If twenty-some odd years as a slave taught Nero anything at all, it was to keep his head down, play dumb, and try not to give Jupiter, or more importantly, any of those ruthless white folk a reason to single him out from the rest of the herd. It was a lesson learned through years of pain and humiliation. At six years old, he'd been taken from his mother and given over to a teenager named Jupiter to learn how to maintain the stables and livestock. Rather than fight a futile battle, his grief-stricken mother said he should count himself lucky he wasn't being sold off or thrown to toil away in the fields.
That very same night, his new boss Jupiter had proven just how lucky he was when he beat Nero to within an inch of his life for leaving the stable gates open. When Jupiter finally put the studded leather straps down, they were drenched with blood and sweat in equal measures. He'd rolled his eyes at Nero's whimpers and said the lashes were done for his own good. That the welts and lumps were nothing compared to what Massa Murdock would do to him were the horses to escape.
And thus began his torturous mentorship under what was quite possibly the cruelest person on the Murdock plantation. Thanks to his mother, Nero knew his numbers, yet couldn't count nearly high enough to tally how many times over the years he had desired to put a knife between Jupiter's ribs. It was little more than a comforting fantasy that helped to pass the daily beatings. Never once did Nero think he would actually go through with it. Now, as he sat there on the corpse of his tyrannical teacher, Nero felt a sense of grim satisfaction. The stench of blood and bowels had his stomach feeling queasy, yet he wished he'd done this years ago. He didn't even mind that killing a fellow slave, especially one as valuable as Jupiter, was as good as signing his own death warrant.
Nero wasn't sure who this Wild Bill person was supposed to be, but after being pursued for nearly a month, he looked like a walking dead man. By all accounts, he should've been dead back in Oklahoma. When he'd seen that shuffling corpse gun Massa Murdock down in the streets, his first instinct was to turn and run as fast as his bare feet would carry him in the opposite direction. With any luck, he could make it up north to Canada. And then he'd seen Jupiter grab that old rifle down off the carriage… Before he knew what happened, his body was moving.
After years of dealing with unruly horses, Nero was no stranger to wrestling. Taking advantage of Jupiter's distraction, he rushed forward and dive tackled him to the ground. When his shoulder took the man just below his ribs, he realized he needed a plan. The initial thought was to hold him down long enough to ensure the Massa was good and dead. However, when he felt Jupiter's rough hands locking around his throat he acted on instinct and tugged the buck knife from its sheath at Jupiter's waist. Without a care for the consequences, he slid it into Jupiter's stomach and twisted the handle with both hands.
Jupiter's button-up flannel offered no more protection than did the soft flesh of his belly. The blade sank in up to the hilt with alarmingly little effort required. In that moment, it was like a storm erupted in Nero's veins. Every beating he'd even endured at the hands of his so-called teacher played out before his eyes as he ripped the knife free and drove it home again and again. Each offhanded insult and casual dismissal—suffered for no other reason than being born the wrong color—was audible on the breeze. The disembodied voices drowned out the guttural, burbling noises coming from the throat of his dying tormenter.
Struggling to breathe, and haunted by specters of the past, a desire to live he never knew he possessed welled up to the surface. Acting on this uncontrollable impulse, Nero didn't stop stabbing until long after the body quit thrashing. It was only then that he noticed a yellow glare blurring his view of the surroundings. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he woke up to a similar illusion that same morning. Although this one wasn't blue, it was similarly covered from end to end with sharp black markings that he lacked the capacity to understand.
The next thing Nero knew, he heard footsteps crunching the sunbaked grass behind him. “Holy shit dude, uhh… I think you got him." By the time he worked up the nerve to turn around he was already being addressed by Wild Bill in a manner of speaking that he'd never once experienced. He sounded younger, and less… annoying. Which struck him as odd, because he'd had a brief conversation with this man not three weeks past.
Truth be told, it was less a real conversation than it was waking up to a gun in his face and being subjected to a long-winded explanation as to why it was in his best interests to keep quiet. “It'd be an awful shame if I were to have to decorate the tops of these trees with bits of yer brains over a couple horses that,” Wild Bill had paused his threats to give Nero a quick once over, “quite frankly, you could use some time away from.“ His point made, he'd then wrinkled his nose at the scent of sweat and horse manure wafting from the slave and offered the destitute man a fresh slice of the apple he was using to appease Massa Murdock's favorite mares.
Entranced by the sweet offerings, they happily allowed themselves to be guided into the shadows between two enormous oak trees. Nero was staring at the unexpected gift in his hand, pondering on whether or not it was safe to eat when a voice echoed out of the woods. It was barely loud enough for him to hear. “Went ahead and grabbed me an extra horse jus' in case you feel inclined to tag along..." With that, Wild Bill was gone. Had Nero known how badly he was to be beaten the following morning when Jupiter discovered the theft and promptly blamed it on his negligence, he might've taken the stranger up on his offer.
Another important tenet of being a slave: Avoid making eye contact whenever possible. Following this golden rule, Nero kneeled down at Wild Bill's feet and stared down at his own hands. They were still covered in blood. As was the knife clenched in his right fist. The moment his eyes fell on the blade, a whisper in the back of his mind told him he should grasp hold of his own fate. Who was going to stop him from finishing off Wild Bill? He was in poor health, and removing that final obstacle would surely improve his likelihood of survival. If it weren't for that pistol… As the reality of his animalistic thoughts crashed down upon him, Nero fell forward and lost control of his stomach.
