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THE DAY AFTER
22. The new plan.
[AMY, Sean Catlett]
Morning.
No, wait, afternoon.
Rouge is still sleeping when I wake up, and I do my best to quietly slip out. My intention is to try and scrounge up a measly late breakfast for us both, and possible some soap so we can bathe in the ocean.
It's still early enough for the light to be scarce, overcast, and tinted blue, but already the signs of ship rush hour, whatever they call it, are apparent. It's louder than a rock concert at present time. The dumpster is almost sound proof.
From pier 82, way down by the end, Dack shoots a leveled glare right at my head, and I can tell even from this far away that he's frowning. He must not like competition with his little Rougey.
Because of his hospitality, I don't make any rude gesture, and instead I just smile and wave at him. I turn before I see his reaction and I keep walking.
The crowd is a sparse gathering of onlookers, vagrants mostly, term used loosely, trying to peddle their pathetic wares for a scrap of food. Most of them wear only rags around their waists and chest, hiding the shame of being naked and alone, utilizing hair growth. This way, they all look the same.
It doesn't hit me all that hard until I walk right through them, and nobody even gives me a second glance. Looking down at myself I realize that my clothes are just as dirty as theirs, that I have nothing of value on me to take, and they all know it. Already I feel the tears start to come again . . .
NO.
Enough of this.
I've had it.
This bullshit, this hiding away fuckery, this cowards way out, this ruining of my friends' life . . . well . . .
No. More.
If they want me, they can come and fucking get me.
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Plan.
Stratagem.
A pathetic one, but it's all I have.
I'm on the roof of a warehouse when I see them, almost invisible in the twilight, but their colors, their colors, their familiar shapes, and their appalling predictability give them away. To anyone else, they would look like aircraft, or a snobby rich asshole's new hobby.
But he, they, don't fool me.
Disregarding all else, I start to flail my arms and scream. I've been waiting for them to appear for hours, and finally, as the twilight hours descend . . .
What pushed me over the edge? How did I end up choosing this?
Sandra.
What if the same thing happened to Rouge? Or Tails?
Or . . .
I don't want my baby to end up like me. I don't want to bring something up in a world where shit like this can happen every day and no one can stop it. Murder is as regular as the changing of the hours.
And nobody even gives a shit.
Fuck that. I'd take non-existence, I'd take oblivion over this hell.
I'm doing everyone a favor here.
And if I win?
Well, then yippee. Hooray.
No loss, no gain, just a benefit. I think of it as second prize.
Both the black and the red dots swirl in the air, a dance like the tango, and they search for their next prey, someone else that me or Tails or Rouge knows. Someone that Robotnik saw staring at him funny. That son of a bitch.
The two lights zig zag lines, arcing left and right, ever so slowly. They are packed closely together, hugging. One obviously needs the other for flight.
Why doesn't anyone notice this?
I keep flailing my arms, trying to get them to come after me. My feet hit the cinderblock I have assembled at my feet, but I keep jumping.
The two dots suddenly dive bomb into the thick of the city, and they disappear. Where they are now is nowhere near me, and my hails have failed. Fuck.
I was supposed to call Tails today. Shit, I knew I forgot something, though I don't think I would have had the change for it anyway.
I swear, that boy worries about me too much, and every time I'm out on my own he thinks he has to hold my hand. His affection for me is too obvious sometimes, and I know that I can't appreciate it but yet I don't shoot him down from his cloud. I keep telling myself that he's like a brother. Or a homosexual guy friend.
This could be the arrogant depression talking, of course, but sometimes it just feels good to vent.
Hmmm. Maybe this time I can convince him to try and hack into their communications systems or something, or construct a beacon, or . . .
They're back.
This time, the two lights head straight up into the air and they split, coming apart in a giant V. One of them, the red one, hovers low over the city in the opposite direction, while the black one drops back into the thick of the buildings. It's obvious what they're doing. Searching, scanning, probing. They must not have found who they're looking for, and now they're splitting up and trying to find them.
If it's me they're looking for, I don't know it. Hell, it could be Rouge they want. But fat chance they're going to get her without going through me first.
The building I'm on is high enough to oversee much of the alleys and buildings on the docks, towering above fire escapes and wet newspapers. Fuck, it seems like the bulk of my life has been spent in alleys, running from something or another . . .
I'm not retreating this time.
The red light shrinks away from me, going the opposite direction, and black reappears in short bursts back above the buildings, sticking to the cover of the structures and running in the alleys.
Perfect.
I reach down next to the ledge and I pick up a giant piece of cinderblock, leftover from the construction site a couple of blocks away. I pick a side, any side, and I lean over, block high above my head, and I wait. I watch the ground and the area around it and I wait for him . . .
Black.
The one who killed Sandra.
Sucked the blood right out of her.
Dead. You're fucking dead, you hear me?
If I survive this one, and the second one, I'm coming after you next.
And I'm not stopping.
Wait . . .
Wait . . .
NOW!!
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Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
The block scores a direct hit on the bastard's head. He thrusters immediately cut out, disabled, he lets out this ear shattering screech, and he lands face first with the most beautiful sounding crunch of metal. I seriously almost laugh out loud. But he's not all the way dead. No fucking way that he is. This is only the beginning. He's probably just playing possum. Predictable villain. Too easy.
I have to keep up this false bravado, this cocky attitude that gets on everyone's nerves. Just like Sonic. I know why he did it now. How he got used to being an asshole to everyone. It leaves no room for fear. Confidence compensation.
I can't do it as well as him, so even though I'm grinning like an idiot, I'm shaking, nervous, and my eyes probably show my fear.
I guess I just don't care enough anymore. Not enough to stop myself, anyway.
Down the fire escape. Through the grinded metal. Across the wet pavement. Over the broken glass and concrete. I reach his lifeless form, his memory encroaching, black metal form. Dead already. Yeah right, my ass.
From his feet, I lean as far as I can over him, closer to his head than I would have wanted, then I whisper,
"Lights out, mother fucker."
And just as quick, I take off in the opposite direction, his feet moving up to try and catch me in the chin, send the bone into my brain. Sucking my blood. He's gonna have to try harder than that.
You wouldn't believe how fun this is. Sure, it's more frightening than anything that's ever happened to me. I mean, I could die. I. Could. Die. Think like playing a video game with only one life left, your wife in your office building, walking up the floors while you're fucking your secretary, think masturbating during a family function, think driving drunk past a police station, wailing voice and screaming obscenities. Whatever works for you. Multiply it by ten. You're nowhere near the prospect of discovered mortality, nowhere near knowing death is right behind you.
Funny. I would have thought I'd panic by now, but this is surprisingly calculated and . . .
Wait, where the fuck am I going?
SHIT!!!
I didn't think this far ahead, obviously. Now I have to make up a plan on the spot. Fuck. Fuck. Turn left. Run some more. Black brick, looks all the same. Turn right. Left. Roll. Dodge. Dive. Don't look back, don't look back, think of water as a possible means of dispatch. Remember Rouge, Baby, Rouge, Tails, tails, tails oh fuck getting tired running out of breath ouch trash can ow hurts stupid rusted metal keep going keep going im dead im dead im dead dead dead dead
What the fuck?!
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