Chapter 1: What we did when Sonic and Chris weren't here.

Frances and Helen are two very underrated characters in the Anime who would both have been far better main characters with more depth and humanity than Chris.

I'm not saying Chris is bad, I just think that either of his two female friends from school would have had more character and humour if they were the main human character in his place.

This is especially the case since neither of them are as rich and privileged as Chris, making them far easier to relate to.

Their positive attitudes and general upbeat natures are also selling points, since Chris tends to whinge and moan when little things don't go his way or tell us things we as the audience could already deduce ourselves.

Also the fact that Chris is confined in a big mansion with a sheltered life, means that our ability to actually explore the human world Sonic and friends end up in is actually very limited since we can only really go where he goes and he spends most of his time fawning over Sonic anyway. And Sonic is a good guy, but quite antisocial and unfriendly sometimes. Not someone who's easy to like.

Helen has a couple of fanfiction stories to herself already, especially pairing her with the awesome Shadow the hedgehog because of how similar she is to Shadow's old girlfriend Maria. But Frances doesn't have a single story to shine in yet. This story aims to fix that.

So without further delay: I present the first fanfiction where Frances has a major role along with good friend Helen, or as Shadow would call her: Maria version 2.0.

Frances POV

We first met just before Kindergarten. Long before our later friend Chris Thorndyke came on the scene, and had anything to do with either of us. It was a bleak and dim day where the wind tossed and turned the leaves like crazy and the clouds flew above us in great sheets of dismal grey. The sort of day where all hope seems lost for humanity where a giant electrical storm comes at night to keep us shivering awake at the day's end.

My family had just moved to Station Square after another nasty war had broken out in my homeland: the gulf of Mexico. America (or Murica as father and myself jokingly called it sometimes) was facing another violent surge of crime in one of it's many territories that had been left unguarded after it had stretched itself too thin trying to enhance its sphere of influence as one of the global superpowers of the known world.

Drug dealers, human traffickers, cat burglars and a horde of other fanatical and desperate low lives had overtaken our picturesque gulf of lovely sunshine and yummy churros, by storm. They were burning down the houses of citizens and seizing all the valuables they could get their hands on.

Some of them were simply trying to get by in a neglected colony America had been too greedy in mishandling, others simply out to make a quick buck not caring who got hurt, and then those who did care who got hurt because their sole goal was in fact to hurt as many people as they could out of some sick desire to see suffering unfold before their very eyes.

Those delinquents that nearly took out father's right eye on the night he came home from his dangerous workplace the battlefield, just wanted to watch the world burn. Sort of like the modern day Dr Eggman that Chris loved to rant on and on about how, he and his amazing pal Sonic put a stop to the evil Doctor's world threatening plans every single time and how that fat villain never stood a chance when Sonic and friends were around to save the day.

With him at the forefront by their side, of course. He never left his own involvement out.

It was fairly easy to discern that Chris was not a quiet fellow known for his modesty. When he got talking about himself and his newest friend, he talked up a storm and wouldn't stop until the cows came home.

The baby me was in father's words: an incredibly thin and unhealthy looking little thing with an extreme paleness in the face.

This was in stark contrast to Helen's description from her own dear mother that she had been born with an excited and vigorous complexion that seemed the very image of health down to her plump and rosy cheeks which she later showed me in her baby pictures.

Such first impressions were however very deceiving and in a very tragic manner. For while I grew up strong and well with no major complications, only getting sick once or twice at most when I was still too young to remember well, such good fortune was not bestowed upon dear, sweet Helen the maiden.

At the tender age of two, her family doctor had diagnosed her with a severe arthritis in both legs that made her numb in both legs. She would have to spend the rest of her life confined to a wheelchair, and couldn't go outside and play with the other "normal" kids or live an "ordinary" life of an able-bodied individual without such unfair limitations.

The doctor had even sputtered absent-mindedly to Helen's distraught parents who paid a fortune for the diagnosis, that even if Helen lived past her childhood years that she would be no use to anyone.

