Forward

This is a novel about letting go.

And it involves a pairing that I never thought could be done.

That was until the Soultouch was brought up in some conversations and a few fan-fics; the one thing a certain writer introduced as a crutch to never break Julie-Su and Knuckles apart, and it becoming something worse for her. A curse she could never let go...or would never let go of her. It seeded in my mind on how devastating such a gift could become something so malevolent that in itself is its own, and possible worse form of Survivor's Guilt/Remorse. And it fostered this notion, that became this story about what would it take for it to leave...or if it would stay until her passing.

Then there is Shadow. And that is all I am going to say about him for the novel will, and should do the rest.

To be honest, I am not as steeped with the IDW comics, except of what I can get online and other sources. So this will be slightly lacking in some of that arc. So, this story is going to be very tight, with some world building considering GUN and the UF are only mentioned in the comics. Apologies if some of the cannon and fandom gets a little off.

With that, I present to you Passengers. I use a lot of symbolism in my writings, and this will be no different.

And I hope this story will be a guide, or a light, for any who read it...to find ways to let go, or to hold on to...to ride with our Passengers.

Epigraph

"The best revenge is not to be like that."

–Marcus Aurelius. Emperor of Rome 161-180 A.D.

"Hope is not a strategy-but it is the optimism we use to perfect it."

-Luger. Grandmaster to the Dark Legion.

Here I lay

Still and breathless

Just like always

Still, I want some more

Mirrors sideways

Who cares what's behind?

Just like always

Still your passenger

–Deftones: Passenger

What is past is–

Prologue: Mantra in Constance.

(Mantra: Sound without meaning)

"There's no sun set or rise in the Twilight–

Only stars and tears of our plight–

Let Aurora hear our songs–

Let her hear our prayers–

To release us from our Cage of Twilight–"

His voice was deep, his cadence measured. Soothing. Comforting. Safety in his timbre, like his arms that cradled her above her wooden crib.

Her voice came; absent it being small, but mature in sadness. I'm not supposed to remember this.

But he held her small violet eyes to his dark brown hues, lost in his smile, his peach skin wrinkled on his muzzle, his broad cheeks gleaming from the metal he let become part of him. Dark brows and long hair accented his purple fur; the silver rings and lines of wires adorned his long spins, one running over each shoulder with six being the length of his back that she would grab at when trailing behind her father, only to watch his twin cybernetic legs stop to let the heel of his black boot gently push her back in play.

But here and high above in his arms, her eye lids slowly falling but fighting to stay awake, she was happy.

"Daddy?"

She watched his heavy metallic chest from his green jumpsuit, his cloak black, rise from the sound of her soft tiny voice. "Yes, Julie-Su?"

"What does the sun look like?"

His eyes left hers for a fleeting moment before returning. "It lights up everything, baby."

"Does it hurt to look at it?" she asked.

Again, his eyes left hers, but only for a beat of her heart. "It does," he said. "But it's a good hurt."

She let a frown come across her face, her short spins tugging more at her head from the gravity she knew not where it had come from. "How can a hurt be good, daddy?"

The small room was a reprieve from the outside, turbulent sounds of the Twilight Cage. The high drone of the air bubble that pulsated from the magnetic and solar winds seemed to be moans and sobs of stars and planets. Winces and whines–sings and sonatas–brief before the waving groan conquered all. But inside, the green walls, the bookcase with a yellow lamp glowing, her crib just below her...she wished he'd sing again. To drown out the constant reminder of their exile.

To remember his voice...to hold on to it.

His eyes drifted down to the rough carpet then back to her. "Well, sometimes–my daughter–a pain can feel good if there is a happy memory...a happy–" She could see thoughts dancing in his eyes "–A happy moment that...is freedom from something much–much more painful."

Her mouth gapped open, his words, their meaning, trying to be encoded so her three and half year old mind could make sense. "What's a moment?"

But I do know... Her older voice wanted to say to him.

He squeezed her in his arms. "It's right now–with you!" He brought up his gloved hand– it too a replacement of wires and cybernetic joints and actuators–to tickle the picture of a white Streaking Pasha leaping on the shirt at her chest. She wiggled with giggles, his face brightening with it. "And I don't need a bright star when I have you."

"Daddy–" she laughed, her pitch high, "–Stop!"

"Why? Don't you want this moment to end?"

