Fic: The Man in the Mirror

[awkward_as_heck]

Title: The Man in the Mirror
Author: awkward_as_heck
Fandom: Engine Sentai Go-Onger/Kamen Rider Kabuto
Characters: Suto Hiroto/Yaguruma Sou, Go-Ongers
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Hiroto has a choice to make.
Notes: Post series AU. Has vague connections with a couple of my old LJ fics; Old Wounds and The Object of Everyone's Affection but stands completely on its own.



The downpour had come and gone, packed dirt had become slippery mud, hard surfaces were now sticky traps. The fighting continued. Gunfire, screeching metal and explosions reached far across the expanse resonating in the ears of many combatants. Dust retook hold of the air, hot, choking and blinding. For one side there would be heavy losses before the end of the day.

Suto Hiroto looked around the dirt trench he was stranded in, imaginatively named Trench 1. Engine Command wasn't always the most creative of thinkers. Hiroto personally preferred to call it Trench fuck you, though only for short. 'Trench Fuck you asshole we'd rather listen to Sousuke so you are going down there to execute his stupidly risky plan and only possibly come back alive' was the full title he had skewered it with. He was covered in sticky, drying mud and torn clothing, only a worn down, equally mud covered backpack by way of supplies. His wing trigger was useless, jammed up and disgusting as he was. Around him was more mud, discarded casings half stuck and useless scraps of junk. Nothing he could use to mount even a vague defence. His back was pressed in against the tacky trench wall, legs tucked in close. Barely cover, let alone a hiding place.

He felt helpless, useless, tired and old.

It crossed his mind that might be well and truly damned.

The mere thought exhausted him.

He didn't want to go down defenceless though. If he could take out one more enemy he would do so, he didn't want to die a coward pressed vainly under non existent cover telling himself 'If I can't see them, they can't see me'. He would go down swinging, like the hero people thought he was. Shifting painfully, he peeled himself away from the mud with a squelch, far too quiet in his ears. The din he was surrounded by coalesced between his ears as he made to stand.

Carefully he peered over the slick dirt wall. Most he could see was dust and the shadows of debris, briefly lit up by explosions. Within arms reach, lay a twist of metal, soaked in dirt and rain that he could use to stab a few enemies with. His fingers closed around something that could have been any number of things before it became scrap. He pulled it towards him bringing some mud for good measure. He looked it over and slid back down into the trench.

Something had gone wrong, he was sure of that much. Toriptor had left ages ago, before things went up shit creek, to give the standard holding position report and hadn't returned. Every Engine he had been with had run over the top a while back leaving him with the wrecked debris for company. The marching was getting louder.

He lifted his meagre defence, looking over the burnt edges and chipped paint. Not too heavy and sufficiently mangled. It could hurt something. Still a weapon wasn't much use without strategy. He needed cover.

The largest piece of debris he could see was twenty or so feet away and looked to be a bonnet from a car. Ragged and torn at the edges, it was big and partly stuck in the mud. It would do.

With another glance over the top, shadows moving closer in the dust, he gritted his teeth. Leaving the scrap on his backpack he crouched down and took a deep breath. Awkwardly he shuffled over to the large sheet, squelching with every movement. He couldn't hear the sound.

One edge was raised. After rubbing his hands down on the cleanest part of his trousers, thought not by much he reached out and grabbed the least sharp looking part, though again, not by much.

The marching was getting louder over the din of the battlefield and he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. The shithead hot rod with the radio encryption key had ran off possibly minutes, possibly hours ago, over the top and into the dust before Hiroto could tell him to hold the fuck on and call for air support. Not that air support had come when things truly went up the river. Pretty much all he had left was paddle.

Sighing, he pulled but only got cuts for his trouble.

Aware he was only making it worse Hiroto ran his hand through his hair coating his nearly black locks with even more brown and a hint of red. It dimly occurred to him he had last been on Earth more than six months ago and he really should be getting back.

Gritting his teeth he reached under the shorn edge and caught a lump. It was sharp but better than nothing. He gripped the ragged lump and pulled.

He held on for a few seconds, the metal slowly moving towards him, just out of the mud when he fell backwards.