Such mean insults coming from a supposedly kind man.

All this talk of Helen and father and peace and war on the planet Earth brings me however, to myself. I liked to consider myself an open book. What you see was what you got. Short ginger hair and freckles over both my peach coloured cheeks complete with emerald tinted eyes.

My favourite pinkish-red overalls over a blue shirt along with simple white trainers which had been my signature style for a long time with the sole difference being that kindergarten me had tracksuits and a red shirt when I met Helen.

"These are our new neighbours. Mr and Mrs Priestly." Mommy told me, since daddy had been called to another bloody war that demanded his duty as a sergeant first class. They certainly looked very priestly with their soft smiles, and sympathetic eyes that invited my confidence without demanding it.

Despite my rough and tough exterior as a Tomboy in love with various sports with acrobatics as my favourite, I was actually more introverted and shy than I appeared at first. This was yet another factor of myself which would contrast almost completely with the meek looking, yet really quite bold and brash Helen who never seemed not eager to meet new people and see new places.

They too, had been forced out of their territory by a war occurring on their home island of Cyprus. Another side of nature's paradise that would soon be razed to the ground as people fought over greed, pride and other petty motives that to this day Helen and I still didn't quite understand despite all our research in this area as friends.

Then there she was in her small chrome wheelchair. A simple yet charming long blue dress with a white bow at its collar, which would become a long pink dress with a green bow at its collar years later as a sign of her maturing femininity and elegance. Long shining blonde hair that reached to her shoulders, which fluttered like a beautiful butterfly in the wind. Even in her formative ears, Helen was quite the spectacle and sweet delight for the eye.

"And this is Helen. Their daughter. You two will be going to the same kindergarten together, so please Frances dear, make her feel welcome." Mother cheerily told me as the family next door regarded me in their simple yet welcoming clothes with a look that made me feel on top of the world.

"We are counting on you." Mr Priestly added, his tone grave like a king entrusting his most important nobleman with a task that could bring the kingdom to its knees if I failed in it. "Helen's disability has already made her the target of much bullying in her life, and since she's been so eager to meet you Frances and you seem so mature and responsible for a child your age, we trust our little doll's welfare in your hands."

"Please don't let us down." Mrs Priestly begged, swaying a little as she held out her hands to emphasize her worry.

My pleasure at meeting what appeared to be such a sweet and loving family, quickly turned to panic at the burden of the task I knew even then would be placed on my shoulders for a lifetime.

Helen had not uttered a whisper yet, but looking at the way she regarded everyone around her and the endearing motions her hands made as she listened to all that was being said, something deep within my soul screamed at me to protect the young blonde female in the adorable blue and white sailor outfit and skirt, with my very life if need be.

I had become a soldier that day without even realizing it. I had followed in my father's difficult footsteps without meaning to. But I had also found my lifelong calling and I didn't regret a thing.

For as Helen would later tell me when she recounted the lamentable tale of how her grandmother and grandfather died at very young ages because of the defective gene that seemed to run in her family line, they say you're no one until you're somebody to someone. Until someone missed you when you were gone, you were no one.

"Hello Helen. I'm Frances. It's very nice to meet you and I hope we can play together often." Five year old me nervously stammered, holding out a shaking hand as sweat poured down my back in a burning flood and the cold autumn day seemed to become the most scorching summer that I'd never have known even back in a Mexico beach.

She held out her confident and unflinching hand to shake my own anxious and twitchy one. And then she smiled, that was what I was after. The smile in her eyes. The sound of her laughter.

As she proceeded to briefly introduce herself with all the usual pleasantries one might expect from two young children a week away from their first steps into a slightly late kindergarten after large scale conflict drove them into refuge from their homeland. She spoke quickly and excitedly about some of her favourite things.

About raindrops on roses and whiskers and kittens. About bright copper kettles and warm winter mittens. Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packaging tied up with strings. Wild geese that flew with the moon on their wings. Silver white winters that melt into springs.

