Ch 3.
Fireworks were going off, but the sound in his ears was mismatched, delayed or perhaps dubbed over by something else? Maybe it was one big explosion on repeat, because the shrill whistling in his ears never deviated or changed. He tried to pull forth any inkling of memory to tell him what was happening why–
The fireworks continued, and for a second there was a reprieve, and his thoughts turned to remember why he was so warm. No, it wasn't warmth, it was pain, thrumming and radiating through his body. He willed his eyes to open, to give him some sense of balance and understanding, but a sensation akin to vertigo took him– the blackness surrendering again to fireworks, as spots flashed behind his now clenched eyelids. He fought against a pressure on his chest, weight that tightened his throat and lungs. And then it released, a sharp breath, and his eyes sought again to open. But in the darkness of mind, shielded by his closed eyes, the fireworks came into focus: seven gems of differing colors, emeralds.
He felt more than heard the whip of the wind against his ears, and the pain that streaked through him met true heat against his back. He began to recognize the feeling of a weight in his stomach that seemed to fall out, like going over a hill too fast on roller skates, as the anticipation and elation make your stomach drop. He was falling. Fast. He could recall Sonic's golden form fade, he could see Red and Yellow dropped through the sky after Blue. And he could see his reflection in the metal of the Ark. His grimace stared back at him with determined eyes as inhibitors fell away and he used everything he had to try and save the world.
He could remember the explosion. Feel the shrapnel as it ripped through his body, the heat as it lashed at every orifice on his face, the fleeting sense of accomplishment before his body refused to respond to him any longer.
He was spent, his energy reserves gone, and even now he felt the draw for something that wasn't there in his body. He barely had enough energy to stay awake, much less think and act. His bracelets were lost, there was no pulling out of this, no last second save by warping to a softer impact zone or even partially dispersing the downward momentum. Sonic's emeralds– they would have helped here, perhaps they were the source of the flashing behind his eyelids. But even if they were present, those magical emeralds were equally as tapped. He tried to adjust or even understand his trajectory, but his body refused to cooperate, but he felt the impact, and felt the rush of air as his lungs were forcibly collapsed under the weight of his ribcage trying to touch the floor through his shoulders.
It was painful. More than he had ever had to endure in the labs, but relief came quickly as his brain shut off, barely a second after having met the ground, and he welcomed the escape.
*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*
A voice called to him, and he wanted to respond, he could feel it from his cocoon of shadows he had built in his mind, but it hurt to try and expand his senses outward into the world. So he let his mind comfort him with fantasy and figments.
A field of flowers. The stars in space, beside a girl with a blue dress. A cityscape filled with neon lights and signs that shone through the rain. The flashes that held no true meaning, but were familiar. Safe.
And as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The visions warped and twisted, while he was trying to draw more detail into her face within the memory. Instead of her face, it showed him the girl, covered in blood, body destroyed as a pane of glass separated them, and she was gone. He watched a golden hedgehog blaze towards him with fury in his eyes. And he felt a connection, a bond there, a tumultuous mix of respect and envy. And then he was gone, replaced by flowers again, white and beautiful that warped into labcoats and trees that became machinery. It was almost cyclical, the way the memories would play. But the names wouldn't come, for each of the faces he saw, only three were constant enough to warrant him even wondering. But no names came to him for the girl, old man, or the golden hedgehog who refused to leave him alone.
And then felt it, a fire lit inside of his brain, and while his body refused to move, his ears cleared from the rush of blood, and he heard the voices echoing back and forth above him. A woman and a child fussing over something, an error? A mistake? And he was happy to retreat back into the comfort of darkness when he heard a familiar voice pierce through the movement around him. And he wished he could focus better, to turn his ears or head, anything to add more clarity to what was happening.
"So... we'll keep him.. here… right?" an almost familiar voice asked, it was almost too soft, barely more than a whisper.
Another voice responded, "Me and Maddie thought we had already picked up our fill of strays… but this is different –" and he knew that he was the stray in question, just from the tone the masculine voice used.
The familiar voice returned, so full of energy that he felt he could almost imagine a face to go with it, but instead he could only see the bright outline of the sun against his closed eyelids. "Uhm, nuh-uh, this is literally exactly the same! And he even apologized! And I mean, no one said there was a limit! How can you suddenly change the rules! We picked up TWO last time.. And Knux is just as dangerous! And Tails is a walking science-fiction hazard with that lab! Soo … You gotta post signs or–" He was wanted. It was reassuring, comforting, to know someone was fighting for him, but it also felt novel in a way, as if somehow he knew this was far away from the norm.
"We've got to consider what he needs though– We… might not be prepared to take care of him…. So… why don't we give it a week, and I'll watch to see how he's fitting in." A week. He didn't know what day it was, so there was no way to keep track of when this deadline would fall- but he understood whatever decision this was, it would impact him.
A new voice joined over the din of the electronics around him, deeper and thoughtful, "He is very much as the lone wolf, one who takes all challengers by himself. That too, we must consider, as we do not know his enemies."
"Exactly," one of the voices answered, "So let's drop it for now. First, we get him healed up, then I'll make a decision."
He questioned himself only for a moment: was he dangerous? Did he have enemies? But the flash of blood across the floor, and the transition of blue to red as a dress soaked with blood told him everything he needed. Yes, he was dangerous. If he were a stray, a pet to be owned, he was the kind that brought misfortune to its owner. Just from the glimpses he'd gathered so far, he had cared for that blonde girl– and he could see the finality of her exit from his life, from her own life. In this musing, Shadow missed a large piece of the conversation, only drawn out from thought as he sought again to hear the familiar voice. But it didn't speak, or its owner had perhaps already left. But the whirring of machines remained constant, as three voices above him spoke of bones and brains and blood, and almost like a macabre white noise machine, and the machinery provided a constant purr to ease his nerves and allow himself to fall back asleep.
