Charles Darwin had searched, from the beginning of his existence, or very nearly at least, for one thing. He'd had many theories in his time, for example, why flamingos were pink, whether elephants could swim, but in the end there was one thing he - well, he and Wallace both - were looking for.
It was the Americana Exotica that had brought him to this point. His search had gone in vain, for ages upon ages, and it wasn't until that one point in time, a moment which would change everything, forever, when he received one as a gift from Governer Odious - a dead one.
It was that point that Charles Darwin vowed that he'd be the one to kill Governer Odious.
Of course, Darwin had never been a violent type. He couldn't simply kill someone off as easy as all that, so it was his pleasure to meet the others - the ex slave, the Indian, Luigi the explosives expert, the Masked Bandit. Together, they'd take him down.
That had been the plan. He thought perhaps it would work. He had been wrong. On their travels they met the mystic, they met the Masked Bandit's daughter, they'd been captured and had escaped and been captured again and had escaped again - he thought they'd make it.
But where it begun, it also would end. With an Americana Exotica. Except this one was alive. This one surely was alive.
There was a delicate balance to life. Where one life was given another must end. Wallace had saved the butterfly - he'd caught it, he'd showed it to Darwin - and then he died.
There was nothing left anymore for Charles Darwin. He'd found what he was looking for. Wallace, his dearest friend in all the world, was dead, and he was surrounded. Surrounded completely by the evil Odious' henchmen, giggling like hyenas and growling like wolves.
Only the fittest would survive. Perhaps the bandit and his daughter would make it. Uncle Darwin! He heard, but he paid no mind. There was nothing to be done now. He was half a man, wasn't he? It was time.
"Shoot, you animals!" he shouted at the growling fiends. "They'll pay you well for Darwin's hide!"
Then he fell, blood spurting where the bullets hit. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as he expected. Googly, googly, googly, he heard the mystic say. It was probably in his imagination.
He should have been dead by the time he hit the water, but he landed, thump, on soft grass.
He lifted his hand to his forehead and looked around. This was not the blue city.
He leaned up on his elbows. He was wearing his big red (faux-fur) coat and black bowler hat and beside him was his bag. There was a familiar chirping and cooing so he opened the bag and there sat Wallace, alive and well in his usual place.
"This isn't what was supposed to happen," Darwin said to the little monkey.
Wallace just chirped and looked away.
"Well...that makes two of us," Darwin said as he stood.
They had no idea where they were.