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The strange voice coming out of Wild Bill's mouth continued speaking, yet the words were uttered so gently that Nero had difficulty making them out over his own violent gagging. "…you for saving my ass… I really… it. And… I'm sorry. You only had to go… because of... I'm… Bill Wolfe. What's your name? If you don't want to tell me, that's fine, I won't press the issue. I just want to know how to address the man who saved my life.“
Nero was halfway to his feet before he realized what he was doing. Although he had no desire to remain kneeling in a puddle of his own bile, neither did he wish to prolong the end. The best he could hope for at this point was a swift death at the barrel of a gun. While he had no desire to die, a bullet was better than the alternatives. Like hanging or castration. So he returned to his knees and managed a response while trying to ignore his growing desire to vomit once more. "I'm called Nero, suh."
"Are you hurt, Nero?" Wild Bill asked, his tone reflecting genuine concern. Nero was convinced it was all an act, another game being played out at his expense. But with murder as his only way out, Nero bit back an icy retort and sighed. "No, suh. Just some scratches. Ain't nothin' compared to what I done to… Jupiter. Are… are you gonna kill me now?"
When Wild Bill, or whoever this person was, gasped, Nero was sure he had just sealed his fate. Rather than the crack of a gunshot, the reply he received was so ridiculous that he almost started laughing.
"What?!“ Wild Bill practically squirmed with discomfort. If this was acting, he was doing a damn good job. “Bro. You saved my life, Nero. I owe you a debt that can't be repaid with words alone. Not exactly sure how this works, but far as I'm concerned, you're a free man."
What did that peckerwood just say?! He must think I'm stupid. Convinced he must have misheard, Nero lifted his head, eyes narrowed to slits, disbelief and mistrust etched across his dusty and trail-worn features. He had expected swift punishment for his actions, not gratitude. Especially not kindness. "Suh, I... I'm sorry Mr. Bill, but… I wouldn't know what to do with freedom. I ain't got no papers. Massa Murdock might be dead, but he has sons, and they'll come lookin' for me before long."
***
Bill locked eyes with Nero, his voice calm and reassuring as he responded, despite the waves of pain he was enduring. "You're welcome to stay with me for as long as you'd like, as equals. And while I don't have all the answers right now, we'll figure out a way to make sure nobody ever puts you in chains again."
Now you listen here ya' mangy varmint! Don't you go promisin' nothin' you ain't got the backbone to provide. Yer openin' up a nasty can of worms. This man was Slavin' Dave's property. Like he said, someone's bound to come a lookin' fer him sooner or later.
Although Wild Bill was grumbling in the background, regardless of whether or not this was a promise Bill made without thinking, the moment the words parted his lips, he immediately knew it was one he was determined to keep. Now he just needed time to figure out a way to leverage all this stats and levels nonsense in his favor. If the world wanted to behave like a video game, then come hell or high water, he was going to play it like one.
Hell or high water? Ain't heard that one before. That's a good'n.
“You can have it, now quit distracting me!" Taking notice of the cautious look Nero was giving him, Bill cleared his throat and gave a weak smile. “Sorry about that. So what do you say we start off by grinding out some easy experience?" he asked, taking in the sights and smells of a massive herd of buffalo a few hundred yards beyond the town walls. From what he recalled of American history; those brutish animals were dumber than the dirt upon which they lumbered around on. They were uncaring, mindless eating machines that wouldn't even react to their neighbors getting shot dead.
Although he had no idea what Mr. Bill was going on about, Nero had no desire to ruffle any feathers. So, he went with plan A. Kissing ass in hopes an explanation would soon follow. “Yes suh, Mr. Bill. That's a mighty good idea. Never could get enough experience, no suh, not me. Momma always said it was in my blood, sho 'nuff did." He thumped his fist on his chest and gave Mr. Bill his best shit-eating grin.
With only two rounds of grapeshot to his name, Bill was pondering how to go about attaining some more .38 caliber cartridges when a bell chimed inside his head. “Huh?“ he looked around warily, only to notice that Nero was just as visibly confused as he was. “Did you hear a sound just now?" Bill asked. Nero nodded slowly as a dark green notice appeared before Bill's eyes.
[Quest generated]
Dynamic Regional Integration Quest:
Objective 1/??: Successfully defend the Alamo Fortress from three consecutive beast waves.
Difficulty: Moderate
Reward: System Contribution Points based on personal contribution.
Progress: In progress (0/3)
Bill was barely three words in when another notice appeared, taking the place of the original.
Beware, the fate of both worlds depends upon your success.> [Personalized Quest generated] Riftwarden's Duty: Objective: Safeguard the Mirror of Khronos. Difficulty: Variable depending upon Dynamic Regional Integration Quest completion rate. Rewards: System Contribution Points, 100,000 System Credits. In addition, you shall be granted unobstructed access to both Earth and New Earth, wielding the full authority to traverse between these distant realms without hindrance. Progress: In progress.>