Many Years In the Future The sands whipped across the rags on his face, one bright blue eye shining out from a small parting in the rags. He stood tall, unusually so, as some loose rags flapped in the sandy wind. He looked up to the sky and sighed softly.
He remembered so long ago when he was important. When he wasn't just a straggler. Once he was Boxcars. A tall great muscular man, that lived in castles! Now he was just a vagabond, struggling in this vast wasteland desert....
. . .
Many Years in the Future, Just not as many
From the wreckage he crawled, a giant great Sky-Ship's wreckage laid in front of him, burning. His fingers clutched the sand and pulled him slowly forward and he sat up slowly, looking down at his legs. Large pieces of shrapnel sticking out from them and then pain started to crawl up his legs, blood staining the sand.
Almost as if called upon a piece of wreckage burst from its resting place and in place of it stood a man that rivaled Boxcars in height. His name was Trace, but he was thin, almost lanky. In his arm he held a blunderbuss that had a strap that went over his shoulder. It had blown open the metal wreckage.
Trace stepped over, throwing the gun over his shoulder and extending his hand, in an offer of peace. Boxcars took his hand and helped himself stand with its balance.
"So who are you, Shooter?" and Trace smirked softly
"I am Trace... And I know what anybody has done.". At this remark Boxcars remembered raising an eyebrow and cocking his head. All would come in due time.
. . .
Somewhat parallel to the last scene
Unlike Boxcars and Trace, Finnick had already been there but had just the same been at the crashed Sky-Ship. He found a person, lost from their consciousness he dragged them back to his temple. Keeping a watch on their health.
The person he was keeping check on was known as Stitches. He thought he remembered her face from somewhere but couldn't really put his finger on it. From the top of his temple he watched the Sky-Ship burn its bright flames and roar into the sky. It looked like the one he arrived on so it made him ponder the past...
Stitches did not wake up until later that night, and she sat, sighing against the wall of the upstairs temple wall. In the opposite corner was a sleeping Finnick, a rifle snuggled under his arm as he slept. She, unlike him, had not a clue to who he was.
She looked down and saw she was bandaged up, the blood from the bandages also stained her savior's clothing and she nodded softly. She stood and walked over to the sleeping man, taking off her jacket and laying it on him as a blanket...
The desert was cold at night
. . .
Back to many years in the future
Aces looked up to the top of the temple and gnarled his teeth. It was finally coming time for them to be important again. Soon.... All of it would come soon.