Flowers. Helen's favourite thing in the world was sweet smelling and beautifully blossoming roses, lilies, carnations, daisies and any other flowering plant you could care to think up. Flowers were to Helen's sights, what fine red wine was to the taste buds. "Let a hundred flowers bloom" was Helen's catchphrase which she kept even to this very day.

Her fervent hope was that if enough flowers could be planted in the polluted world, it would attract a mystical creature of unbridled beauty and grace known as "Shaymin". But every other child simply teased her cruelly when she tried to speak about her harmless and rather endearing fantasies.

She spoke of so many pleasing things. Yet younger me could only think of three.

The first was happy to listen.

The second was happy to play.

The third and final thought I had. Was that I was happy to stay when mum and dad announced the news that it would be good for me and Helen to have a first playdate together right here and now, especially since mum had her bills to pay and dad's squad was marching to another frontier tomorrow and he needed to prepare accordingly. It was always sad to see dad go, but someone had to protect the innocent.

So Helen and I played together. Laughed together. Went with each other through thick and thin, long and short, high and low. We stood by each other's side grinning ear to ear for the Kindergarten photograph and then for every yearly school photograph after that.

Aristotle the philosopher once said: "Love is one soul in two bodies." No phrase better described the unbreakable bond Helen and I were to forge in the upcoming years after our timely meeting. Especially when Helen's parents started having to work more to cover Helen's increasing medical bills and to buy her new wheelchairs once she outgrew her smaller ones.

Words fail me to fully outline what only Helen and I had together.

Suffice to say: We were like Madoka Kaname and Homura Akemi.

Like Jack and Jill.

Like Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle.

Like Ash and Misty.

Like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

Like Sakura Kinomoto and Tomoyo Daidouji.

Spice and Wolf. Shinji Ikari and Rei Ayanami. Sanji and Nami. Yugi Muto and Tea Gardner. Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck.

I could go on and on.

We covered each other's weaknesses both academically and in every other way. I was better in English and Maths, while Helen rocked the triple sciences and philosophy (yes, our school taught philosophy). Both of us found history to be by far our favourite subject.

Since both our military backgrounds had taught us the importance of understanding statecraft so as not to ever repeat the mistakes of the past. Helen also liked to know about the ancient fields and great landmarks of nature and whether any of them were still left standing after rampant pollution spoiled nature

I stopped the other mean kids who had nothing better to do other than tease Helen for her disability that she couldn't help.

But the best and strongest memory of all was when Helen defended me from that large, six foot bully on our way to the candy store one morning when we were both seven.

He smelled like he hadn't washed in days. He had cold, empty dark eyes like unlit coals. His hair was messily sprayed pale blue and spiked up to make himself look even more menacing and his arms were two bundles of massive muscle that rivalled even the champion body-builders we sometimes saw on professional wrestling.

Yet his body was unhealthily bony thin in stark contrast. He wore a yellow coat which I would later find out had a black scarab beetle symbol on its back and ripped blue pants with a set of red cleats.

He introduced himself as "Ice" with a fiery snarl that made it apparent that the slightest annoyance would cause him to burst into flames of rage. He then demanded that all our money and possessions be handed over right away, lest he really madden and put us both "on ice".

There was no hope I could back away from him on the empty street we now found ourselves trailing. Not without leaving poor Helen in her wheelchair to suffer what would most likely a fatal beatdown that would be long and painful and end with her lifeless corpse being thrown unceremoniously in a ditch where no one would ever find her.

There was something in the way "Ice" rolled his eyes that made it blatant that he wouldn't know the concept of honesty if it bit him in the butt. As one gnarled hand stretched out open for our money, the other hand was twiddling around in a trouser pocket.

From the faint click I could just barely make out, I knew it was a gun from father's army lessons. I knew he had absolutely no intent of letting either of us go unfrozen, even after we fulfilled our end of the deal.

"Just do as he says, Frances. Please" Helen pleaded quietly.

"SHUT UP!" Ice roared immediately as he balled his outstretched palm into a fist and shook it hard. "Who gave you permission to talk, you ruddy little runt?"

