I rip the phone cord out of the wall, this time making sure to come at an angle where the entire unit breaks. It goes out the window with the rest. These engines I hear, they could be all in my head. The roar is a manifestation of my frustration at comprehension bla bla bla, BLA BLA BLA! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!
I AM NOT LIKE HIM!
but I could be.
He went nuts. Plain and simple. There’s no deeper meaning behind it. He gave in just like so many other people have already, in the way that they ignore what’s around them, in the way that they kill and rape and strive for regularity only for themselves, the way there is pain and suffering at the hands of them all, why compassion is so fucking hard, the way that there are nerds and species and races and rules and law and everything that it fights against, the way they all masturbate and fuck to escape, the way they build machines to do what they couldn’t…
And? So what? Big deal. He wasn’t perfect.
I know, but… it would have been nice if he was.
Crunch.
Crunch?
Crunch.
Crunch.
Oh come on. The hallway? Now I know it’s Robotnik. Only he would be this stupid.
In the corner, the metal pole glimmers, enticing, long and not very thick. It’s just too easy to walk over and pick it up. The darkness closes around me and I hide myself in the shadows.
Even with the engines burning in my ears, my breathing gasping for air, and the crunch, crunch, crunches shattering my skull, it’s deathly quiet in the apartment.
And I’m not even scared. Or if I am I just don’t notice it.
Just don’t pay attention, Amy. Just ignore your surroundings. Ignore the hunger and the dehydration picking at you. Ignore the doubt, the doubt, and the fact that your death is probably closer at hand than you realize. Ignore your reflection in the metal bar, which shows a face more frightened than anything you’ve ever seen…
Crunch, crunch, crunch?
The engines grow louder, the footsteps faster.
It sounds really stupid and cartoonie, too, like… FWOOOOOM or WHIRRRRR or uhhh FUUUCK. Get the idea.
Raise the bar. Do it.
Done.
Come on, come on! You’ve done this before, remember? In the ally? The brick? It’s easy. Pretend, if need be.
I close my eyes and pretend that the coming attacker is someone I know and someone I hate. Thousands of faces flash across, and none of them work. I squint my eyes and try Sonic, but… no.
In fact
the only one
that’s even close to working
is
Him.
When my eyes open again, Rouge comes bursting through the door, gun raised and pointing frantically around the room, and she’s calling my name, and tiny pieces of glass are stuck to her feet, and-
ROUGE?!
Shit.
And then,
all hell breaks loose.
This talent, this knack, don’t ask me where it comes from. Sonic and Tails rubbing off on me maybe.
But anyway.
Dying to continue. Life has no pause button.
The couch, lying close to the door, is quick to reach. While explaining to Rouge in a rushed voice that it’s her that’s targeted and not me, I pull the blanket off the sticky upholstery and throw it over her. It floats down lightly like a leaf and covers her.
And then he’s here.
Red.
And knocking Rouge behind the overturned couch, I only smile at it.
“Come on,” I coo at it, keeping the bat aimed high. It cocks its head, the blades adorning his crown clicking together. Involuntarily, the scars on my face inflame, but I shake it off. I stare back at him, and he stares at me. He’s at full height, his eyes glowing. He looks confused. I shouldn’t be fighting back like this. I coo again, and make the first steps.
Mirrored. Closer.
Again.
Mirrored. Closer.
I can smell the oil and the dried blood. Again.
Mirrored. Closer.
His claws come out of his knuck- his knuckles…
Closer.
He crouches like a jaguar at the world cup games. Those fuckers can run like hell.
Closer.
I stand my ground and I let him come.
Closer.
Here.
He crouches, drawing in air, just like before, and he strikes-
DING!
Ding? For fuck’s sake…
DING!
“You don’t EVER -DING!- fuck with me, or my friends, EVER AGAIN! -DING- Are you in there, eggfuck?!! -DING- Come and fight like a MAN, YOU DICKLESS BASTARD!! -DING- YOU FUCKING COWARD!” -DING-
The impacts, they jar my wrists and set my shoulder afire. From this moment on, I ignore them.
The dance circles around the scattered debris, the battlefield. The target hit squeals with warning buzzers and sucks in more air. This could pass for frustration, and it’s laughable.
It doesn’t look like I’m doing much damage, though. It was obviously made for combat like this, whereas Black did the blood sucking. Lucky me, I get all the hard ones. The stab wounds from Sandra’s apartment cover his stomach in little scratches. Something else to disregard from now on.
Luckily, I see the attack coming, right as Rouge calls out in warning. Side swipe. Dodge. Roll. I’m feet from him, ducking the mess he knocked over, a barricade for the door. The television, oh my God, get this: flies right at the ceiling fan and manages to get it’s cord wrapped around the blades. How fucking comedic.
…
No.
No, Amy!
Don’t do it!
NO!
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to… Baseball!”
Swing. The TV flies on an arc and hits Red dead on. He squeals.
“OH! What a swing! And-”
The box comes back at me, quickly, and I swing again, sending it flying back at him. Hit. Score.
