Season 1, Episode 6 - The Tree Plot XXIV - "Mackenzie vs Brandon the Ramblin' Man From Gramblin'"
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When Lynn pressed on the elevator call button, nothing happened. After a few more tries (and then some tries from Mackenzie) - still no elevator.
“Must’ve shut it down,” Lynn surmised. She pointed over at a nearby staircase, lit by yellow lights on the walls as it ascended upwards. The three girls started their climb, their footsteps echoing around red-painted concrete walls, lone lights illuminating their faces as they passed by.
“Should we be worried?” Audrey asked. “One person just died and we knocked out like twenty other people.”
So focused on the goal ahead of them, Lynn scarcely paid her a glance. “These guys want to overthrow the government. I think that makes us justified.”
Audrey nodded along. She wore a smile on her face, though it looked a little uneasy. Mackenzie followed behind the two, just wishing she could get the smell of raw fish off her hands.
When Lynn reached a landing, she slid to a sudden halt. Mackenzie managed to stop in time while Audrey collided with her back. As Audrey rubbed her face, Lynn paid her no mind. This staircase only went up two floors.
With nowhere else to go, they departed on the second floor. They arrived inside a square-shaped room with a floor made entirely of wood. A large man sat cross-legged in the center of the room, his eyes closed, flickering torch lights illuminating his body. He had a mane of brown hair that went down his shoulders and a light stubble on his face.
“My name is Brandon, the Ramblin’ Man From Gramblin’,” he introduced himself. “I am the Second Peak of Mt. Tai.”
The girls looked at each other - none of them expected him to have a strong drawl typical of the American South. The only southern accents they had ever heard came from the occasional Gulf States Confederation dignitary visiting New England or in movies and television.
“Can you say howdy and y’all?” Audrey asked with a giggle, all her nerves apparently having left her.
“No time!” Lynn reminded her. She took a step forward, only the entire room to shift upside-down. The three girls cried out as they tumbled through the air, landing on the ceiling which now served as the floor. As Mackenzie rubbed her head, she saw that Brandon still sat across from them, even after the room shifted.
“Two of you may have safe passage, but one of you will stay behind and listen to me,” he informed them. “That’s what the Ramblin’ Man has decreed. And if y’all decide to ignore that-”
The room suddenly shifted to a brief vision of a dreary slaughterhouse. Cows hung from the ceiling, tied from their legs, and the smell of blood rampaged through the nostrils of the three girls.
When the room went back to normal, the three struggled to regain their bearings. Audrey hadn't even noticed the usage of y'all.
Mackenzie stood first. “I’ll be the one to face him,” she declared.
Lynn immediately looked up at her. “Mackenzie, you can’t, it’s not safe!”
“It’s how it has to be done,” Mackenzie said, cracking her neck. “No road left but the one that leads to the end, remember?”
Lynn grimaced, but then Audrey helped her to her feet.
“You’re right,” Lynn admitted. “I brought us here. I knew the risks going in. This is how it has to be. Just make sure to win, alright?”
Mackenzie stretched her arms. “You know me,” she said, not showing a hint of fear. Emphasis on showing.
Audrey wished her luck as well, then the two girls headed off toward an open door on the other side of the dojo. Brandon didn’t pay them any mind as they passed him; once they left through the door, the wooden wall immediately shifted to close the exit. No way out.
“Very well,” Brandon concluded. He stood up, and Mackenzie realized he was even bigger than she originally thought. He wore the same black gi as Vivian, though he possessed none of her grace, looking much more like a linebacker than a jade beauty.
Brandon stared Mackenzie down, a grin on his face, and then the room shifted once again. Mackenzie realized too late that the floor below her was actually bringing her towards Brandon - he planted a shoulder right as they collided. Mackenzie felt the wind get knocked out of her and she stumbled backwards.
Brandon was already on her. He used no Rddhi in his attacks - it was straight up martial arts. Mackenzie kept her fists raised and her eyes alert, trying to apply the Academy’s self-defense lessons. But Brandon was faster - for every strike she blocked, two more struck her in the face, in the chest, in the stomach. A roundhouse kick sent her flying away; she skidded across the wooden floor, feeling bruised and battered.
Brandon laughed. “You've been trained in a way of martial arts, pitiable as it may be. What style of self-defense did they teach you?”
Mackenzie wiped the blood off her mouth, fixed her tie, and stood back up. “Silk Road Jujitsu.”
More laughter. “That’s the same as me. They say it’s the most applicable, even most beautiful, martial arts style in the world. It’s just that my skill level is far higher than yours.”
Mackenzie gritted her teeth. Brandon was right - her self-defense techniques were her last resort. She was much more of a ranged fighter, but she had no Rddhi at her disposal at the moment. Sure, she could still crackle Rddhi to make lights as she did in the sewers, but she wouldn’t really consider that a weapon. She would have to make do with what she had.
Audrey told me all about the real fights she’s been in. This is my first one, and she’s right - it’s not like training at all. There’s a pressure and realness to it. One false move and you’re dead.
She raised her fists. There’s no point in wondering why I’m here. The only point is that I’m here, and I need to see this out, no matter what happens.
