Omega flew them across the jungle, to the far-away borders of the Mystic Ruins. The trees halted abruptly for a logging company. They went further still, up the rolling plains to the north and descended on a small, coastal settlement. Thunder clapped and rain pelted the earth. The storm had arrived.
Rouge's E-Series protector scanned the outskirts and identified a house emptied for renovations. He deposited Shadow and his Mistress in the dark mansion sectioned off by plastic tarps and scratchy wooden floors. The hedgehog watched over her while the machine searched for a first-aid kit.
She barely flinched as they cleaned off her wounds and splinted her tattered wings. The world seemed so very far away.
"Will she live?" Shadow inquired from behind the mech's shoulder. Omega was bent down on his knees, dabbing a cotton swab over the bat's injuries like an artist touching up a painting. Despite his monstrous bulk, his gears operated with a surgeon's refinement.
"Blood loss has been averted," the machine answered dutifully. Omega had ripped the medicine cabinet off the bathroom wall, and now he rummaged around his new toolbox for a final bandage. "Injuries are non-threatening," he continued, and Shadow helped his large hands peel open the tiny packet. "Probability of infection remains. Suggest continual monitoring of vital stats for one week. All flight operations must be cancelled."
Rouge watched them from what seemed a great distance, and with what reasoning was left in her cold, wretched mind she wondered why they were doing this for her. Hallucinations took hold of her vision, and Omega came through in a furry, purple haze with yellow, lamp-like eyes.
She was too overwhelmed to give their worried interrogations any response, and so after great reluctance, they left her.
Omega was upstairs now, thundering above her head as he marched from window to window, keeping guard for what he saw as an inevitable retaliation. Rouge had no strength left to argue against the machine or to explain how the secret bunker was too weak to launch a counter-strike. The scene of her crushed jewels and the wasted wealth had drained her mind. She just sat on the floor, frozen in a vacant stare.
Hours passed and ugly weather blew through the house. At times, she would break her shellshock and stroke her fingers through her empty palm, but she did not regain her sanity. Omega just patrolled. There wasn't much to him besides a fierce devotion to his 'Mistress' and a willingness to serve.
Shadow made his arm a sling from a towel, and explored the house for some time, maybe in awe of the new architecture and settings. She didn't know how much of his fundamental knowledge was intact, and whether the smell of sawdust was something new to be discovered. He checked on her every now and then, no doubt itching to ask her questions that she lacked the energy to answer. The most coherent response he got was a mumble that grew into "yeah."
Some of her core defenses stood, and when he tried to pull off her slippery glove, Rouge woke and batted him away, demanding to know what he was doing. Shadow shrunk away immediately, startled by her new consciousness and by the pain he associated with the white lady. It took him some courage to speak against her authority.
"They're filthy," he explained, pointing to the half-empty fingertips of leather. Only then did she notice all the mud and grime she had passed through, which had left her snowy gloves black and ruined. Shocked, she looked down on herself but could not find any colour. The weeks had destroyed her beauty.
"My face?" she asked timidly. Shadow gave a soft smile.
"A little red and you'd make a good hedgehog." His words missed their intended target, and she grew ill. Rouge gave no further resistance.
Shadow tried poorly to keep a calm face, and she could read just how disgusting it was to pull off her gloves one finger at a time. Her sweaty hands were oddly clean, with clear lines dividing the grime past her wrists. Scars would grow over her skin, and her hands would be all that was left untainted. Her nausea spread, but Shadow only continued his work.
With a modest tremble, he unclipped the belt at her hips. The black hedgehog moved to her feet, and he could not suppress his retching when he popped off her foul boots. He was so awful that Rouge felt a distant urge to cry. If he hoped to abuse her in this weakened state, his plan was succeeding.
Shadow arranged her things neatly and left, returning with a paint-stained drop cloth bundled in his functioning arm. "I'm sorry there's nothing better," he apologized, as though their living conditions were his fault.
Self-discovery left her too dazed to fight, so her body obeyed the guidance of his hand and drifted to rest on her side. His gentle care was like nothing she could remember, and it made her shiver. Shadow flapped the blanket through the air and let it drape over her form, making certain she was covered comfortably.
"I can't tell you anything."