Please no...

He stopped his fingers, returning his hand under her legs and short tail to balance her back. Her pink fur was a fine pelt of youth and innocents; his pelt rough from years and sorrow.

"But Daddy, I don't want to get hurt to have a mooment again."

He let a sigh escape from his black nose, his face beaming a knowing look to her. "Not all moments have to hurt to cherish them, Julie."

But something did hurt him at that instant. His eyes fell again to the floor, his arms soften as if in defeat of something. She felt it–that sense of safety waning in them.

I'm sorry, daddy...

She swallowed, her mind prancing; his dwelling. "Will we ever go back to Floating Island, daddy?"

Her gamble was rewarded with his returning smile. "Of course we will," he said, touching his nose to her's.

"And I'll get to ride Pashas!?"

He tapped his finger on the leaping white four legged steed at her chest with every word he spoke:

"Every. One. Of. Them!"

"And I get to be a princess?"

His head recoiled back, his eyes widen. "Wha–what do you mean you get to be a princess–" He dropped his face back to her's. "–You already are–"

How am I remembering this?

She giggled, touching his muzzle before her face frowned once again.

"But Lien-Da says she's the princess and not me," she curtly said, almost as a challenge than a protest.

This time, her father's face froze only to frown in disappointment. "Well–" He looked down again, shifting on his heavy boots "–she is as well–"

"But you can't have two princesses, daddy," she said in an accusing tone, her little voice rising. "Mommy read's me stories with one princesses–"

He leaned down and tapped a kiss on her forehead that shushed her. "Oh, Julie-Su, my little Tempest. You're a princess–the same as your sister Lien-Da–and your brother Kragok a prince."

"But Lien-Da–"

"And I will talk to her to let her know you are both the same," he offered with a firm, but loving stare. "You–" he pecked her on the head again "–have nothing to worry about."

She smiled back, failing to hid her toothy grin. "And I'll find my own prince!"

Knuckles...

He let his gloved fingers tickle her back, producing another giggle. "And you'll get a prince as your own!"

She laughed again, before asking, "Daddy?"

"Yes," he said, stopping his fingers from tapping at her back.

"How will I know I find my prince?"

"Well...your Soultouch will let you know." His eyes were bright with warmth, but his voice concealed something. "You will know."

...And I did...

"But, what if the Soul–Touchy–" A fear crept up her throat. "What if it's wrong? What if it lies?"

Again, something painful stirred inside him, his hands firming this time, his eyes squinting in a wince. "My dear Su," he began, his tone low. "Our Soultouch–it's never wrong."

"Then how come I'm a Su, and my sister is a Da'h?"

His heavy chest rose again under his olive garb, this time with a quiver in resistance. "Well..." She was now witnessing Luger the tactician come forth to her as her father side-stepped from the ring, his head lowered in a shame she wasn't sure existed as truth. "It's because they had a different mother." She saw more thoughts trace over him. Hurtful ones that she wondered if they were good ones he had said to her, or bad ones. "Your's is Mary-Su, and their's was Merin-Da."

And her timid mouth was faster than her brain. "How come?"

He swallowed, his metal cheeks rising as he tightened his teeth. "Their mother–their mother passed on to Aurora, Julie."

"Then your Soultouch–"

"Now, Su," he said, his voice wet, "it's time for bed?"

"Oh, daddy?"

"Oh, daddy, what?" he nudged at her, exaggerating a frown.

"I–I want this moment to go on," she said in a fidget. She felt his answer through the squeeze from his arms and hands. "And sing me another song...please?" she asked under a pleading smile she managed to put too much effort in.

He let his head and body sag, almost feigning he was going to set her down. But he sprang back up with her still in his possession. "Oh–okay! But just for a moment longer."

She let her eyes widen, stretching her arms and legs out in his arms. She was getting tired, alright, but she wanted just one more song...one more moment of time with her father.

"Oh, let my Island float on the winds–

His baritone voice came as a soothing thunder, her body lightened under the waves it let ripple in the air, a gentle tide in rhythm and sway.

"Let it drift above the mountains–

Her vision began to fade, sleep taking hold of her.

"Let Mobius spin under her gale–

Let my Island float in–"

She felt his arms tense in a suddenness that pulled her from the dreamworld she had just lurched back from. Her eyes shot open, only to see her father's widen, starring long and far away from her.