“Bases are loaded, folks-”
Swing. Hit. Another score. Squeal.
Laugh.
“The pitch! The swing!”
Crack. Boom. He’s knocked off his feet. And the crowd goes fuckin wild.
“HOME RUN! HOME TEAM WINS THE GAME! THE CROWD GOES WILD!”
Then he gets back up.
Fuck.
And because I can’t think of anything else to say…
“Batter up, beeeeitch!”
Swing. Crack.
Catch.
“… Out.”
And I swear that that’s a triumphant smile he’s giving me.
The pitch. He throws, actually, he HITS the TV back at me, snapping the cord and sending the box flying at high speeds. My body hits the floor, evading, getting smacked in the forehead, and I swear, honestly, on my soul, that I come up as quick as I can.
But it’s not enough.
He’s already in front of me, so close his chest touches mine, towering above. All I have left is instinct.
Swing. He lets it hit him, and in fact, he braces himself for it. He grabs my pole and he breaks it in half.
Damn it.
“AMY!”
It’s Tails.
Aw.
And I was having so much fun, too.
**********
All things considered, I think that escorting a half hysterical woman down two flights of stairs covered in a blanket would take forever, but since I’m such a badass, I did it in record time. Rouge screams something at me about never doing anything like that ever again, and I’m taking the gun away from her and “Yeah, yeah, yeah”-ing, telling her to keep the fucking blanket on or she’s roasted bat jerky, all the way out the door, where the harshness of the color slaps me sharply in the face. We’re outside.
I can feel blood running down my face.
what?
amy
amy!
“AMY ROSE!”
Something is wrong.
Up the street, the driver of the van whistles and motions for me to run to him. It looks like an FBI van.
“AMY ROSE! COME ON!” He whistles like I don’t hear him.
F.
B.
I.
Rouge turns to me and shrugs under the blanket. Not like she can see anyway.
I don’t know. I don’t know about this. Falling in one enemy’s hands to escape another. Is that really better?
CLANG!
Fine. Fuck it.
These moving piles of skin and bones, these muscles and neurons, they don’t want to be torn apart from each other. So the brain tells them. Not like they have a choice.
RUN! it tells them.
RUN! so they do it.
The van doors in the back swing open when we arrive, and inside are machines that click and move and glow.
Surveillance.
Hesitation.
“Get in the van!” The driver yells, looking behind me in fear. Almost fueled by pure instinct, I heave Rouge into the van. Her blanket almost falls off but she pulls it tight around her.
When I turn around, this mess of screaming red metal bares its fangs and takes a swing.
It’s so hot that I don’t feel anything.
In fact, it feels nice.
“GET IN THE FUCKING VAN!”
what?
WHAT?!
HOLY SHIT, IT’S THE FUCKING FBI! Wait. No. No. No. Can’t be.
The driver pulls out a gun and points it at my head. Whoops.
**********
Words cannot describe.
I retract every statement I have ever made about Tails’ bike. This is so cool… This is so cool…
This bike, it can burst through van doors without a scratch on it. This bike, it can support a pregnant passenger without bending dangerously low to the ground. This bike, it can outrun a speedy metal demon hot on your tail. It can give him a run for his money.
Really. I shit you not.
“I’m doing better now. Honest.”
“What was that, Amy?!” Tails yells over the screeching and the rushing wind.
“I said, “HOLY FUCK, HE’S COMING UP FAST!”
“What?!” He still can’t hear.
Simple solution, really. I have this talent for screaming a really high pitch. Ask my ex-girlfriends. They’ll tell you.
So, whenever Red gets close to us, about to hit the back of the rushing bike, I scream. It gets his attention and we maneuver. He should pay attention to the road anyway.
See?
I’m helpful.
**********
We’re speeding around the construction part of the city, near the apartment. Broken down civilization being rebuilt, all around us. Everywhere are slabs of concrete and giant metal beams to get impaled on.
Trying to keep up after us is the van. And the driver is firing at Red, giving us cover. Helping us.
The bike slows down.
“Hold on, Amy.”
Wait, what? What is he doing?
We pick up speed again…
Oh no.
You fucking asshole!
My scream is probably heard throughout the entire town.
And we’re on a rooftop all of a sudden, riding along with speed past exhaust pipes and transmitting towers. The bike wobbles down on the roof, hard. My teeth clack together and more of my blood flows down Tails’ back.
I’m starting to get woozy.
“Don’t… ever do that again.”
“You want to live, right?”
He revs the bike and jumps another tower. My fingers grip his chest tighter and my head bounces against his back.
“Your bike can jump… And yet you bring a wrench to fight him. I don’t get you.”
Jump. Land. Clatter. Gun shot. He’s still behind us, scaling the walls and scrambling across the tops. Technology falls in his wake.
He jumps.
He glides.
He runs.
Like a scavenger. Like a hunter. Like an ancient God…
.
Uh oh.
No.
“It’s Knuckles, isn’t it?”
