Disclaimer: I do not own anything

Engine 45

Chapter One

He stepped onto the stage, feeling more alive than he had in days. His senses worked overtime to remember everything and store it in his mind. This, this is what made everything worth it. He felt almost hyperaware. He could taste his last cigarette on his tongue and his teeth. He could feel the heat from the stage lights and the jewelry that Fiona had 'given' him (more like forced on and threatened to kill him if he removed them) bouncing annoyingly against his chest. His usual pair of white gloves had been destroyed in an accident yesterday and had to be replaced with a pair of fingerless ones. He ran a bare finger over the head of the microphone, memorizing its texture. He could hear the hum of the amps that was almost lost in the ambient noise of the crowd and he could feel them, or imagine that he felt them, making the cheap wooden stage move with minute vibrations.

His ratty sneakers made almost no noise as he approached the edge of the stage. The people milling around grew silent as he got closer. The Suppression Squad was always popular for a local band but the news that this was their last show had spread fast and packed the club to its gills. The first notes of their agreed opener began to fill the room. Drago's large fingers moved with surprising grace and skill across the guitar's fret-board, Fiona joined in, weaving her own notes into the rhythm. Patch began to pound the bass drum and Miles' bass entered the fray. It was time for his part.

Scourge cleared his throat, brought the microphone to his lips, and began to scream:

" Hey Mister, where have you been?
I'll never get to live this life again…"

The crowd went wild as Scourge screamed his heart out on the stage. The Suppression Squad ripped through the song with ease and began their next one with barely a pause, tearing through the set list with energy fueled by knowing that this was the last night they would share the stage together. They played with more intensity than when they knew a record company's talent scout was in the audience. This show was about more than getting signed. It meant more, it meant goodbye. Tomorrow Scourge would be sent to his new foster home, halfway across the country from Moebius.

As the final notes, the death knell of their band, faded Scourge looked back at his friends and felt the urge to apologize rise up in him. This was his fault, his curse of shitty luck that had screwed things up so badly. He stamped out the urge viciously. He had warned them that his curse was going to screw them all somehow but they hadn't believed him. Leather clad shoulders shrugged restlessly, he had nothing to apologize for right? He had given them fair warning. Let's just focus on enjoying what's left of tonight. After all this will probably be the last time he saw them, these dysfunctional bastards that were the closest thing to a family he had ever had. He gave them his signature sharp toothed smile as they descended from the stage and they smiled back, except for Patch who flicked him off. Scourge returned the gesture happily, knowing that this was as close to a friendly greeting as the anti-social coyote would get.

This is our last night together, Scourge mused, I'm gonna make damn sure we all enjoy it.

Scourge scowled as they pulled up in front of his new foster 'home'. To be honest he had been scowling all morning. If this weren't the norm for him he would have almost been afraid that his face had been permanently stuck that way. He was in a bad mood, still slightly hung-over from his going away party last night and itching for a cigarette. The social worker's bubbly attitude certainly wasn't helping his mood either. She acted as if being taken from his friends and shipped halfway across the country was some great fucking adventure.

"I mean golly-gee who wouldn't want to miss out on a chance at getting signed to move to a brand new town just in time for senior year?" Scourge muttered sarcastically.

"See that's the spirit! It's an adventure; you'll meet some new people. Maybe even get yourself a girlfriend?" the woman shot him what was probably supposed to be a roguish wink.

He narrowed his eyes; apparently this stupid bitch's sarcasm sensor was broken. "Girlfriend?" he scoffed, "Did you not read the report on why I'm being shipped here? Or do you think I put that guy in the hospital for making fun of me for being straight?"

There was a pause as she tried to come up with a response to this. Apparently she couldn't because after a minute or so she chuckled awkwardly, "Well we're here. Uh, get your stuff okay?"

She exited the car quickly. He followed her, rolling his eyes exasperatedly.

The moment he was out of the car he lit the cigarette that had been tucked into the corner of his mouth since that morning, ignoring social worker's disapproving look. He blew a stream of smoke at her out of spite and gripped his worn-out suitcase tighter.

When she didn't move his scowl deepened, "Can we hurry this up? Or do you get paid by the hour when you're transporting us rejects?"

She started and then, flustered, led him up the driveway and to the front door.

It was a nice house, Scourge reflected as they waited for the door to be answered, it had a very suburban vibe. No obnoxious colors, no kiddie toys making the front yard their bitch, no dead patches on the yard. Just another cookie cutter house on a street lined with its clones.

He flicked the cigarette into the bushes as the door was answered and had to fight against the urge to make a mustache joke. The hedgehog, who introduced himself as Uncle Chuck, had one hell of a classy mustache. Scourge went into auto-pilot mode, listening absently as Chuck explained some of the house rules (keep your room clean, clean up your own dishes, no smoking in the house, etc.) and made small talk with the social worker. After about fifteen horrendously boring minutes the social worker bid them farewell, either ignoring or not noticing Scourge's death glare.

When the door had closed Uncle Chuck turned to him and smiled kindly, "Well Scourge I'm sure you're eager to settle in so why don't you go get your room all squared away? It's up the stairs and at the end of the hall, can't miss it. Dinner's gonna be at six. The triplets will be home by then and we can all get to know each other a little better. Does that sound okay to you?"

Scourge agreed that it sounded okay to him (not like it would have mattered if it didn't anyway) and headed up the stairs, lugging his suitcase after him. His room was indeed easy to find and he tossed his case into it carelessly before glancing around. The walls were painted neutral colors and the hardwood floor looked old but well cared for. A window on the far wall overlooked the backyard and the green hedgehog propped it open, letting the breeze caress him for a moment.

After the brief inspection of his room he flopped down on the bed, absentmindedly noticing how comfortable it was, and began to wait for six to roll around. No point in unpacking at any rate, he doubted he'd be here for very long.

A/N: this is just the first chappie. A bit of a short intro I suppose just to get the story out into the waters as it were. Reviews are welcome, flames are not.

the song in this chapter is 'Hey Mister' by Miss May I.

So yeah, here ya go,

Pathetic-really