"My–" His mouth dropped open; his chest heaved–before it sank with her.

"Daddy–?"

A sharp pitched moan, a repressed scream fell from his open mouth...then he breathed in. "Baby girl–I'm–"

Another deep breathe; another sharp whimper from his lips. He took a step forward, his arms shaking, Julie feeling it through her pajamas.

Her voice was a quiver. "Daddy–"

His lips were the same. "Baby...Baby girl, I–I need to put you–"

He leaned down with her just as another sharp jolt erupted from his chest, letting her fall from his arms to her padded crib. It wasn't voluntary. She rolled on her side, got her legs under her and stood, her pink furred hands grabbing the wooden rail that was just at her chin, reaching for her father–

His right hand buried to his chest in a fist, letting a breathless scream force it's way out from the impact. "Ahhh...no...no!"

"Daddy–!"

He fell to his knees, his left hand stabbing to the floor that tittered his heavy frame from falling completely over. He inhaled again, but quickly letting it out before gasping with a searing pain for another–and another–and another–

"NO! I–I can't!" His head lifted to the metal ceiling, his eyes pleading. "No–not this again!–"

And she watched her father stop breathing entirely! Only his eyes were wide when he completely fell to the floor, rolling over on to his side, his body quivering, his mouth stunted open. She got on her knees in her crib, trying to get to him by clawing at him, forcing her right arm out only to be stopped from the wooden bars holding her in. "Daddy!" she screamed.

The harsh gasp she saw her father take in was like a scream in of itself, only to exhale a crippling cry that raked his body and face. His hand was still clutching his chest; hers still outstretched to him.

Her voice was sharp–older. "Daddy–please!"

But it was as if he hadn't heard her. He laid there, enveloped in an agony she didn't understand. His skin on his muzzle turned red with each passing second, each shunt of breath and tears. She held him only with her watering eyes, her hand still reaching for him, only her finger tips touching his green heavy vest.

He took in a deep breath–and sigh deeply out just to take in another. And he let his eyes fall to the floor, his head turning with his forehead to the carpet. It seemed like minutes before his body allowed him to roll over onto his chest. She was able to touch his mechanical arm at that moment, only feeling the coldness and not the warmth she sought.

Taking in a heavy breath, he pressed himself up onto his knees with his hands, then bent his left cybernetic leg and attempted to stand. His legs tried to buckle, but somewhere his command to his servos and ligaments obeyed to get him upright. Yet, his lungs still quivered in protest–the Cage's mantra the only sound, saved with her and his sobbing.

The door into their chamber slid open at the far end of her small room. Light beamed in from the outside hall, only to be shadowed by a figure hurriedly walking in.

"Father!" came her brother Kragok's voice. She was only able to see him when he stepped in to the light of the small lamp on the bookcase by her crib–his robe grey and tattered. His left eye was red from the replaced cybernetic iris, his left arm replaced with a claw instead of organic fingers, his red-furred face etched with panic, but his skinned mouth hiding an elation she could see from a feigned smile. "Father–there's been a tragic–"

"I-I know," her father said breathlessly, his head turning to her half-brother's. "I felt it..."

Kragok walked closer to him and reached out with his natural hand and took her father's arm. "Please–come! I–I'm sorry, Grandmaster."

And her father turned from her–she reached out to his long swinging dreadlocks, only catching one with her small fingers, feeling the fur just for a fleeting moment before he stepped away–!

"Daddy!"

Her scream was unanswered as he took another step away from her.

"Daddy–please!" Her voice was louder–deeper! But he took another footfall forward.

Her next plea came from a older woman, an older self–her pitch sharp! "Daddy–please–don't go!" Her arm seemed to be more muscular, her small hand a little larger, gloved with three digits. But her cries–

"Mama!–Please–mom! Help father!–"

And from the deepest pit of her heart something alien, yet, passionate, leapt from her lips, her hand still outstretched, her heart lurching from an anguish for someone else!

"Knuckles!–"

And the figure that was walking away from her stopped–she pressed further up against the wooden bars when he did, straining her eyes to see her fingers had grown longer, covered with a three digit glove, jutting out from her left arm, finding her pink fur gone, replaced with a mechanical arm that resembled a slinking chain.

"Knuckles! Please!"

