Disclaimer: As per usual, I shall give you my spiel; I do not own anything in this story save for two characters who have obviously never before appeared in any Sega related media and as such could only be my own, minor as they are. Otherwise everything else is not mine, I own nothing, this is for fun and not profit and the only other thing to belong to me is the story itself. All other things not mine, belong to Sega.

A Difficult Road Traveled

Chapter Four: Sundered Oasis

He had to get them away from the ships, both his and the Swatbots' and that meant putting himself in more deliberate danger. Taking one of them down had put them into 'alert' mode, and if he killed another the last one would be able to remote activate a distress signal from the Hoverpod and thus ensure that he would be thoroughly screwed. Instead, he once more opened fire, this time at random, and then dashed off back for another formation of as the Swatbots gave pursuit, returning fire all the way. It was risky, but the end results would be for the best; they were still in pursuit mode, their assessment of his overall threat to themselves still low enough that their programming deduced that they could take him down without the need for further assistance.

Chris had done this many times before, but there was still the lightning hot sense of panic thrumming through his person; back in the city he knew every which way to turn his surroundings to his advantage, but he was out of his element here in the open plains. He turned sharply to head toward a particularly ominous looking rock pile, panting a bit as he scrambled up it to gain some elevation over his robotic adversaries. The two Swatbots were pursuing him with the expected, damnable relentlessness they'd always had, and Chris swore softly when he realized that he'd left a trail of tracks in the dirt when he ran. They were starting to climb up towards his position as best as their bulky metallic frames would allow, and Chris knew that he'd have to work quickly to kill the two of them at once or at least within a few seconds of each other.

Leaning up behind the top part of the formation his heart nearly gave way when he felt his cover nudge slightly, but this panic would soon transform into the distinct feeling of realization as a desperate idea formed into his head. The rocks he was hiding behind were loose, large, and heavy… why bother wasting ammo when he could hopefully, nearly literally kill two birds with one stone? Immediately he began to push against the rocks, slamming his body against them in an effort to nudge them along further. "THERE-IS-NO-ESCAPE," droned out one of the Swatbots, who by now was starting to sound dangerously close as the grating sound of metal scraping against stone grew proportionately louder. Turning his back, he pressed it against the stones and dug his feet into the rock beneath him and started to push with all the strength his desperation would grant him, breaking out into a fine sweat as he mentally begged the ancient fixture to just give way. The metallic clanking of robotic feet grew, and his blood froze into ice when he heard the Swatbots speak once more, loud enough for him to know that they were upon him.

"SURRENDER-AND-PREPARE-FOR-!" Then there was the sound of rocks tumbling, and Chris let out a startled yell as he fell backward, wincing as he impacted against the hard surface of the formation. The bundle of rocks at the top fell forward in a miniature avalanche, a chorus of metal crushing and stones cracking echoing in Chris' ears as he shakily got to his feet. With a pained hiss he clasped at his wounded arm and looked down below at the base of the formation; the Swatbots were in pieces, shattered and buried under heavy rocks. He sighed in relief, having for the moment been spared the chance of their compatriots seeking him out. "Swatbots," he sneered disdainfully before wincing once more, the pain in his arm flaring up.

Heading back down and pulling out a medical kit from his supplies, Chris treated the minor wound and wrapped it up, though a frown continued to grace his features even in the face of his victory over the Swatbots. He'd gotten careless for the first time in years, and it had very nearly cost him his life and put all his efforts to waste. "Stupid-stupid-stupid," he muttered to himself, smacking his own head in lieu of there being anyone else to do the deed in retaliation for his act of moronic ineptitude. "Cripes, was the only thing keeping you alive in the field was everybody constantly screaming at you to keep moving?" he snorted to himself, shaking his head. Today an important lesson had been learnt; he could not afford to take things easy even if he was getting all the closer to his goal, or even if things seemed safe… especially if things seemed safe at that. Safety was as much an illusion here as it had been back home, and he could not allow himself to forget that just because he'd gone a few days without some kind of machine trying to kill him. With this thought firmly entrenched in his mind, Chris looked over to where the Swatbots lay buried under stone.

One had been crushed under the largest of the rocks, though its chest and upper torso remained exposed even as the rest of it had been flattened, while the other had been completely buried. Blue eyes shined with a bit of malice as the human promptly trod over to the exposed Swatbot, reared his leg back, and promptly gave it a firm kick in the head. The blow sent the appendage soaring, and it skidded a few times before stopping at last. Allowing himself a childish snigger at the act, he then headed back to The Deliverance and entered it, activating the hover engines and slowly ascending to the sky. Opening the side door, he rummaged about the back of the ship and managed to procure a plasma grenade; placing his arm out, he pressed the grenade's detonator button and dropped it by the Swatbot's hoverpod before kicking The Deliverance into high gear and speeding away. Thirty seconds later the grenade went off, blowing a sizeable chunk out of the side of the enemy ship, and Chris allowed himself a satisfied smirk as he continued onward in his mission.