It sounds so horrible out loud.
“…”
Jump. Land. Bleed. Swipe. Blurry.
I never get an answer. That means I’m right.
“I… I can’t believe I never saw it before.”
PainGuiltLiesDeathCheatAbandonBleedDeadKnucklesJumpDieBurnLeaveDestroyRobotOblivion
Something comes pouring out of me, and I can’t tell whether it’s blood or tears. I guess it doesn’t matter.
I just want this to end.
**********
“TAILS!”
“WHAT?!”
“HE’S GONE!”
Ducked out of sight about a building and a half ago.
“Fuck!”
The bike slows down.
“No! Keep going! He’s trying to head us off!”
Imagining him running along the cover of the alleys, ducking along walls. Climbing. Scratching deep into the brick.
We pick up speed again, turning along the buildings, trying to confuse him down below. Twisting our course like a piece of ribbon. The driver of the van isn’t firing anymore. Is that a good sign?
Then, something comes to me.
He’s not attacking Rouge.
He’s after us.
And Tails is protecting me.
My arms wrap around him tighter, but I feel so weak, so weak…
Ahead is a structure bigger than the building we’re on. A parking garage. A different part of town. Far away from home.
And Tails is going to jump it.
I should have said something.
We clear the gap, soaring into a wild apex, high where the metal birds fly, and Red comes up from underneath us and hits the center of the bike. We lose control and my grip on Tails is lost.
We’re floating in the middle of parts of machinery, debris from the bike everywhere. The womb of the dying industry. The ground so far away, Tails so far away, the sky so far away, Red so close… so close that I’m staring him in the eyes…
And we land.
**********
Smooth concrete, smoother than the face of child or the surface of refined and pounded metal, we land on this from two stories up, going fifty miles-per-hour or so. my arm breaks with a snap so loud that my ears hurt more than the actual limb.
i black out.
its so dark
**********
awake.
alive.
“”
who is that?
“”
Sonic
This has to be a dream
Its so bright here
Rouge
Tails
They are in trouble
Save them
Save them
**********
The hose drips itself empty and drops to the floor, the metal ring around the tip clanging throughout the confines of the parking garage. Metal parts everywhere, impossible to tell what it belonged to. Water drips everywhere. Blood drips everywhere. Tears and shit and piss and vomit and human emotion, anything you can think of, it drips everywhere.
Me and Tails, beaten and bruised, broken and dead, we don’t move. There’s nothing left to notice so we just don’t do anything. We’re the only ones left. The van is gone, hightailing it. Rouge, she left awhile ago, and I couldn’t tell whether or not I should go with her. I don’t know if everything is okay again.
And Sonic… I don’t really care. I’m just glad he left. I’m glad that I don’t have to know how or when or why. It’s comforting. One less thing to worry about.
Knuckles…
Knuckles…
“Amy?”
“What?”
“Let’s go.”
“Good idea.”
And we carry each other down flights of floors, past lines of cars. We support each other, arms intertwined. I can feel his hot breath on my neck. He can probably feel my heart beat through my broken arm. These, these are reassurances that we’re both alive. And kicking.
Should we be grateful?
“Well. That was fun.”
“Yeah… is this how you get most girls to fall for you?”
“Your mom seems to like it.” I hug him tighter, causing him to wince, but he keeps quiet.
It’s sunset when we exit the building, the sky a deep amber. It’s still slightly overcast but the horizon is clear, the last rays of sunlight cutting through the clouds. I can see the docks straight ahead and there’s no one on the water.
“Hey. Look.” Tails points down the street.
Rouge holds a giant metal infant in her arms, curled up in a fetal position. They both look like they’re crying. Another part of him falls off, next to Rouge’s gun. Under her caressing fingers is a giant patch of red flesh.
And then she’s pulling the metal parts off of him, searching for more flesh, more humanity, searching…
I imagine Rouge looking at me and smiling, holding Knuckles’ hand. They’re waving at us. They’re wishing us the best of luck. They’re wishing us a happy ending, like the one that they have.
“Come on.”
We have to go.
Goodbye, Rouge.
Goodbye, Knuckles.
We’ll be seeing you.
“Should we get to a hospital, maybe?”
“Maybe. It usually works itself out, though. Stranger things have happened.”
“Hey Amy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think that this is, I dunno, too cliché?”
“Yes… but I like it.”
“Hmm. I guess nothing is ever perfect.”
“I’d settle for almost.”
“Mmm.”
“How about you? What do you think about all of this?”
“Me? I think that it’s a cop-out. But, we’re still alive.”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“How trite.”
“Hey, you’re putting a damper on the festivities. Just shut up and enjoy the moment, will ya?”
“Sorry. You’re probably right. I’m being stupid.”
“Aw hey. Poor Tails. We all feel SO bad for him. Well, look, if it’ll cheer you up, I can always start calling you Dad.”
“Really? Does this mean I get nookie too?”
“Oh, sure, of course. Just not from me.”
“Tease.”