And his head turned, his locks shortened at his back, absent the wires–his fur now red–

His violet eyes were beckoning her, beaming a promise under a smile that was asking for trust–offering comfort...safety. She knew what was coming. She was there when he said it, giving that last pause over his shoulder to her before he left for Albion. Before he left to help their dying race.

And his lips followed his last words to her.

"I–

"–Love you, Shadow!"

She only mouthed her words to him. Her blond hair covered her ears. Covered her left eye, matted from her tears...matted with her blood.

Blood he could see as crystalline from where the plasma bolt that impacted through her blue dress to her back. And he watched her take a step forward to the angled console, her hand finding a lever that she let her fingers pull down–

A circular door that he couldn't see opened below him! The sound of rushing air was deafening as it was being pulled out to the vacuum of space. The clear cylinder tube, the metal floor his white and red heavy air thruster shoes stood on was shaking from the claw that held him, and it, inside the Space Colony Ark over Earth.

And all he could do was hammer his black furred fist at the thick plexiglass that was sealing him in from going to her.

"NO!"

Her eyes widened to his; another step towards the console.

"NO! Don't–!"

And her body slumped over it, her stare lifeless–her chest collapsing from her lifeless weight, it pressing the large red release button–!

"Maria!–

"Maria!"

His red eyes flew open when his nightmare jolted himself awake–

A white flash of blur, a roar of air and engine jolted him awake further, his left arm shooting up to block on instinct in defense, his black suit sleeve obscuring his view as his breathing quickened. He could see the gold ring snapped on his wrist just below his white glove. His right wrist held one just like it as well, feeling the weight at his black trousered ankles reminding him two where at each ankle, hidden beneath the fabric.

He still felt the long past tremors of high positive G-forces ripping through his limbs and body. His heart trying to beat through his chest. He took in a breathe to let the cold air-conditioned oxygen flow back into his lungs and through his blood stream. Blood that possessed the remnants of a science project.

Blood of an alien being.

Three more breaths and he felt his heart begin to settle, steadying so his composure could return, letting him deduce the passing noise that pulled him out of a doze. It was a white garbage truck lumbering over the wet, brown concrete street, the letters on the back above the flashing yellow strobe reading Station Square Sanitation Resources. It was merciful it had screamed by him just then. It had pulled him back to the here-and-now. Back to the low hum from the car he was seated in; back to birds chirping above him in the tree he was parked under; back to the clouded blue sky of the early morning.

Back from his failure.

The shallow rise and fall of the red tachometer needle on the right gauge rose just to three-hundred RPMs from the soft idling V-block ten-cylinder hydrogen engine; the left showing he was motionless. His white gloved hands hovered near the leather wrapped steering wheel, a yellow band at the top to show the tires and wheels were straight, the round inner wheel connect by two braces with controls for the phone and cruise control bore the winged circle emblem with the six pointed star of Donpa Motors–the black leather passenger seat beside him having the Dark Reaper lettering stitched in it just below where a passenger's head would be. It was done by hand, just as the assembling of the entire car had been.

An anxious anxiety inside him commanded his attention to the rearview mirror–a silver four door car was parked behind him. And two red eyes stared back at him, with two black quills–one rising up to the velvet hard top, convertible roof with a broad red streak of quills that accented his color, a second jutting out over his right shoulder–obscuring his view to a degree. Looking right, his eyes found the oval sleek mirror that reflected an empty sidewalk with a long wrought-iron fence that stretched to the rear. Forward from him down the concrete path, ending at the entrance to a large brick building, the front entrance projected forward of its long three story wings. Turning his head left revealed much the same, save for the long, raised median that split the street from the one flowing in the opposite direction, percolated with trees, shrubs and tall twin armed street lamps that seemed green with surface corrosion than it's original black paint.

And the black hedgehog breathed out a sigh, though shallow. It still didn't temper his anxiousness. It still didn't slow his heart– what heart he possessed. Looking down at himself, he figured it was beating somewhere under his black buttoned-up shirt, the top undone just enough to show his trimmed patch of white fur growth in a sea of black-fur on his chest...on his body. Reaching up, he felt at the leather where his back was nestled in the bucket seat.

Good–I didn't flexed my spines and poke holes in it. It was something he didn't want to explain to Major General Tower when he got back to G.U.N.'s Clip headquarters as to why he needed to reupholster the seat of the two-hundred thousand U.F. credit company car. Because of a bad dream...because he was sleeping on the clock.

