not sex. You absolutely couldn’t let that distract you. The knee came up, but Roland caught it, the force still taking him off his feet, and leaving him unable to deal with the elbow strike that hammered into his temple, sending him rolling across the floor. You could have had those things too you know. Could have had all that, and maybe more, but you felt it was too risky. The kick hammered into his ribs as he lay on the mat, sending him rolling. You couldn’t let anything get in the way. And why? Because you had nothing else.   Those words hurt more than any blow he’d taken. When that thing came, you were a child, you couldn’t do anything. And when your mother died right in front of you, with a smile on her face because for the first time in her life she got to see the walls of Olympia, a place she always wanted to go, you didn’t blame him, or any of the others. The footsteps sounded a slow pace across the mats and to him. You’d lost everything, until he said that you were his and he’d protect you. That he’d teach you so that you’d never have to be afraid. A phantom hand reached down, pulling Roland up by his hair, then another was placed around his neck. You sacrificed everything for him. And he didn’t ever ask you to. The hand squeezed, and breathing became difficult. He wanted you to have a life, not just to be a master of the art, but to be a full and complete person. Hell you saw him have more than a few women friends over the years so clearly relationships and sex never interfered with him, as he could still throw you all over this place even after twelve years of training.   Breathing became shallower, harder, slower. But you couldn’t see how to do the same. You felt, somewhere, that any distraction would set you back, maybe even make you a disappointment. But he never said that, never even hinted at that. He wanted you to be strong, trained, but most importantly, he wanted you to be happy. The room started going dark as his body was starved of what little breath it’d been able to get as the hand kept squeezing. Something shifted inside him, like a chain being unlocked with great care. “You’re right.” He choked out. What did you say? Taking in more air as the hand let up just a little. “I said you’re right. And he was right. Dad was right.”   The force around his throat vanished, as did the hand pulling his hair. In an instant it was all gone like smoke in a breeze. “I have been so focused, especially these last, almost seven years, that I’ve not let anything cross that line. Let anyone cross it. I’ve been pushing myself so hard to be ready, to be strong enough, and good enough, and worthy enough that he’d come back like he promised.” Roland shook his head, a grin pulling at his lips. “But he wanted me to be a whole person, not just a living book. That’s one part of my life that I’ve never let myself walk down. Maybe, maybe that’s part of it. Part of why I’m not ready. Because for all that I can do, I’m still not whole.” He chuckles. “I blocked off and ignored that part of myself, those desires because, you were right, I was afraid of the distraction. But “a man cannot be whole until he has embraced all parts of himself.” All these years and I still hear his voice quoting to me.”   You know that you’re basically starting from scratch on this. There are kids in grade school who have more experience than you. Hell you didn’t even let yourself have a crush when you were a kid. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” It’s going to be a lot of work, and you’re going to fail a lot. “You say that like I haven’t learned that lesson a thousand times over already. Failure happens, it’s a part of life, and the risk of trying anything. What matters is if you get back up and try again, if you learn. Or if you just lay there and let that failure be the last thing you do.” If you want to speed things up, you could always take L up on her offer to buy you time with a professional? Roland laughed, the sound filling the room. “Maybe one day. Maybe. But we’ve never done things the quick way, so why should we start now with this?”   So how do you feel? “Less foolish. Though I’m sure I made a bit of a spectacle when I left with all the stuttering. And I hope that Roo didn’t take offense. I’ve never seen her with anyone so she’s probably got no interest. I just hope my fumbling didn’t upset her.” Good. Soon you should go back to talk to them. Maybe apologize just in case. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Not for a little bit though. Got other things I need to do first. Other jobs.” And what about L? “I don’t know. I’m in brand new territory here, and am still fumbling my way through things.” What was that saying we saw in the newspaper comics last week? “Sucking at something is the first step in being sorta good at something.” More laughter flowed through the room.   Wintertide is coming. Maybe you can start there? Roland thought about this for a minute. “I think that’s a good plan. And I know just the place to go too. I think it’ll be a good start to whatever happens in the future.” There’s plenty of fish in the sea, as the ancients said. “And I’m one of them because I’m a catch!” Oh hell that was bad! Roland couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “I’m open to any possibility with pretty much anyone. Let’s not plan anything and just see where this river takes us, shall we?” I think that’s a wonderful idea. Time to rest.   Roland opened his eyes, his body drenched in sweat and every muscle ached. The incense stick had burnt down, and was near it’s end as it sat upright in the small sand bowl on top of the small floor table. The room was filled with the smell of sandalwood. “Goodnight dad, wherever you are. Sorry it took me this long to understand your lesson. But it finally got through my thick head. I feel your love even now, and I hope you feel mine back. Let’s look up at the stars together.” Roland carefully put back everything and cleaned off the table before standing up and leaving the room. He turned the lights off, leaving only a single candle burning for the moment. “Good night dad. I love you.” With a short, quiet breath, he blew the candle out and left the dojo for the night.