The bonnet landed on his legs, promising bruises and even more angry red cuts peering up through the brown but at least he could have shelter.

Moving the sheet into a suitable position caused more pain and took a while. Hiroto painstakingly pulled it over his footprints, smoothing out the worst. Hopefully it would look like it had been moved so it wasn't in the way and the trench had since been abandoned.

Once Hiroto had pulled it into a semi-decent position above him using the sticky trench wall to keep it in place the tell tale splatter of rain began again. He stuck his hands just outside to try and wash away the mud and blood which stung like hell but left them clean enough to rub over with half a disinfectant wipe and awkwardly bandage.

A while stretched on, his legs aching. The marching seemed to get quieter, or maybe the the gunfire was getting louder. The constant din of the battlefield had numbed Hiroto to the noise. His eyes slid shut, the metal scrap still on his backpack as tiredness gripped him fully.

Volleys of energy arced over the trench sending up plumes of dirt just beyond his position. Hiroto jerked, gashing his forehead and felt nervous energy flood his veins. That damn marching had gotten louder. With his back pressed against the soft dirt wall and knees against his stomach one hand clutching the only scrap he had to defend himself, the other pressed to his forehead Hiroto wasn't prepared for the explosion of ear piercing sirens that suddenly overpowered everything else.

Somewhere in amongst the thoughts of 'shut the fuck up' and 'oh my god the noise' a tiny little slither of conscious wormed its way around everything else, innocuously wriggling it's way to the top, patiently waiting it's turn before screaming 'the fucking forward command base'.

Which meant he was really fucking screwed.

Less than pleased barely covered his current mood since there was no visibility, too much noise, no way to contact anyone, minimal defence options, blood nearing his eyes and probably nowhere to go back to, not without having to run one hell of a gauntlet anyway.

Why did he bother? He scrunched his eyes shut, blindly hunting for the other half of disinfectant wipe. Why was life so annoying? Why did people not listen when he said it was a bad idea? Why did he have to be here?

He sighed, pressing the wipe to his forehead and gained a few grey hairs when an energy charge went off too damn close rattling his metal shelter. The marching was practically on top of him. Any attempt to move would attract attention, staying put would only get him spotted eventually and there was no-one coming to save him now.

Over the noise of everything else the marching grew louder again. Steeling himself he opened his eyes. His shelter was still in place. He took a deep breath, discarded the bloodied wipe. A shadow crossed the light by the edge of the scrap and stopped. He could hear his heart pounding. Slowly he leaned towards the gap. They were as good as on top of him. The shadow had been a rail, a moment later a slab of metal was run on it. Bridges. Bridges for the tanks.

Machines have it easy he thought, no getting tired, no getting weak, no need to carry two thinner slabs to leave him a nice gap to jump up between and cling on like Spiderman.

He leant back and pressed himself in tighter under his shelter as if that would help him to disappear, terror coiling in his gut that he hadn't felt for years. The endless rhythmic pounding in part drowned out the hideous sirens as the empire crossed the mud trench he was in. The din resonated in his heart, hoping against hope that they didn't see him.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the hunk of debris, his gaze distorted by red, fixed upon the metal above his head hoping it wouldn't be disturbed.

It was almost an idle moment when there were the faint sounds of scuffling overhead that sent Hiroto's left hand to his belt, fingers scrambling over utilities, not knowing what he hoped to find when he grazed a button he had not needed for a long time.

But as surprising as the sound had been it was quickly absorbed back into the constant howling against pounding and for some reason Hiroto felt like he had just had a lucky escape. The sound overhead marched onwards and after what felt like a day in minutes, the slab lay unmoved. The marching quietened. Swallowing Hiroto considered his next move.

After deciding he was probably screwed, with everyone assuming him dead and nowhere to go until he could first figure out where his side had retreated to. Second how to get there without having to take on the whole empire himself. For the first time in what had probably been hours he opened the pack that had long been wedged by his side and removed the relatively clean mirror from one of the inner pockets. After wincing at his muddy, bloodstained reflection he decided his first move would be getting out of here. The bots were hardly smart but sheer force of numbers could overwhelm anyone.