It would be later in that day, near the evening as a matter of fact, when another pair of figures would make their way across the lake Chris had stopped by. Unlike the solitary human, these two knew the area with the same intimate familiarity that they knew the backs of their own hands. They had spotted the faded plume of smoke that had been produced by the burning hovercraft, and chose to investigate it rather than remain hidden. The two were a pair of Mobian wolves, and at the moment they were more than a little perplexed by the scene that would await them at the lake. "What do you make of it, Cholo?" asked the younger of the two, a slender brown furred she-wolf with grey eyes, a rifle slung over her shoulder as she regarded the scene of destruction before them. Cholo, a grey furred wolf in his middle years of stocky build with a bandolier of grenades adorning his chest, let out a concerned murmur.

"Not sure, Gabriella… this wasn't done by any of our guys, I know that much," the older wolf stated with a frown as he surveyed the damage, approaching the downed Swatbots and started to sniff about. Gabriella for her part headed off to inspect the severed Swatbot head collecting dust several feet away, kneeling down and lifting it up to observe it curiously. "Could be another Freedom Fighter cell," Cholo offered up offhandedly.

"But, that's good right?" Gabriella asked as she turned to face Cholo. "I mean, another group with equipment to blow up a Hoverpod has to be a good thing, right?" she asked, cocking her head slightly.

"In theory yes; in practice it's complicated," Cholo grunted as he continued to sniff, raising a brow as he tried to recall the dispersed scent hovering around the lake. "For all we know this could've been the work of a bunch of raiders just getting their jollies at the thought of spitting in the Eggman's eye," he grunted, frown deepening as he familiarized himself with the scent. There was something very familiar about the scent being given off here amidst the typical smells of metal and oil that Swatbots gave off, and then it hit him. His eyes widened as memories flooded back to him from thirteen years ago, memories of explosions and killing and horrible furless giants bearing down on him with the fury of hell itself. "By the First Packs, I know this scent…" he stated in a hushed tone.

"Really?" Gabriella rose a brow, wondering what'd come over the other wolf. "If its familiar, why are you acting like you'd just been asked to toss your first born into the river?" she asked with a joking smile. Cholo's expression however had the opposite response to her attempt to lighten the mood, instead turning somber, his ears pinning down angrily as the memories continued to dominate his mind.

"Because I haven't smelled it since the Great War," Cholo growled out. "A human did this… I'm ashamed that it took me this long to recognize the scent, after my time in the field," he grunted as he rubbed the bridge between his eyes, Gabriella blinking in astonishment.

"Whoa, seriously? A human?" Gabriella had never seen a human in her life, having been a child during the War and far away from the fighting at that. "What would a human be doing out here though?" she asked, looking about somewhat nervously. She may have never seen a human in her life, but she'd heard the stories enough to be wary.

"Nothing good, that's for certain," Cholo grunted and turned around, starting to head back. "Come on kid, we gotta tell Lupe about this. The scent is too dispersed for me to get a trail out of it, and I don't see any tracks we could follow."

Gabriella dashed to his side, still holding the Swatbot head under her arm. "Well, whoever this guy is he did take out some Swatbots… that's gotta be a plus, doesn't it?" Gabriella pointed out, prompting a snort from the older wolf.

"When humans are involved it ain't ever a plus, trust me on this," he rolled his eyes as they headed for the Pashas they'd used to reach this spot. "And even if he's against Robotnik doesn't mean he's on our side. Hell, at least raiders are Mobian... this guy doesn't even have that much in common with us." He then raised a brow, looking down at the Swatbot head being held by his companion. "Uh… what's with the head?"

"Oh!" Gabriella blinked and then grinned as she held up the metallic object. "Well, it's not badly damaged, so I figured we might be able to get some good info from its memory storage and maybe learn a bit more about whoever knocked his block off," she chuckled.

"We already know it was a human," Cholo stated flatly as he mounted his Pasha, pulling upon the reigns to steady the beast. "What more do we need?"

"Well, yeah, but what if there's more than one?" Gabriella pointed out in defense of her plan as she followed suite and headed atop her own Pasha. "And we'd wanna know how well armed this guy is or the group is or whatever else he might have that we might need to know about!"