Another night, another fight. He’d seen the messages go out across the board, and heard the talk about it in the usual places. A date, a time and a place. That was all any of those who were walking the path of combat needed. As he pulled up on his bike, he saw the gathering crowd entering the building. It was some abandoned industrial building in Neo Tokyo, one of dozens of identical places from the outside. Walking in, there was an excitement in the air, and more than a touch of primal desire for blood that follows many spectators of events such as this. The crowd was full of people, from the idle rich who wanted a walk on the wild side of things, to young fighters getting a look at what awaited them if they should so choose. A few of the truly old timers stood around, reliving the old days, or perhaps looking for a promising fighter to take on as a student.   “I’d like to enter.” Roland said as he approached what passed for the event desk.   “Twenty credits, and your fighting name.” The bored elf said, clearly having been through this many times tonight, and untold number in the days before this.   Roland slid the cred stick over. “Roland.”   The elf look up at him, clearly annoyed or thinking that someone was just fucking with him and he didn’t have the time or patience for such things. “I said your fighting name, not your actual name.”   Roland chuckled, a little heat coming to his cheeks, flushing them a dark green as he scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t have one yet.”   “So, just make one up.” The elf stated as if it were the most obvious fact.   “Nah, I’d rather earn one the right way.”   The elf stared at him for a little longer, then shrugged, signing a sheet with the letter R. “Fine. I don’t truly care. Walk around, don’t cause trouble, and no fighting unless you’re in the circle. Break the rules and you’ll be tossed out and blacklisted. Got it?”   “Absolutely! Thanks.” Roland gave him a nod but the elf just waved it off as another fighter came in behind him. He’d done this dozens and dozens of times, slowly getting ever better, but he still refused to follow what so many others did and just pick a name for himself. His father had a name. Warchild he’d been called. And just like his father, he wouldn’t take a name, he’d be granted one by fate or go without one.   In the very center of this abandoned building, on a floor of dirt compacted so hard it might as well have been concrete, was a large circle outlined in a thick rope. Inside the rope, it was a different world that might as well have been on the other side of the planet as far as Roland was concerned. Outside of it you had everyone, from the most honorable to the most corrupt, from good people to punks who want nothing but to harm people for the laugh. But inside, inside that circle was a place as sacred to Roland as any church had been in the old world. Because that was where two warriors met, and tested themselves. Inside there, nothing else mattered, just the thrill of the fight, the feel of blow and counter, block and dodge. For those like him, inside that circle was the closest to heaven they’d get.   There were no weight divisions, there were no skill divisions. If you entered your name and stepped inside, you accepted whatever hand you were dealt. You could have someone who was having their first time opposed by a veteran of twenty years. It was rare but it happened. The honorable fighters would take the opportunity to give the newbie a taste of true combat, while also teaching them valuable lessons. The dishonorable ones, they’d utterly destroy the weaker person, guaranteeing that they’d be sent to the hospital with all kinds of injuries. Most of us did not like those fighters, and delighted in the chance to show them their cruelty didn’t mean they’d win every fight. That some of us could, and would, fight back harder then them.   Roland heard his name being called, or at least his letter. He walked to the edge of the circle next to the cybered human doing the announcements, his voice easily booming above the crowd. “I’m R. And I’m ready.”   The announcer just nodded and then called for his opponent. “Zephyr, to the circle to face your challenge!” With a grace that spoke of either exceptional training, or very expensive enhancements, a lithe human woman took her place next to the announcer. “Fighters, enter the circle when you are ready.” Zephyr stepped in without hesitation. Roland slipped out of his jacket, his tanktop underneath tight against his chest, showing his well earned physicality. Leaving the jacket at the edge of the circle he stepped inside, and as if by magic, everything else faded away. Beyond the edge of the circle was nothing but noise, quickly tuned out into silence. Where outside was controlled chaos, inside was harmony, and anticipation. Roland and Zephyr met in the middle of the circle, right arms in front and crossed across their chests. They crossed arms and nodded to each other accepting each other in this holy place. They stepped back from each other, outside of striking range. The announcer cried out “Hajime!” and the fight started.   She blurred, moving far faster than he expected. Two shots straight to the stomach and one across the jaw sent Roland to the ground before he could blink. Distantly he heard the crowd cheering. He picked himself up off the floor, a fire burning in his heart, and a smile to his face. This is why he’s here, this is what he wants. Steel sharpens steel his dad kept telling him. She was nearly as strong as him, however she outclassed him in speed. He looked over at her and her face gave away nothing, but her eyes, they glowed with the same fire that burned in him. He took up his stance again, and as Bruce Lee had done in the movies, he beckoned her over.   