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77 years.
That's how long he'd been traversing the roads of the desert; the pavement burning under his speeding feet, the wind flying through his plumage and his best buddy never far behind.
77 years. The two of them probably held the record for the world's longest game of tag, but that never truly mattered to him. All that mattered was the thrill of the chase and that they were both having fun doing it. He even got free meals every day out of it, which he considered a plus.
And even after all this time, his favorite playmate knew how to keep things interesting. The Coyote—Wile E. was his name—was a clever one, you see; one would perhaps even call him a genius. He always came up with unique, flashy ways to finally get his paws on him, no matter how fast he ran. A lot of them involved using the terrain around them or even some bizarre gadget he'd never seen before. Those were the ones that especially got his attention. He'd always stop just shy of him, looking over his shoulder to spy his latest plan, waiting just long enough for him to sense his presence before playfully beeping to catch him by surprise and speeding off again.
Every attempt had a nasty habit of blowing up in Wile E.'s face—sometimes literally—and every time one looked particularly painful, he'd zip by to ensure that his buddy was all right. Most of the time, he was. No matter the injuries, he always picked himself up and tried again. That's what the Roadrunner had always admired and respected about him. Any other coyote in the desert would have long given up by now, but not his Coyote. Every day he was there, either going as fast as his legs could possibly carry him, or building another amusing gizmo to catch him. They were a constant in each other's lives, ever since they were young.
And that's why he was his best friend.
You see, chasing is how Roadrunners show affection to those they consider a part of their flock. And if Wile E. had been relentlessly chasing him this long, then he must really care about him!
That's how it's been for the last 77 years, and the Roadrunner could only hope it continues like this for another 77 more.
But one morning, their routine changed.
At first, the Roadrunner wasn't concerned when his Coyote hadn't shown up for a few days; that usually meant he was working especially hard on a new plan for their game. He always got excited about that; wondering what fun tactic he'd try this time. But on the day he showed up again, he wasn't alone.
Two humans were with him; a tired-looking man with disheveled brown hair (that was a surprisingly similar shade to his friend's fur) and a rumpled up suit, along with a young, vibrant woman with dark hair and a jacket a couple shades lighter than his own feathers. They were looking at Wile E.'s past attempts at catching him, putting small yellow cards next to them and taking photos. He couldn't help but feel a flare of an unfamiliar feeling in his chest at these strangers hanging around his friend. Who were they to think they had any right to be in his desert, and around his Coyote? Then the man laid a piece of paper in the road with a pile of bird seed.
A smile came across his beak, the flare in his chest quickly dissolving. Now this was more Wile E.'s style. Clearly the paper was a means of bringing him to his latest trap, and he had simply asked the humans to make it seem more innocent. Oh, how clever his Coyote was! He zipped by, enjoyed his lunch, and left an acceptance to the challenge on the paper.
BEEP BEEP.
Translation: "YOU'RE IT!"
He then took off down the road, eagerly awaiting his friend's next move.
A week passed, and Wile E. had yet to show up again.
Now, Roadrunner was getting anxious. His Coyote had never taken this long for a scheme before! Something had to be wrong. Had one of those confounded contraptions he'd use actually hurt him this time? He had to find him. He had to make sure his best friend was okay! He ran along the roads, faster than his legs had ever gone before. The pavement curled behind him, a whirlwind whipping up by his frantic speeding.
Suddenly, a familiar scent filled the air. Birdseed. And lots of it. That had to be him! Turning on his heel, he sped in the direction of the comforting aroma, soon coming to a stop at the largest pile of birdseed he'd ever laid eyes on. Something squished under his feet, and he looked down to see he was standing in a veritable lake of glue. Relief washed over him. No wonder Wile E. had taken so long. He'd outdone himself, this time! It had to easily be the biggest scheme he'd ever come up with! He looked around him, eagerly awaiting his friend to make a grand entrance, that sly grin he liked so much creeping across his muzzle.
But… he was nowhere to be seen.
"Target acquired. Commence Project: Roadkill in T-minus 3… 2… 1."
Instead, he saw large trucks surrounding the birdseed and glue, and numerous humans wearing black, with cameras and rifles trained on him. Looking up, he saw a helicopter hovering above them all, most likely how they got the birdseed here.
This wasn't one of his Coyote's schemes at all, was it?
That's when he noticed a word plastered on the sides of the helicopter and trucks.
ACME.
He may not be able to read very well, but he knew that word. He'd seen it countless times over the past 77 years. It was the name on all the inventions Wile E. used. The very same ones that constantly failed or exploded, leaving his Coyote beaten, bruised and burned. And now here they were trying to replace him in their game. He tilted his head at one of the armored men holding a camera, the one he heard speak up.
"Sir, the target is looking at us," the man said. A stout, sniveling man in glasses standing nearby began to look nervous.
Good.
"…Why is the target looking at us?"
This was a game just for the two of them, and these players did not belong on the board. They were unwelcome in his desert, and they had to go.
"Beep-Beep!"
The next few seconds were a blur of splattered glue, a loud explosion that rivaled all those that happened to Wile E. over the decades, and a flurry of birds descending on the birdseed now stuck to all of the intruders as they screamed in a panic. The last thing he heard as he sped away with a triumphant beep was the bespectacled man shrieking, "Did we catch him?!"
A smug grin crossed his beak as he ran along the desert. No, they did not catch him. Because they couldn't even rival the genius of Wile E. Coyote.
His Coyote.
His best friend.
A friend he now had to go find so they could continue their fun.