Carefully he moved his arm out from cover and gently tilted the mirror, aiming to see if anything was on the bridge or near it.

There were four cogs.

Hiroto knew without his powers he couldn't take out them all quickly enough. There would be time enough for one to make contact and bring every bot in the area down on his ass. With a sigh he slid gently back, squeezing himself as small as possible under the darkest part of the bonnet.

He had but one viable option, the rest being varying degrees of hell no. He took a deep breath, slid back towards the edge and began watching.

He watched them for a while, a pair stationed at either side of the foot bridge.

He watched them for hours.

He waited, breath baited, heart pounding, carefully watching the mirror. Everything seemed quiet, the guards made little movement. Convoys would come by every hour splattering mud everywhere. The guards would change. The cycle would repeat.

Mentally he mapped out the area, guesstimating distances and speed, other places where they might cross the trench. He had a choice.

Follow the Empire and catch up to his side that way, since the Engines were in retreat all it would take was time to find a skirmish and he could rejoin his side.

Get out, out permanently. No buts, no second chances, he would be dead and gone to them. He would be out of the machine wars and off this axis forever.

Somehow, if he never had to wear gold again, it would suit him fine.

Somehow, never seeing those crazy fools again bugged him a little.

He was tired of war.

He didn't even have to be here anymore.

He stuffed the gunk covered wing trigger into his pack and pulled out a mobile phone. He flipped it open briefly before closing it and shoving it into his cargo trousers. He tossed the ragged Go-On Gold jacket over the pack and exhaled. Closing his eyes he flicked the button on his belt and opened up buckle. He hoped his hopper was quiet.

The mechanical bug was in his hand in seconds, crackling with energy, anxious to fight. He gulped as he set the bug, barely whispering the word 'Henshin'.

The power swept over him, encasing him in armour. He felt assured, safe and comforted in the ensemble.

He awkwardly unholstered the gun from his hip, his shelter barely big enough to move in. The sight and silencer were checked before the safety was off. With the mirror he once more checked their position. With a button push he disappeared.

He slid out from the car bonnet and under the bridge. The sound was a pin drop at a heavy metal concert as he shuffled to the other side. The sentries didn't move.

Breathing in he visualised his movements, readied his gun then flung himself backwards, fading into view as he fired.

Four shots.

Noisily the bots crumpled. Yaguruma hit the invisibility switch and lay still. He narrowed his eyes behind his mask and listened.

One minute, two minutes, three.

He was tense, coiled like a spring by the time he stood up. There was forty minutes before the next convoy would arrive. He grabbed his jacket. Moving to each pile of scrap in turn he razed each one with the metal twist, obliterating the most obvious signs of a gunshot and kicking them a few times for good measure. At the last bot he jammed the scrap in hard through the jacket tearing off a piece. With a single glance in all directions he deemed the scene suitable. Days of endless bombardment certainly made a battlefield. Satisfied, he starting walking. Due west was his direction. He was tempted to run, the adrenaline of the transformation filling him with energy but he choose relative silence, not wanting to attract attention. Invisibility, was the name of the game. The clouds rumbled and another heavy downpour came.

The battle field, was a standard no man's land fare littered with hastily dug paths haphazardly crossing the landscape. Both sides had dug in here and set up command posts. Engine command was protected by gun batteries, in turn defended by mobile artillery supporting the frontline. Well what passed for mobile artillery was generally a standard engine drafted to the effort that had gotten a canon welded to it's roof.

The war had been going for a while. And Yaguruma had seen more than enough.

He passed under seven Empire bridges ignoring the bots and stepping carefully over a lot of scrap ignoring the bullet holes. Getting stuck between bridges sucked but meeting a machine convoy would have sucked more. He was still invisible and hoping that his footprints wouldn't be too noticeable.

He knew the battlefield layout pretty well having poured over scale-maps when he had been preparing his own strategy to present to the Engine council. The western side of trench fuck you split into three sub-trenches. As Yaguruma approached he could see wrecked defence turrets and a lot of death.