The fight sent fire through his blood, as they traded blows. More than once they sent each other to the floor, only to get right back up and get back to it. She was good, very very good. But Roland was just slightly better. For every punch or kick he got in, she got two on him, the only thing saving him being her lack of strength. But enough hits would bring down even the largest fighter, and both knew they were approaching their limit. Zephyr came at him, and he saw the opening, one that was only there because of the exhaustion that clawed at her. He spun, building up force, and let the kick fly out, catching her straight in the stomach. He didn’t hold back, she would have considered it an insult at this point, as would he. The force sent her flying several feet back, to land sliding across the ground.   As Roland recovered and let his leg down to go back into his stance, it buckled, sending him to his knee. Then he felt it, or didn’t feel it. His entire leg had gone numb. That’s when he realized what she’d done, a hell of a gamble. She took the hit, betting she could, and that gave her the chance to punch her knuckles into some of the nerves on his inner thigh. His leg would be practically useless for at least the next five to ten minutes. He looked up at her and saw she was in somewhat the same shape. She’d taken his hit, but he’d hit her hard enough that it bent some of the metal of her cybernetics, forcing her to be partly bent forward. However, he knew how this fight had ended. They’d both gambled, but she’d won. Even damaged as she was, she was still fast enough to get behind him and take him out. And he couldn’t move fast enough to counter with a dead leg.   Laughing in pure joy he raised his hand as high as it would go, then slapped the floor three times, the gesture of yielding. Zephyr was grinning from ear to ear as well, though her breaths were much shallower than his due to the damage. She came over to him and offered a hand, helping him up. Noise from outside the ring started filtering in, the otherworld holy place coming back into alignment with mundane reality. Cheering was loud, as were curses. But none of that mattered to him. At that moment, what mattered is he faced a truly amazing fighter, who took him to the very edge, and taught him a valuable lesson. And then, offered a shoulder to him so that he could walk out of the circle, his head held tall.   He bent to pick up his jacket and they moved over to an empty bench where Roland could be sat down. There they drank water, and talked about the fight, sharing what each saw and what each did. They were oblivious to the stares of angry patrons who likely lost money on this match. But in the end, they didn’t matter, they were spectators, not fighters. Not warriors. They watched other fights go on until both felt able to move better. Afterwards, they said their goodbyes, Roland heading out before things ended and the crowds made leaving difficult. Back on his bike and riding home carefully, a joy filled him so completely, as only this one thing can.  

November 8th, 325   It's been six years since I've seen my dad. He told me the expedition would be long, likely years if they were successful, and that I probably wouldn't hear anything until a courier got back to Olympia announcing their success in establishing the new outpost deep in the wilds. I know he's still out there, working hard and helping keep everyone safe. Maybe even saving other kids and adopting them like me. It'll be interesting to have siblings. I keep remembering what he said when he left. That I was to keep training, keep getting better. And that when the day came that I was strong enough, skilled enough, basically when I was ready, he'd return and finish my training. Six years is a long time, but I'm not done. And I'll wait till the world ends again if I have to. The last thing I ever want to do is to disappoint him.   I've made some friends over the years, and many more acquaintances. I still have dinner with RC Plisken and his family every couple of weeks. He's closer to an uncle to me, and not just dad's friend. He shakes his head if I happen to come to dinner sporting bruises or a few cuts. But he understands. You can't fight without expecting to get hit every now and then. Speaking of which, that's one thing I truly love about this city. There's always another fighter out there who's more than willing to test themselves in combat. As dad used to say, "steel sharpens steel". And I am absolutely living proof of that. I'm no bully to pick on the untrained or those weaker or less skilled. But if they want a fight, I'll give it to them. Sometimes, the best way to train is when you can actually get hit in the face. I've gotten a bit of a reputation that I like. I'm known to always make sure whoever I fight get's seen to and medical attention if needed. I'm not one to just leave someone unconscious in a back alley somewhere. I've run into a few of those kinds of fighters, and I tend to set them straight pretty quick. There should always be honor and respect in combat. And even if my opponent refuses to help, I will not stain mine by doing the same.   I'm still keeping everything afloat, and the house decently cleaned. I have help to work with the plants and keep them behaving. Maybe I'll find one of those green witches over in Demeter who'll find my plants charming enough to teach me how to tend them.   I keep coming back to an idea, a saying. Strength exists to protect and help those who cannot protect and help themselves. I try to live that every day. Though some people do find a 6'4, decently muscled orc to be unnerving at times. Until they get to know me that is. Work every day to make yourself a little bit better, and the world a little bit brighter. Well I'm trying and think I'm succeeding so far. I miss you dad, and I'll keep working until I'm worthy, ready for you to show me the end.