But he was always on the clock.

His red eyes darted to the upper, center console with the thought. 7:01 AM. His eyes then went to the left side mirror. The street was still empty, but see the black paint from the side of the car, the air intake for the brake induction to cool the rotors visible just before the slopping rear.

It should be coming down within the next two minutes, the question that pecked at his mind being who was driving this morning.

He touched the button on the door's armrest that turned the right-side mirror adjuster on and, turning his attention to it, used the small cursor keys to adjust it out so he could see more of the sidewalk, doing the same with the left mirror to his satisfaction from previous visits to the same parking spot. With another creeping anxiety quelled, he let his back rest against his seat, letting his attention return to the bricked buildings around him passed the curved hood of the Reaper.

The section of Station Square he was parallel parked in had an ascetic of an older Earth with it's two and three story brick houses, their roofs pointed for heavy rain and snow to trail down them, nestled nearly side-by-side like beings on a monorail train. Where the brown sidewalks ended, the wrought-iron fences held their boarders to the meager green lawns and short walkways up to the steps of the upper-middle class dwellings. The area looked as if it had never been touched by the war; as if Eggman had skipped over it–yet Shadow could see the different shades of brick in the homes. The lighter patches where the sun had bleached the red clay over the years, and the darker red and grey masonry where recent repairs had been completed. He could even dissect the new keystones over the bricked archways.

7:03AM!

He let his eyes drift back to the left side mirror in time to see a yellow school bus make it's right turn down the street he had been parked on for nearly half and hour. Three taps of his fingers. The old hulk gained in speed as if it was a heavy old Islander past its golden years. He breathed in when the flashing yellow lights came on at the second lamp post. It was Misses Baley driving this morning, Shadow noted, his face still vacant of stress or emotion. The middle-aged Koala always turned her lights on at the second post.

Leaning down, he pulled his right black pant leg up...and unsnapped the gold ring that was just above his heavy white shoes, their hinged metal soles painted red, three thrusters on the bottom with one lone thruster just pointed at an angle below his toes–doing the same with the other golden ring on his left ankle. Closing the rings, he placed them in the passenger seat before he let his left hand unsnap the gold ring on his right wrist. He too placed it in the seat beside the others

The bus's front wheel base was now at the trunk of the silver car behind him, the harsh moan of the brakes being applied finding its way into the Dark Reaper's compartment...

And he carefully removed the gold ring on his left wrist, merely tossing it with it's three other compatriots, singing with a ring when it met them.

The yellow bus slowed as it passed by his driver-side window, reading the black stenciled letters as it drove by–Miss Dulcy's Orphanage–his head following it, his right hand going to his left side, finding the leather velcro tab and thumbing the strap open to his forty-five pistol, his gloved hand wrapping around the checkered wooden grips, thumb ready to drop the safety near the cocked hammer as he slightly pulled it out.

His final position of his limbs in his practiced act was his left hand finding the silver single latch of the door handle close to the air-condition vent. He didn't pull at it, he just rested his fingers on it, ready to open the door in an explosive burst.

The bus had pulled in towards the curb, Misses Baley angling it with practiced precision as close as she could. The rear brake lights went off when the he heard the rush of air being released with the air-brakes being set. With it, the yellow intermittent flashing lights changed to red, the folding stop sign on the right side popped out.

And that moment, he was the most dangerous life-form alive on the planet. He could feel the energy flow through his body like a torrent ready to be commanded to kill, to make perceived enemies flash into stardust, to end an existence he deemed warranted. It was like he was a capacitor collecting a charge it needed to execute a purpose. A purpose he was waiting for to step off the bus–

The windowed door opened, the bus' frame heaving on its worn suspension as he saw figures inside begin to stand. He darted his head to the right, seeing the street clear in the mirror. Swaying his head, he caught a female fox, grey in fur, her dress white with an assorted colors of spots, her left hand holding another smaller hand; a fox, her fur blue, her eyes starring up at her mom.

He looked forward through his steeply angled windshield in time to catch a black lemur girl, possibly no more than seven years old, jumping from the step of the bus to the sidewalk. Her tail was long, but her second tail, yellow with a white tip was short–and fake. Right behind her came a boy hedgehog, not unlike himself, just his fur being purple rather than black, smiling at the lemur.