I knew something had to be done, or both Helen and myself would be no more. This really was how bad crime in this city we escaped to for refuge had become in those bad days. Before somewhat competent government officials and later Sonic the hedgehog came on the scene.

Yet people claim Eggman was the only problem to the nation's safety when he came from the other world along with Sonic.

I stepped gingerly two steps away from Helen to the right, knowing that in his blind rage that Ice wouldn't see me make this slight motion. I needed to get him away from Helen for my ultimate master battle plan which I came up with in the span of about two seconds.

Meeting Helen made me a lowly private in Dad's army, fit only to take orders. Encountering this murderer had promoted me to General in command of Helen and Frances brigade. Promotions were not always things to be joyous over. Not when a gun was being waved in your face and one false move spelled the end.

"No kind sir. Please don't hurt us. We'll give you our all our money. Look. Here's mine." Helen squeaked nervously as she drew forth her own glistening pink wallet with a blue and green floral design, opened the zip and fished out a five dollar bill.

Her generous allowance for her weekly ration of sweets and other such snacks. Helen had truly brilliant parents.

It was as greed momentarily blinded the murderer that I made my move, having now stepped just out of his peripheral vision as his eyes glinted with glee. As he swayed forward ever so slightly in anticipation of his newfound extorted wealth, I leapt at him and landed a powerful punch to his chest, unable to reach his more delicate face with his towering height.

It was just enough despite my tiny size to stagger him, and I followed up with an acrobatic kick that I had learned many times in gymnastics into his exposed groin as he tried to pull out the gun I knew he had on him long before making my bold move.

My brashness caused Helen to cover her mouth and groan in misery. I didn't like violence anymore than she did, but as dad taught me, men who killed without reason could not be reasoned with.

He groaned and dropped his gun which I was just able to recover quickly enough to kick away, before he responded with his own brutal attack.

A sickening headbutt to my forehead dazing me utterly, and then a powerful grab which had me flopping like a fish on a line as he begun to squeeze the air from my neck in his mighty hands.

"Now you die." exclaimed Ice as a roaring fire blazed in his previously cold and empty eyes. "You and your worthless snobby little peg leg cripple.". How many times did Helen need to be mocked for her bad legs? How much more ribbing and teasing could the resilient optimist take before even she broke down?

Did such biting remarks really need to be made over what was more or less our dead bodies with how it was impossible for me to break free or fight back any more?

He giggled cruelly as my face went as blue as his spiked Mohawk. The next second, his sadistic glee turned to utter shock as a bullet went right through his right shoulder, the one attached to the hand that wasn't holding me.

He roared a dismal groan of despair as he dropped me onto the curb where I thankfully landed on my feet thanks to my love for acrobatics, and clutched the bleeding wound in terrible agony.

I left him and stared dumbfounded at good pal Helen, Ice's gun still smoking in her shaking hand as she wept with even greater hurt than the man she'd just shot. Helen had just fired upon Ice and melted his glacier into a puddle of red water in the process.

Helen, the daughter of a convenience store clerk father and a florist mother, had just fired a gun with such accuracy so as not to fatally wound her target or the hostage he was holding captive. Even in her moments of rage, Helen Priestly was still a gentle, priestly saint.

The police soon arrived to apprehend "Ice" and question us both before admonishing us for our thoughtless use of brute force and then warning us that it was only because we were both young minors that we were being let go at all without serious trouble.

But I could only consider my newfound respect for my wheelchair bound saviour whose soft, delicate hands worked perfectly despite her faulty legs. I tried to save her and she had saved me instead.

The Almighty was in his heaven. All was right as rain in the world.

All this was long before we met Chris and Sonic. Yet Chris claimed there was neither adventure nor excitement in the world. That boy really needed to be careful what he wished for sometimes. Especially when such "adventures" left the adventurers with a strong headache that no amount of aspirin could remedy and a permanent crippling fear of guns.

Thank you so much for reading, please review.