All thoughts drifted away from her. The only thing that mattered was victory or death.
The room shifted again. The wooden walls suddenly gave way to the vast expanse of rolling green hills. Mackenzie couldn’t believe her eyes - she had never seen the horizon be so far away. In New England, everything was closely packed together.
Wherever I am, this isn’t New England.
Mackenzie felt like she really had been transported somewhere else, somewhere in the midst of summer. The grass beneath her shoes felt real, the breeze cascading over the hills and through her hair seemed real, and as she turned around, she saw the mighty Mississippi streaming by below her hill. She took a step back and heard laughter; she spun around wildly until she saw a younger Brandon sitting with a young woman in a yellow sundress.
“Today was a close one,” the woman admitted. “Father almost caught me as I slipped out of the mansion today.”
Brandon let out a carefree laugh and held her closely. “He won’t ever find us.” The woman closed her eyes as Brandon’s fingers interlocked with hers.
He then looked up at Mackenzie. “Except that he did-”
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Mackenzie wasn’t messing around; dream or no dream, transport or no transport, she needed to do whatever it took to win, so she was already tackling Brandon. The woman remained fixed in place, utterly frozen, as Mackenzie and Brandon rolled down the hill. The two eventually separated at the bottom of the hill at the riverbank.
She quickly grabbed a rock to beat him with, but Brandon struck her across the face first. Mackenzie kept a firm grip on the rock, but she saw stars and then felt a strong hand grab the back of her neck and plunge her face into the river. It felt far colder than summer and Mackenzie’s vision went blurry.
“They call me the Ramblin’ Man because I share my story with enemies before I kill them,” Brandon explained, his voice sounding crystal clear despite the water surrounding Mackenzie’s face. “You’re seeing visions of my past. I suggest you spend the last moments of your life understanding my sad tale.”
Mackenzie couldn’t help it - she opened her mouth, gasping for air, only for water to immediately start pouring down her throat. She dropped the rock in shock; desperately, she groped around the riverbank, tearing out tufts of grass. Maybe there were some tears mixed in with the river water around her. Then the world flipped over again and she was falling towards the sky, a sky just as blue as the water, and then she landed on a wooden floor.
She pushed the damp blonde hair off her face and coughed intensely for a moment. When she finally recovered, she found herself in the middle of a tiny kitchen. Pots and pans covered a small shelf, threatening to knock over a wooden utensil holder. Humidity clung to her like a blanket, and she heard a baby crying. She glanced at her hand; the tuft of grass from before slipped through her surprised fingers onto the floor.
Mackenzie managed to stand; ahead of her, in the living room of the tiny house, she saw a mother - Brandon’s mother - holding a baby, trying to calm her down, while the father dealt with the man in the door who held a bloody Brandon by his collar.
“Mr. Johnny Prentiss, son of Mayor Prentiss,” Brandon’s father said, trying to keep his eyes on Johnny rather than his wounded son. “What, uh, what can we do for you?”
Johnny tossed Brandon to the ground. “Caught Brandon necking with my sister by the river,” he explained in his Southern drawl. The slowness in his speech emphasized a sense of laziness and entitlement. “My boys and I couldn’t let this go unpunished. We didn’t kill him, of course. That would be downright cruel.”
Johnny was a tall man. He leaned over, his black cowboy hat casting shadows over his eyes. His face was inches from Brandon’s father. “But I catch him with her again, I can’t guarantee I’ll be bringing your son back alive. We got ourselves an understanding?”
Brandon’s father remained quiet. He gave exaggerated nods to Johnny, who smiled as he left. The smile did not reach his eyes.
The rest of the family froze right as Mackenzie rebuttoned her suit jacket. The blood disappeared from Brandon’s face as he gazed up at her. “We loved each other,” he explained. “How could I let a cruel world keep us separate? I proposed that we run away, and she agreed. But, on the night I was due to meet her…”
Another world shift. Mackenzie felt two sharp pains across her upper and lower back when she fell onto new ground. As she slowly sat up, she realized she had fallen onto a set of train tracks. In this memory, a new moon hung in a pitch-black sky. Tall trees swayed in the breeze all around the railroad tracks. Somewhere nearby, through the trees, Mackenzie could hear the sussuration of a river.
When she stood, she saw Brandon waiting by an abandoned train depot, a hobo bindle across his broad shoulders. She almost felt just as spooked as he did when the sound of horse gallops echoed down the train tracks. After a moment, Brandon took off, towards the river, but then the horses arrived from behind a hill. Mackenzie felt the wind rush by her as the horses galloped past her; their riders hooted and hollered as they circled around Brandon like sharks. Each horseman held a torch; the array of lights indicated there would be no way out for Brandon.
“Ain’t it a damn shame,” Johnny called out to the trapped man from his horse. “My sister sold you out.”
“She would never!” Brandon yelled back, desperation in his voice. “You forced her!”
Johnny shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she just got tired of all your yammering. Maybe she finally realized her life is far more valuable than yours and she got no business running out witchya. Or maybe I beat her in the stomach - you don’t see bruises like that - until she told me where you would be.”