But he is a real hedgehog, his narrow, low voiced whispered to him.

More children filed out from the bus, a few humans, a few in their teens. Others Islanders–a yellow wolf, his backpack tight against him; a grey cat, taller for her perceived age of ten–

He checked his rearview mirror, noting a red female lynx swaying her arm back and forth from her daughter skipping beside her...noting the firm furrowed black brow and red eyes staring back at him–

He felt the skip he was waiting for from his heart when a human girl, her skin neither pale nor tan, her face not round nor slender, her hair blonde and just below her shoulder, stepped off the bus under her new white shoes–she had gotten them. She was dressed today in a light red shirt, leaning over in a set of blue overalls to a little brown fox girl, who he figured was no more than six, assuring her of something. The little girl was fending off tears with one hand while the blonde human girl held the other.

And a small smile began to tug at the corners of his month, feeling his peach skin starting to stretch...ceasing when a trepidation returned, commanding him to check his mirrors. Eyes darting, fingers flexing on the door handle, thumb ready to push his pistol out of the holster and rop the safety, his body ready to engulf itself in Chaos–

Light blue eyes found his from across a void he was barely containing himself to cross in a blink of time and space. And they choked his arcing energy of his inner-being. They seemed to allow his lips permission to open, to let his lungs sip the cool air, to temper his beating heart. His hand at his pistol began to shake, his breathing quickening.

And she smiled to him, her mouth slightly opening as if she was going to say something to him–

–I love you, Shadow.

The quivering lips from the girl he couldn't get halted his lungs.

The smile from the girl just yards from him faded–

But not before she raised her hand, and gently waved to him.

It was a caring one. Gentle in sway, short in duration.

And he, not showing the smile he wanted to let beam to her, not letting anything betray his emotions to the outside world, or inside, found his right hand leaving the grip of his pistol, and rising, his palm outwards...

...And holding it up for her to see, to return her gesture she gave to him, only to produce a faint smile from her.

He heard the bell ring even through the sound-dampening of the Reaper's design, and the idling mantra of the engine. Just as quickly as it came, she had her head pointed to it. She reached down to the little fox girl, brushed at her dark hair, rubbed her ears, and then pointed to the entrance of the school. His red eyes followed them as they walked together up the stairs, disappearing through the brick structure; to start another day of learning.

A human man came out of the entrance, waved the rest of the straggling children inside. The fox woman he saw come down the sidewalk behind him was leaning down, kissing her daughter on the check before hugging her...before watching her run through the gate. She then talked to the human, but only breifly, who gave her a warm smile as he shut the gate.

The red flashing lights on the bus ceased, the stop sign folded back in. Brake lights off, the rushing air from the brakes being released before the engine lurched the bus forward. He counted the seconds and the street lamps as Misses Baley drove down the street. When the bus made the left turn at the intersection and vanished behind the row of houses, the quiet morning he had awaken to not more than ten minuets ago returned.

Fifty years ago...

He redid the velcro strap to secure his pistol, pulling his black suit jacket back over it. Reaching over, and one by one, he replaced the gold rings back to their proper places on his wrists and ankles, snapping the last one closed to make the flowing charge in his body dissipate like the tide of the ocean ebbing from the shore.

His resolve was back at rest.

Checking the clock, noting it was 7:10AM, he pulled his seatbelt across his chest and snapped it secured...and waited just another few seconds. He always did. That fear, that premonition; it always had its back against his, to whisper at his pointed ears that something could still happen. Could still make him fail once again. But 2:30 would come, and so would he. Five days a week; except for holidays. Or if she fell sick.

But even then, he would always come.

Pushing the brake with his modified shoe, he let his right hand find the silver and black knob on the center console near his elbow, and rotated the dial to the D to put the Reaper in drive. The RPMs dropped in pitch when the twelve speed gearbox engaged itself into first. Adjusting his mirrors for the trip back to the office on the other side of the city to his south, he breathed in, turned the wheel, and eased out into the street, only nudging the engine to push him forward. He let his eye watch the school go by before he settled in for the ride to pick up his new partner.

But at the moment, he had his reminder of his past fulfilled for the morning. He had his reminder of his constant in his life, securing his anxiety to meet his new day.

His Hope was safe.