Cholo rubbed his furred chin, giving some thought to the idea. "Huh… good point," he admitted with a nod before snapping the reigns atop his pasha's head, giving a loud command cry to get it moving, and within moments Gabriella would be right by his side as they rode southward, heading for The Great Canyon and with it the remnant of the Wolf Pack Nation.

Their chief would be interested in what they had to show.

The next day Chris would fly with more caution then before, keeping around rock formations and straddling around the edges of whatever forest ranges he could come across. His caution was going to make the trip a bit longer than anticipated, but he didn't care, in the aftermath of yesterday's incident he wasn't going take any kinds of chance. He had already wrapped himself back into the comfort of paranoia that had ensured his survival back in Overland and he was not going to release himself from that smothering embrace until he could be absolutely certain that he was safe from being detected by Robotnik. So in short, it was going to be a while before he allowed himself to lower his defenses in any fashion. His attention was focused and intense, eyes practically straining in anticipation for the array to light and signify the approach of enemy vessels. It was around midday that an alert would flare up, but it wasn't the sort Chris had been worrying about. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when the obnoxious beeping started up, but gradually his shock would die down enough for him to observe the source of the sound; the engine alert beacon was going off.

"Aaaw crap…" he groaned. The engine was having troubles, and sure enough he could start to hear rumbling noises emanating from said engines that were easily a cause for concern. He had to stop and inspect the beleaguered machine, but doing so out in the open like this would be tantamount to suicide. Lucky for him he was near the edge of a forest, and without giving it another thought he diverted his ship into the nearby woods, lowering it down to allow himself a bit more maneuverability amidst the thick greenery. Several minutes in he'd locate a clearing to land in, and would have simply landed and conducted his repairs as planned where it not for the curious thing that assailed his nose; the scent of something burning. At first he'd thought perhaps the distinctly burnt smell was coming from his troubled engines, but a bit of inspection managed to reveal that it was in fact the smell of burnt wood. While thankful that the smell wasn't coming from the engine (yet), he was concerned all the same. He could see no signs of the forest burning, nor had he seen any signs of smoke during the time he was outside of the forest. The smell was growing stronger, and cautiously Chris would hover on ahead, deeper into the woods as his curiosity drove him onward; and then he found the source of the mystery scent, and a horrid sight it was.

"Holy hell," he murmured, wide eyed as he absently continued onward into the scene before. At one point this place had been likely been a settlement of sorts, there were numerous huts and houses, and almost all of them were either burned or partially destroyed. Only a few scant buildings remained wholly intact, and even those few showed displayed damage in the form of bullet holes pock marking the walls. Chris knew this to have been a Mobian settlement; all the buildings were too small to have been made to house humans, and from his perspective the entire ruined village seemed more like a ravaged collection of playhouses. Not wanting to tempt fate any further he landed his craft down in what would roughly have been the town square, cautiously opening the door and stepping out with a plasma rifle in hand. He looked about the ruination that surrounded him, methodically gauging the more technical details concerning the damage. The holes in the building and other bits of damage had been done using lead based ammunition rounds, and judging by the state of the buildings the place had been set alight only two days ago and somehow managed to not catch flame either due to local intervention or rain. From the weaponry that had been used, it was unlikely that Robotnik was responsible for this; from his own experiences, he knew that the Eggman's machines had a tendency towards 'flashier', more high tech means of dispatching opposition, like plasma or laser. By process of elimination, the most likely candidates for this destruction had to be other Mobians.

He frowned darkly at the thought, recalling the rumors he'd heard back in the day of humans who'd forsaken their own kind and worked in their own interests in some vain hope of surviving Robotnik's onslaught by selling out other humans to him. The thought sickened him, but what surprised him was the dull feeling of rage that went through his heart at the implications held within the devastation of this village. This place had been a refuge, someplace meant to keep others safe from Robotnik, and in the end it wasn't Robotnik's drones that did the people of this village in but cowardly scavengers from their own ranks. The thought of a beacon of hope being so callously obliterated by the same people it would have tried to save… he felt himself shake slightly. He should not have been surprised… precious little that he'd heard about Mobians had left him with the impression that they were better than his own people in any way that mattered, but it still made him feel slightly ill. He decided he would take the time to explore; a few of the buildings were fairly intact at least, and he might be able to scrounge about and locate a few things worth taking. He headed for a medium sized hut, poking the ruined door open with the tip of his rifle before he maneuvered himself inside the dwelling. His head nearly touched the ceiling, and he remained on high alert as he walked through the small building despite the fact it possessed the same kind of dead silence the rest of the village did… the same kind that Genocide City possessed. He looked over the place warily; furniture had been knocked over and destroyed, possessions scattered about with careless abandon. This was definitely not the work of Swatbots, for Swatbots possessed no capacity for such cruel glee as whoever had done this. He took notice of a small hallway leading to another room, and crept down it to inspect it further.