The area only held battle echoes. Scorched metal smoking. Fires still smouldered. Parts twitched. Empire Heat sappers had been there. He dumped the rest of his jacket on a smouldering metal plate where a sapper had hit. It quickly began melting, the acrid smell adding to the rest of the battlefield fugue. He didn't wait for it to finish. Choosing the centre path he continued through the barely cold war zone.

The sounds of battle seemed further away here. If Sousuke's plan had failed, which he was suspecting it had probably been here.

The machine war had been at a relative status quo when they arrived on machine world eighteen months ago. More than anything both sides were fighting wars of attrition. Sousuke's general strategy number one had been strength in numbers, separating a manageable sized group from the main army and hitting it hard. His second was attack the nearest commander and hope everything worked out. For the most part they did work. The results showed quickly, the engines losses were cut. For the first time in years the were actually gaining ground. It took a while for the empire to catch on.

Hiroto had seen it though, it was got harder to separate groups from the main army, the groups they could were getting bigger and reinforcements faster. Gains ground to a halt. Pretty soon bases were being lost and retaken daily. Hiroto spent most of that time offering new tactics and trying to explain that sooner or later the empire would push forward, hard.

After some close calls and near misses (which everyone told Hiroto not to worry about, they won that's what mattered) the Empire switched up their tactics as Hiroto had been predicting for months, smashed through a few relatively minor but still significant positions and advanced on more.

Hiroto would swallow down the lump in his throat as the front line moved closer every time he looked at the electronic map.

By the time an alert had been called, the main army of the empire was two days away. The strategy meeting was held until Sousuke made his entrance. Hiroto expected that they would ignore his strategy, the Engine council hadn't had an original thought, probably in decades and Sousuke was their Golden Boy.

When the deployments were sent out he was certain it would be bloody.

Yaguruma knew war. He didn't like the thought of sending anyone to their death. He understood, unlike Sousuke that he couldn't save everyone.

He put his hands together and whispered a short prayer before moving down the central path. There were quite a few miles between him and freedom.

As he got further out to where the trench curved south he took a look over the top. The proverbial edge of no-man's land was marked by a burnt out, abandoned village. Further south he could make out the shadows of the Machine Empire. He looked to the charred buildings then back to where the noise was coming from.

He made his choice.

Pulling himself over the top he ran for the houses.

It had actually been a village when they first arrived eighteen months back. A tiny piece of civilisation. Like most engine settlements it was showing the strain of the protracted war. The inhabitants were determined but tired, missing their sons, daughters, brothers and sisters who had all been drawn into the war effort.

The inhabitants were quickly displaced and soon after, Sousuke, Hant and a bunch of young trigger happy engines were pursuing a foot battalion dumped behind their lines, a popular machine tactic till the air corps got organised. The ensuring fire fight had brought the whole place down. Hiroto had picked through the wreckage helping the wounded get towed and scavenging for anything useful.

The blue painted bedroom with the charred posters and half melted toys made him puke. He hadn't known what came over him. Wiping bile from his mouth, he kicked dirt over the mess, stood straight and continued.

Months had slipped by since then.

Even though a short time had passed the village looked dilapidated, covered in dirt, grime and destruction. Burnt out barrels were on their sides, fresh tire tracks and recent weapons fire marked every surface. There was an assortment of fresh wrecks and bodies.

'Probably used as cover for retreats'. His hand hovered over his holstered gun as he moved through.

He wanted to get a good distance away from the battlefield before slipping back to the human dimension.

Walking through the village made his stomach roil and took too long. Beyond there was an empty muddy expanse, untouched by any serious fighting. It gave way to trees. They looked dead. A few had sprouted some very sad looking leaves. He moved between them quickly. The dead forest would having been a good place for a battle. Nothing fancy, lure a battalion or two in and pick them off with snipers. Lay the nearby empty land with mines. It would be a good distraction for a large engine force to hit hard on the empire's flank. Engines would inevitably die, the snipers would be at a high risk and crashing into the enemy flank would produce losses. It would hurt them. Some coordinated air strikes and well targeted heavy weaponry though, it would hurt the empire more.

He huffed through his nose. He had made his choice.