His dreams were silent this time; completely forgotten the moment he woke up.
*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*–*
He woke up with a weight on his chest, he had caught some of the conversation between the woman and child, they said his spine was damaged, but the pain he felt was only in his brain. There were mentions that a man had joined to help make assessments and vanished, unwilling to overstay his intrusion, if he understood correctly. He fought for more information, but searing white flashes surged in his head, censoring and omitting much of what he felt he should know.
He registered the whisper, "- still beating which is good," the sound felt almost intimately close through the darkness of this coma-like state, "but Shadow, it'd be nice if you just woke up– I .. We just want to hear you say that you're alright."
It was the familiar voice, the one that always elicited an immediate response inside him. And he struggled to move, to turn, to speak; fighting against unseen bonds that sealed his motor functions. And he could hear the parting of lips, and the draw of breath, signaling more words to come.
"Sonic?" The woman's voice, the mother, carried through silence and the weight from his chest fell away. "Is everything okay?" her voice was warm with concern.
"Yeah mom, I was just making sure his heart is still beating… I just wanted to check…"
There was barely a pause, before the female voice answered, "Tails did a great job with his scanners, and Stone was able to help with interpreting… There's a lot to sift through in those old files, but I know they'll find something useful. Until then, make sure you keep an ear on him." The way she stressed the word, almost like it was to poke fun or make a joke, it didn't process fully to Shadow, so he let it filter away from his mind as some inside joke he wasn't privy to.
He didn't know what day it was, nor the time, but the smell of coffee wafted in delicately, only to be covered quickly by the greasy scent of sizzling bacon. He felt confident enough to wager that it was still early morning, and didn't pause to question the puzzle pieces he had needed to reach that summation, it was the natural conclusion it seemed.
"Good morning, honey. Good morning, boys," a man's voice, equally warm, joined in to the cacophony of cooking meats and clattering plates and cabinet doors. Wherever he was, it must be close to the kitchen, and then only a few moments after the greeting was returned by each of his family members, Shadow felt a weight in his hand. It writhed and wiggled gently, and with his focus so intent on this one hand, he told himself he could feel the other's grasp around his, "Good morning, Shadow"
He wanted to smile, to reply just as earnestly, but his throat was dry and unyielding, and made no noise even as he sought it out. The hand in his hand squeezed a final time, and he could feel it begin to pull from his own while he fought to hold on.
"Mom! He moved! –Shadow grabbed my hand!" The clatter of metal across tile and then the rush of footsteps answered him. A second hand laced into his, and he heard the feminine voice ask him to squeeze again. But the effort, the energy even to try to move was already gone. He struggled to make any sign, to show them he was alive, but the moment had passed. The de-escalation was quick, the mom assured and reassured that she believed him, and that after their meal was finished, they would all check again.
And so the sounds of breakfast resumed, there were few comments that interrupted the meal, and only afterwards he heard the electric zap of some piece of technology activating, and then a graceful descent across a piano rang out. It was nice, listening to whatever movie they had put on. He caught some casual conversations across the family, but few had details or participants that held his interest enough to exert the focus to even register their words as English. But he felt the weight on his chest often. Even for just a second or two, each time it renewed his desire to open his eyes, to understand what was going on in this now darkened version of the world.
He had faded into slumber after some time, but the distinction was vague at best. Perhaps he was truly dreaming all of this. But the repetition of events, seeing the mysterious dying girl, seeing the old man in every corner of his memory, versus only hearing the events around this mystery family helped anchor his sense of reality. He searched again for names, any that held meaning. But all he could do was repeat the ones he'd heard within the last day
His name was Shadow, or at least so they all called him. And he could see himself, black fur and quills, with distinct red markings that stretched across his body. He could even see his hands; clawed digits on paws that almost always stayed concealed under white gloves. But why they needed to be in gloves was a mystery. Perhaps it was like the dad had said, that he was dangerous, surely his claws were a weapon with how he saw them in his mind's eye.
And it clicked, he was a weapon, he could recall discussions about modifications and experiments, and suddenly he could remember them: doctors towered over him, humans dressed in white lab coats as they leered down at him with eyes devoid of emotion. He was an object, a tool. Made to be experimented on. And he could feel some subliminal sense of relief, an instinctual gratitude he paid to his broken memory, that he didn't remember more.
The others… Tails, Knuckles, Tom and Maddie, he couldn't imagine what they might look like. It was obvious that Tails was a child with the brain of a genius. While Knuckles voice had the depth of range of a full grown man, though he only ever used the vocabulary of a child. The parents were kind. They joked and played. He would occasionally hear them asking him questions, and something within him, perhaps the need to obey orders, had him reaching for his voice again, but not to the extent that the one called Sonic inspired.
He could see that one person, even though his eyes refused to open. The golden hedgehog in his memory was vivid, and the few interactions he held onto seemed to replay in his head on loop. And it only took a few hours of listening to their voices for the voice in his memory to find itself. His voice had been strong enough to carry across the vacuum of space, of course he would remember it. Yet, the old man and girl were still voiceless in the echoes of his memory, and he saw them far more often than the hedgehog, who only showed himself in space. Maybe they had been his past, and Sonic was his present?
And he caught it, one final exchange, "Get some rest, Sonic, we've all got pet sitting duty in the morning," before the house fell silent.