The room he located contained a crib and a few scattered toys and picture books… with a heavy heart Chris realized this was a nursery. There had been an infant in here… closing his eyes he let out a sigh that held a weariness that would've been befitting of a man far older then himself. Shaking his head he turned around to head out, deciding he would not further intrude upon the remnants of what had been a family house. As he stepped back into the living room he heard a crack underneath his feet, the telltale sound of glass shattering and he jerked backward, looking down in an instant. He knelt down to inspect the object, reaching out and gently taking hold of it to lift up so that he could see it better… it was a framed photograph. Underneath the web-like network of cracks that his boot had produced in the glass, he could see the contents of the picture; two mobian mice, a male and female, the female holding a snoozing infant of the same species in her arms. The male was taller than the female and rather thin, wearing glasses and a button up collared shirt and vest, while the female was shorter and clad in a modest green dress. The two mice were happy and with more than a bit of pride in their features… Chris stared at the picture. They were both so happy and content and hopeful and…and human. Grandfather had taught Chris not to operate under the presumption of superiority with regards to Mobians, but Chris a lot of the times had difficulty viewing them in the precise same light as he might view a fellow human. But this picture… it spoke of so much, and served as a painful underscore of the tragedy that this entire village represented.

Chris stood up wordlessly and walked over to a windowsill, placing the picture upon it. The picture deserved better then to just lay discarded and forgotten upon the floor like a piece of trash. He took a moment to look at the hopeful scene immortalized in the photograph before heading out the door. He paused upon exiting the house, rubbing his face to combat the sudden feeling of weariness that came down over him. However it was at that precise moment from the corner of his eye that he saw it, another house, a still intact house with the door opened only ajar. But from his position he could see something; he could swear that he saw something standing behind the door. He lowered his hand and slowly looked over towards the house, modest in appearance though larger than the one he'd just left. Suddenly, the door slammed shut and Chris jerked back only a moment before he dashed off towards it, rifle in hand and ready for anything that might come his way. Now in full pragmatic survivor mode he continued onward as a grim thought ran through his head; whoever was in there might be as survivor, that didn't mean Chris would be safe from him.

He gently tested the door, turning the knob slowly and opening it up with as much care as he could muster, finding it was unlocked. Silently he headed into the house; his senses honed and as adrenaline saturated his every nerve and cell. He looked about cautious, keeping his gun up as he searched about for signs of the unknown individual who was currently inside the house with him, feeling his throat go dry. This was going to end in bloodshed, in his gut he knew this was going to end badly, just as he had figured when he first started his journey into the heartland of Mobiankind. He headed down the main hallway slowly, carefully, watching his every step with the precise methodology of a hunter stalking its prey. Making his way down to the end of the hall he edged his way into what appeared to be a living room, complete with a couch and a small table, and further along he could see a room that appeared to be a kitchen. Notably, everything thus far seemed to be less destroyed and ravaged then the last house had been, indicating that whoever lived here had bothered to keep the place clean or that the raiders responsible for the destruction outside simply hadn't been as thorough here as they'd been elsewhere.

It was then that he heard a sound that made his hair stand on end under his helmet and on the back of his neck, the sound of light footsteps rapidly running from one place to another and not too distant from his own position at that. He whirled around, bringing his rifle down to bear, finger inched around the trigger as he looked back down the hallway with a near spastic kind of precision. One of the doors to the other rooms, once stationary, was swaying back and forth very lightly… whoever was in this house had to be in there, they just had to be! Carefully he crept towards the door, wincing as his heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor underneath him and helped to signal his approach to whoever was in that room. He could only image how it might've sounded to the other guy, cornered and with a fully armed human heading for him… it probably sounded like a death sentence to him.

Chris' emergent sympathy died down when he realized that there was a strong chance that the guy might be armed; when he reached the door he put the tip of rifle inside and used it to swiftly force the door aside, leaping back in preparation for a hail of fire to come his way. When no such chain of events occurred he inched towards the edge of the door and pulled his knife from his boot to use the reflective surface as a mirror; inside it was clear that the room was a bathroom of sorts, and he could see the bath itself… with the shower curtains drawn over it. That's where he had to be. Sheathing his knife he took careful hold of his rifle and slowly entered the bathroom, creeping towards the small bath, readying himself for whatever might come next. Standing right before the bath, he cautiously reached out with his hand to grab the shower curtains and then swiftly drew them aside and took aim with his rifle.

His eyes widened and he nearly stepped back… of all the things he'd been preparing himself for, this hadn't been one of them.