Brandon gritted his teeth. Torch lights flickered across his face.
“I might’ve promised her that I wouldn’t kill ya,” Johnny admitted. “But I made no such promises about my posse.”
In unison, the horsemen raised the revolvers in their hands fired into the air. Mackenzie knew this wasn’t real, that she wasn’t really there, but for something like this to actually happen…it was a great big world out there, full of millions of lives. Mackenzie’s world seemed awfully small in comparison.
“We’re a family of aristocrats,” Johnny concluded. “She needs to marry an aristocrat, not some sharecropper on her father’s land.”
Johnny shot Brandon. The bullet exploded through his side and Brandon screamed as he crumpled to the ground. The horsemen laughed, the grins and snarls on their faces visible by torchlight.
And then Mackenzie saw it. Through the laughter came a fierce crackling sound, and then the red lights of the Rddhi suddenly joined the torchlights. The horsemen immediately shot at Brandon; more bullets entered his prone body, but then, one by one, the posse fell from their horses, fear-stricken looks across their faces.
That just left Johnny and Brandon. Mackenzie watched as Brandon stood back up; a rifle shot exploded through Brandon’s stomach, knocking him into the edge of the woods. Brandon looked back up; Rddhi crackled around the horse’s head until it, too, looked afraid, and knocked Johnny off. As Johnny collected himself, Brandon disappeared into the woods. Johnny followed him; Mackenzie heard more rifle shots, and then the sound of a plunge into the river.
After a moment of stillness in the dark, Brandon re-emerged from the woods. This was the modern Brandon - no signs of blood or wounds on him. “I trapped the horsemen in my rambling,” he explained to Mackenzie. “I showed them my suffering and sorry, and then I took my time killing them. Time don’t pass normally inside my rambling.”
Brandon stepped towards Mackenzie, who remained in place until he was right before her, towering over her. “I escaped into the river and over the next month, I outran Johnny’s goons until I escaped the Gulf States. Made my way up to New England, all alone, until Hikari took me in. This Sect of Steel - they understand me. They’re my new family now.”
Mackenzie stayed silent.
“So?” Brandon asked. “What did you think of my story? Ain't I a victim? Ain't you an intruder, barging in on my home and family? Ain’t you the same as Johnny?”
Mackenzie looked at the ground. “I see now.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow.
“We really are just the same,” Mackenzie said softly. “No people are better or worse than the others. We’re all just people. We all got our goals and sometimes those collide. That’s why we fight. People want different things, and we’ll be damned if we let someone step in our way.”
Another breeze came through.
“Your Sect of Steel is looking to overthrow the government. But us three didn’t come here to stop that. We haven’t even really thought about it at all. We just want to correct our own mistake. And our wants bring us into conflict with your wants. Who’s really in the right here?”
She looked back up at him. “You ramble because you need to share your story. You share your story because you want to be judged. Do you want people to see you as a victim? Do you want people to judge you for failing? You were too weak to kill Johnny and you never saw your beloved again. You left your parents behind. How exactly do you want me to judge you?”
Brandon’s eyes widened. Before he could speak, Mackenzie continued. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn. Sure, you may be in the right and my side may be in the wrong, but it’s my side, and if our wants collide, then I’m going to fight for my wants, even if it costs you yours.”
Mackenzie took a step toward Brandon. Inches separated them. “I know I can touch you, even in your memories. And I know I can transport things between memories.”
Red Rddhi crackled through Mackenzie’s head. Brandon’s eyes immediately darted to it, as did his hands - exactly as Mackenzie wanted. She reached into her suit jacket and unveiled the knife she took from the utensil holder back in that kitchen and plunged it through Brandon’s stomach.
Brandon coughed up blood as Mackenzie drove the knife deeper. The memory gave way; the train tracks and night sky flipped upside down, giving way to the wooden dojo above the tavern. Mackenzie’s grip on the knife slipped away as she fell to the wooden floor. Having fallen enough times, she knew when a fall was coming and could influence where she landed by aiming herself.
Having separated himself from her, Brandon gingerly touched the knife. The knife hurt like hell, but one thing back at the railroad confused him - Mackenzie was no longer wearing her tie during that memory.
In the brief moment Mackenzie left his sight, she arrived at his back and slipped the tie around his neck. Brandon choked as Mackenzie kicked him in the back of the knees; as he collapsed, the noose only tightened. Before the room could shift, Mackenzie slid her legs around him, placing him in a chokehold complete with body lock.
When the room shifted, Mackenzie remained in place around him rather than falling. Brandon sputtered and choked as they sat in the grass by the Mississippi, as they sat in the kitchen with the crying baby, as they sat across railroad tracks.
“I’m sorry,” Mackenzie said gently as the original dojo materialized. When Brandon's head went limp, she realized he had spent his final moments crying.
Mackenzie let go off the tie; his body slackened. With trembling hands, she pushed the corpse off of her; it gave no resistance as it fell back to the wooden floor.
Mackenzie spent a good moment staring at the corpse on the floor. Then she took a deep breath, retrieved her tie, and tied it back on.