He did not understand the truth she had revealed in a slip of weakness. Shadow just nodded compassionately. "When you're rested, and we're some place safe. … We probably did this often, roughing it, living on the edge?"
Rouge gave a non-committal grunt. She was gone once more. Shadow bowed his head in failure.
"I'll … I'll be in the next room." He hesitated a moment, then decided there was nothing more to say. Shadow walked away with a failed look. "Sleep well, Partner."
While his footsteps faded, she was able to hold back everything – it was natural as lying. But once Shadow left the room she had to moisten the blanket against her eyes.
She told herself she was overstressed: The horrible night of fighting and loss had weakened her, and this was the only way she could relieve the awkward emotions she felt. And yet, her jewelry seemed so distant from her thoughts. There was only Shadow.
When was the last time someone had wished her peace and rest? Vengeance, she recalled. Payback came to mind, and she had a taunt for every threat and curse that came her way. All except this: "Sleep well, Partner."
The words repeated in her head, the resonance stirring up old memories. She remembered a sleepy little girl snuggled up in Mama's lap, nestled safely in a hug while a lullaby hummed through the air. She remembered soothing smiles, not unlike what the hedgehog had shared with her.
Oh God, she thought, the name only an expression of incredulity, I'm fantasizing about that little puke again. The sloppy sentimentality disgusted her, and Rouge steeled her will, thinking about how that girl had grown – grown into so much more.
She lived alone, without anyone to coddle her. She'd grown strong and sure of herself. She could take whatever she wanted. She'd become rich and beautiful. She was not the radiant princess of her dreams – but she dazzled anyhow, thieving secrets for the military.
And every night, she bolted the doors to one of her many apartments, barred the windows, activated the security systems and pulled up the floorboards to hide away her treasures. She would slip off to bed – a knife beside the alarm clock – and fall asleep when she grew exhausted of preparing for tomorrow.
She thought of the peaks, the opportunities: she'd met the President of the United Provinces, she'd seen the world, she'd played everyone she knew for a chump and gotten away with it – the military, The Doctor. Even when they caught her, they couldn't keep her. All her troubles were a passing breeze. Drag her down, but she would be back: back for another jewel, back for revenge; backed into a corner until there was no one on her side but herself.
And suddenly, it occurred to her that she was not happy.
Rain drizzled over the derelict house. Rouge looked around, aware of the ugly reality of her world. Even that weak, sappy child she so faintly remembered had more than her. Hell, that girl had everything a loving family could lavish her with. And she never had to hide anything, or be suspicious of anyone, or keep a mask over her true self. It was a place where loved ones would shoulder your pain, a place where you didn't have to hoard secrets to find your worth.
She couldn't think of anyone who would help her now, not without expecting payment.
She couldn't remember being happy. Not for many years, now.
Rouge tossed the blanket away and sat up, looking over her body, wondering what she had to flaunt after all these years. Here she was – ugly and outlawed, with broken wings on her back. Hiding out in a stranger's home with no food or money, just two of the strangest companions one could ever travel with.
Omega was still upstairs, keeping watch while she slept.
Shadow.
A sudden revelation came over Rouge, as when she'd discovered his amnesia: He worshiped her – bringer of knowledge, emissary of pain – as though she was some angel from above.
With that sudden thought, the world witnessed through the eyes of another burst through her mind, and Rouge had an unnatural pang of … of something rotten, down at her core. She felt parched and empty.
She could see him being seized by commandos, dragged away screaming into an armored truck. But the vision was strong – she saw, and she felt. He was screaming for her – for her help. And she only waved amiably, a smug smile on her traitorous face, while the soldiers carted him off to be dissected and studied in a military lab.
She was inside Shadow's mind, looking on herself, and she felt disgust at the wretched sight.
The tears bled down her face. The forgotten instinct of compassion was burning her inside. She wiped the salty droplets away, and a smudge of blackness came off with it.
She promised then and there that she would not go through with the plan. She would tell Shadow the truth. Tell him who she really was and everything she truthfully knew of his past. And if she had to hunt down The Doctor to squeeze out the rest of Shadow's memories, she would do it!
The promise stuck in her mind. She would do it for Shadow, for the only thing she had left.
Rouge only wished she were not so tired. She wanted to wake him now, tell him everything. Her eyelids were so heavy… …