As the blurred sun set in front of him the battle din slowly receded. Everything was strange and quiet. It made him twitch, he'd forgotten silence existed. As the sun slipped down behind the western mountains it was a far away rumble.

Darkness soon covered the land.

He tapped the side of his mask, a coloured lens slid over the clear visor and night vision kicked in. He looked around then switched to heat vision. There was no life in the forest. No animals, no birds. Not even insects. He flicked back to night vision and picked up his pace. It was horribly eerie.

His energy had waned considerably since leaving the battlefield, adrenaline fading to a nervous twitch in the pervading silence. If not for the darkness he would have powered down. He turned off invisibility to conserve some energy. If the area was searched his body heat would give him away, invisible or not.

Walking on through the night, wide eyed and twitchy he clicked his visor to normal as the sun's rays hit the foothills he was traversing. The trees had thinned out into nothing, along with any other vegetation that once grew. The land was barren.

Tracking up a fairly steep incline he reached the bottom of the mountain and ducked under a small outcropping. He glanced all around then pulled out his mobile phone. 'Time to go home' he thought. Flipping his clamshell phone open he switched it on. It ran a silly animation, silent. Yaguruma waited an irritable minute for the sequence to finish and the menu to appear. Flipping through the phone book took a while. Several contacts flicked by. He selected E. Washington. With a deep breath he hit call with his thumb.

A small 'calling' image appeared on the screen. He closed the phone, shoved it in his belt and wound up a Rider Punch directly in front of him.

As though a window had been smashed pieces of reality shattered in front of him, scattering, then evaporating, exposing an angry, swirling vortex. He gulped. Inter dimension travel was notoriously tricksome, akin to dropping a needle into a field of haystacks and hoping to land in the same one. He stepped through and after a very uncomfortable few seconds landed flat on his face.

As protocol dictated he blindly pulled the phone out and cancelled the phone call. The portal sealed itself shut. With a groan he lifted his face from the concrete. His armour fell away.

'Urgh' he groused resisting the urge to spit. Everything hurt. He half expected to hear screaming. Silence continued. He must of landed somewhere devoid of people.

Rolling over and sitting up was painful. An empty beach lay before him. Looking around he powered down. Hiroto and Miu's house was a few hundred yards away.

Yaguruma knew he looked an utter state and smelled worse. Painfully he stood and began a slow amble to the house.

Without the house key, still amongst his assorted junk a dimension away Yaguruma went to the rear. Jumping over the low fence he ran a few feet. The pool. Long empty he dropped in and dug his finger tips into one of the filter fixings. Painfully, he prized it away. Sitting, nestled in a blob of pool gunk was french window key. Picking it up with the edge of his fingers was not a nice experience. Rubbing it on his pants would not help. His vest was clean enough for the job though.

He climbed out and darted towards the French windows to let himself in. Parting the heavy curtains he stripped and piled his dirty clothing and boots just outside the door. Grabbing a bin bag from the kitchen he returned, dumped the gunk covered items in and hauled the door shut. With the bag on the floor he tugged the curtains back into place and sighed.

He couldn't leave a trace.

He was going to go to the utility area and start cleaning up when he realised that the usage would appear in the bills. Sighing he turned to Hiroto's room. Rummaging through the various draws and cupboards there was enough nondescript clothing that would not be missed. From the bathroom there were plenty of cleansing wipes. Hardly ideal, but at least he wouldn't look like a feral serial killer.

Cleaning up took a while and hurt. Going round his injuries took longest. He got his hair mostly dirt free. Shaving would have to wait though. He dumped the used wipes in with his mud caked clothes relived and pilfered the medical kit under his bed. It was nice to be halfway disinfected and not caked in mud. Deciding to indulge a moment he flopped back on his bed and stretched. It felt amazing. After every limb and muscle had been attended to he relaxed enjoying soft sheets for the first time in months. Before exhaustion could come too close he stood up and dressed. He smiled a little at his reflection, 'Back in black' he thought smoothing out the creases in his ensemble and straightening up in the mirror.

Moving to his plastic bag he sighed at it, fortunately there were a dozen others in the kitchen, it wouldn't be missed. He wiped down his boots, tutting at stains that refused to shift. A satisfactory job took a while and left dirt caked in his nails. Cleaning them out took seconds though. He started packing up to leave closing drawers, replacing items, straightening the bed spread.

