"No questions, no answers. That is the business we are in. We accept it and move on."
- Jean Reno, Ronin
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I think that deep down, everybody wishes for the good old days. Those bygone times when life was kind and milk and honey flowed from every street corner. The time, one might say, before the world had moved on.
Somehow, I'd found myself back here, in this room. I'd told myself that this was a pointless and weakening routine, and it was. But I did it, just the same.
The room in my apartment that I've come to think of as "The Shrine" is small, to begin with. Not much bigger than a closet. The walls are sagging, and the wallpaper is past its time, just like the life it was meant to honor. At the center is one austere chair, which I was sitting in, the smoke from my Cuban curling around me so thickly that to the casual observer, I probably looked like I was on fire.
On the walls are the last fragments of the good old days. The last pair of spikes I ever wore. A chip of the Master Emerald. And of course, the photos.
I have millions of photos now, but there is one photo that I keep coming back to. It happens to be the most recent photo as well.
It's a picture that was taken by E-123 Omega two days before the last stand. That one cold, rainy day in February were Sonic and Robotnik both bit the dust. Valentine's Day, ironically enough.
We'd known that it was going to be Sonic or Robotnik in the end. We just didn't know that it would be both.
The photo shows an immaculately green park in Station Square, complete with trees, a pond, and a playground avec kids in the background. That park's now a war zone, a wasteland of broken concrete and broken dreams. The gangs downtown have torn it to shreds. At least, they were tearing it to shreds, before I capped myself twelve guys from both sides.
Again, I digress. When this photo was taken, Mobius was in panic. Robotnik had threatened to plant a nuke by the Master Emerald. He said the excess energy would have ripped half the globe to shreds. He'd clean up the radiation, but not the survivors. End of story, and he came too close for comfort.
All of us were scared that day. No, terrified. We were so scared that Team Sonic actually teamed up with the boys from Team Dark. I've never seen Shadow cry since then, and I'm glad. But fortunately, that doesn't show in this picture.
Maybe why I like this photo is because I think it shows us all as we are – or were, at least. Sonic's wearing the same I dare ya look he always wore, Tails has all the cute charms of a carefree gradeschooler. Shadow has his stern, brooding look that's moody but simultaneously very uplifting. And Rouge has that look on. The look that says she's more than just some happy-go-lucky casino girl turned thief. The look that says she's fighting for something too.
It's hard to say what I look like. I'm not the kind of guy who can honestly describe himself. But, I guess, I look pretty good too. My purple Clint Eastwood eyes, coupled with my smile, give every trace of God might care if you live or die, but I don't. But, I guess, it could be taken as a kind gesture, the one that says I'm some one who can help.
I wonder if Rouge has something like this somewhere. Does she have a breeding ground of sadly departed memories, too? Does she have a forlorn hanger with her old jumpsuits (the tight ones that REALLY get me going) limply hanging on it? And does she have this photo, too?
My guess was she does, and it still is. Even while I'm standing here, with the situation as tense as it is. But I'm jumping ahead of myself.
Rouge had taken the keycard, obviously, and had lifted one of the rubies from Shadow's stash, the one that I had chosen. I liked her, yes, I liked her a lot, and she was a great partner, but trusted her? No way. But I hadn't been entirely faithful, I suppose. I had taken more than half of her cash, also from Shadow's pile…
Roland had talked, that much was certain. He'd given us the lowdown on Cinos, apparently the answer to all our problems. The fact that it was in several locations made it difficult, but Roland had said that between ten and midnight tomorrow, the CEO of Cinos, whoever that was, would be in the Cinos offices on Fifth. We'd set up Roland at my place, safe and sound, so that wasn't an issue.
I took one last look at the collection of lost hopes of The Shrine, and walked out onto the street. Rouge was late.
The wind swept across the buildings with a low, mournful whistling sound, like the ghosts of the past crying themselves to sleep. In the dark night, the buildings seemed to tower over me, leering at the echidna who had dared trespass on their grounds. The snow that was falling, as cold and harsh as a bullet in the chamber, caused me to draw my battered coat closer to me. The steel wind almost blew my hat off, rustling my long spines as it did so.
On the note that we would need some hardware to get into Cinos after hours, Rouge had gone out to burgle Shadow's place yet again to try and find something, a key, an ID card, something. I'd have thought she'd have something against knocking over one of her old teammates, but she'd just shrugged. "A job's a job, Knuxy," purred she, and that was that.
The wind picked up, the ghost voices howling now, and I found that I was shivering. I took a swig from my metal flask, sighing as the warmth of the bourbon flowed through my entire body. Rouge was way late.
A couple of loud teenagers, both rabbits, walked past chatting amiably. Both were dressed about preppy-esque as possible, with the kind of body movements that indicate carefree preasure. One of them walked up to me.
"Dude, you have the time?" His happy-go-lucky blue eyes stared up at me.
I smiled down at him. "It's nine-twenty."
He grinned, and started to walk away. "Thanks, man."
"No problem," I muttered at him. No problem at all. I was like you once – innocent, full of life, everything to do on my mind – and if I can't have that again, by God, you should.
I watched them a moment longer as they faded into the doldrums of the snow. I took one last swig of my J.D. and leaned against the lamppost, the beacon of white in this growing haze of gray.
I thought about lighting up then. I really did. It was a great time to do it, but I guess I'd just had enough with the booze.
That's when I saw the two lights of Rouge's car in the distance. I'm gonna kill her, I was thinking, but the actual turn of events was quite different.
She pulled up right beside me. I gave a stern "Well?" as she rolled down the window. I still wish I hadn't.
I instantly knew that something was wrong. Her white fur was stained gray with soot, and she was shaking. Not from cold, mind you, but from shock. Her clothes were scorched in places, and her fur was ruffled and matted.
She looked up at me and almost screamed, "Just help him, okay?"
It was then that I noticed that there was someone sitting shotgun. I ran around to the other side, practically wrenching open the door.
The crimson eyes were blank and staring. Beneath the mottled fur on his chest came tired, hurt, whistling breaths. The tips of the ebony spines were sticky with cold, panicky sweat. And the seat he was in was a splash pattern of dark, brownish-red stains.
Shadow the Hedgehog was bleeding to death in the passenger seat.