Grabbing the the bag he glanced around Hiroto's room again, making sure there was nothing he needed to take. He exited backwards removing specks of dirt as he went. He moved into the living room when a thought occurred to him.

'The holosuite'.

Well, not the entire room. Just some computer files. He dumped the bag of clothing by the French window and headed down.

A musty scent hung in the room as he wheeled the door open manually. Still as big and white as when he's last been there.

He crouched under the main desk and pulled his laptop out. In his head it was the Sou laptop. He didn't use this one when Miu was about. From the Hiroto desktop he pulled out the hard disk, hooked it into an external cradle. The Sou laptop trundled along, slow after many months of being off. The transfer was soon complete and everything was soon as it should be. He tucked the Sou laptop under his arm, exiting the suite for the last time.

Once he had wheeled the door shut his stomach rumbled. There was probably no food in the house. Stopping by the desk in the living room he pulled a battered leather wallet, a present from another time, crammed down the back of the drawer. There were a few yen notes, enough for what he needed and his old identity. Shoving it into his back pocket he prepared to leave. He paused in the mirror, brushed his lank, black hair back with his fingers. The angry red cut behind white gauze twinged as he did so. Sighing, he looked to his plastic bag of dirty clothes and rubbish, picked it and his laptop up. With little emotion he exited, locked the door behind him and returned the key.

Suto Hiroto was no more.

The clouds had darkened by the time he vaulted the fence and headed back to the beach path.

He hurried along, not wanting to attract any undue attention. The whole place was quiet except for the passing of cars. There wasn't any pending business where he was, but he needed to acclimate back to earth normal conditions and shower a lot before jumping back. Minimising cross world contaminants was important.

As he wound his was into town pausing at a few places for supplies the world didn't seem different. Scaffolding mostly covered old battle sites and there had been quite a few. He sat in a laundromat with a can of bad coffee for an hour after tipping half a bottle of stain remover and six washing tablets over his clothes.

After his stuff was mostly clean and dry he checked into a hotel. He could hear trains pulling in and out of the nearby station and sighed. After a glorious shower and a bag of convenience food he pulled his clamshell phone out again.

There was a message from a commander asking where the hell he was.

'That was fast' Yaguruma thought. His thumb ghosted over various keys, mentally composing a message. Something between 'Sorry, the stress was killing me', 'my exit was already authorised' and 'whatever I've got bigger fish to fry'.

He flipped the phone closed, then opened it again deciding to reply later. As he was about to open his tracking app he thought better and replied with his location and a bunch of coded phrases that indicated he was alive, in one piece and his death was suitably implied.

The message sent icon flashed across the screen and he opened the tracking application.

Not a hunting tool in the strictest of senses it was more of a data gathering tool designed to access information sources, news sites, twitter and blogs to collate reports of strange occurrences. He set the hotel as his current location and started the information compiler.

Leaving the phone on the side grabbed the TV remote. With the push of a red button the flatscreen came to life. Setting the volume low he flick over to a talk show, cracked open a beer and made himself comfortable.

Sunlight was peaking through the window when he woke, the TV lazily showing a shopping commercial. His beer was half finished and flat on the side table. Half a bag of crisps had fallen onto the bed.

'I must be getting old' he thought. He batted at the crumbs, poured the beer down the sink and washed his face. The compiler had turned up nothing so he flipped off the TV, closed the curtains, shed his jacket and crawled properly under the covers.

He had a nightmare, there was fire and screaming.

He checked the complier when he woke up, nothing. Three messages sat in his inbox. A mission brief for when he jumped back to axis 1. A welcome back from Nanase. He hovered over the last, there was no message subject.

He clicked.

From: Personnel.

Thank you for your hard work as Go-On Gold.

The morpher will be reassigned shortly.

He blinked.

Days past and the nightmares stayed. Of Shun and Miu and everyone burning and screaming.

He didn't deserve forgiveness for the things he'd done he thought, but looking at the compiling tool and seeing the monster data he didn't hesitate. He could still do something.