WARNING: home invasion, abduction, implied agoraphobia (?), mention of firearms, violence, imagined death, emotional manipulation, toxic mindsets.
A.N. - Part one (1) of a series. More Sonic characters are on the way.
Knuckles the Echidna - "Down Through the Chimney"
Narrowly suppressing a yell, Knuckles restrained it to a series of heated grumbles and punted a rock off the stairs to the altar. His strides from one side of the Master Emerald to another were quick and tattooed cracks in the stones, and his elbows were raised as if he were preparing to strike an unseen foe. The echidna plopped on the top step and rested his arms on his knees, allowing a dash of sorrow to seep into his otherwise peeved expression.
Beneath the sonorous hum of the wind that lifted the tips of his dreadlocks towards the jungle, Knuckles perceived a mellow vibration. It seemed to rattle the air around him and buzz in his ears as if a powerful yet inaudible voice were speaking from an unfathomable distance. The stairway was decorated with myriad pebbles, and all but those on the bottom step began clattering like tiny bells.
Just as the echidna had leapt to a defensive position and brandished his fists at whatever terror might spill forth in search of the relic, a green light pervaded the stone top of the altar like a fallen glass of wine tainted the virgin fabric of a white couch. It was as rich as the lushest garden and commanded the attention of its protector, which he bequeathed with a look of awe. The Master Emerald glistened with new life, and the impression of observation by an omnipotent force seized Knuckles.
A fresh glow emitted from its crystalline core, one that throbbed like a beating heart. "Master Emerald," he breathed, eyes wide and mouth agape. Like faded memories of a forgotten dream, the significance of its pulses was imprinted on his mind. "What are you saying?" It was not a question of misunderstanding, but rather a confirmation of what he believed to be an unprecedented answer.
The light swelled with such insistence that a jade aura tinted the blue sky above the ruin. A whisper, rhythmic and fond of ancient tongues, pursued the breeze and enveloped the relic like a coiled serpent. It spoke of promises no mortal could honour, and any reservations about its guidance that Knuckles held fell like sand through an hourglass.
* * *
The noise seemed to have multiple layers, with additional bangs underscoring the climb. As the disturbance breached the top of the chimney, the answer to your suspicion reverberated through the living room. Beneath each thud was a masculine voice exerting itself in the form of an agitated grunt. The commotion shifted to scraping as if a blade were dragging across the concrete that composed the interior of the chimney, and a trickle of loose pebbles bounced off the floor.
Breath quickening, you had begun to ascend the staircase when a startled yell echoed in the bowels of the ventilation structure.
The descending shout ended in a red echidna plummeting onto the hearth, but he was neither jolly nor bearing presents. Strain twisted his snout into a grimace and bared dual rows of jagged teeth that quivered with newborn anger. His scarlet fur was tainted with clumps of soot, which blanketed the walls of the chimney and filled the bottom of the fireplace. Thick coughs that were loud with exhaustion and hoarse from expelling dirt rattled his shoulders and bobbed his head as swells of dust wafted into the air.
A pair of purple eyes scanned the house, darting between the biggest pieces of furniture and narrowing after finding nothing but shadows. Knuckles reclaimed his bearings and pushed against his knees to steady his movements. After shaking his head to dispel the initial confusion, your outline descended from the rungs and sloped along the floor like a slithering snake.
Before you could flee to the sanctity of your bedroom, a strip of moonlight had reflected a sleek blade in the kitchen. The glint of polished metal drew your attention to the countertop below the window overlooking the faucet. Every second spent debating it allowed your mind to generate another frightening prediction that complicated the decision, but the fear of lamenting your choice pulled you in either direction with equal vigour.
Clamouring followed this admission of awareness. "Come back here!" A ruckus detonated in the heart of the cabin as Knuckles jabbed the plush fabric of a couch with his elbow and bumped the sharp edge of an end table, its creak resembling the lowing of cattle. Your retreat paused at the top of the stairs to allow a quick analysis of his location, while he took the break as an opportunity to stumble near the beginning of the handrail, which rattled under his taut grasp.
A shadow cast itself from the modest window beside the door and landed upon his red face in a diagonal stripe, illuminating the peach skin of his snout and filling his eyes with a wrathful glow. Creases wrung the muscles in his face and turned it into that of a bear seething. Ragged breaths shook his body in an ascending rhythm, and with an outpouring of rage he did shout, "Don't run away from me!"
His heavy steps, like bricks dropping from a great height, followed with a determination that did not bother to match your speed. The click of the lock was a meagre comfort, for Knuckles proved his confidence in the superiority of his raw strength by slamming a hand into the door with deliberately insufficient force to destroy it. "Open up!" The shudder of the hinges concealed a subtle crack in the structure, an indication of the echidna's desperate lack of patience.
Flecks of wood spattered your face as a gloved fist smashed through the centre of the door, knocking you onto your haunches in a moment of fright. Your palms and heels tattooed the ground before a silver wave crashed upon your head and accentuated the window bordering the corner of the room. The latches were stiff and resistant to your touch, but the adrenaline coaching your actions supplied enough strength to flip them in the opposite direction and tug the window open.
Gales of snow blasted inside the room on violent wings. White blankets tinged with the grey and black speckles of the night masked the outside world, promising a doom of less certainty than the echidna ploughing through the feeble slab of wood that dared to separate you. "Hey, stop!" Concern and a twinge of woe laced his furious voice, and after swinging the door aside with such harshness that it was nearly torn from its hinges, he witnessed your snowflake-spangled form dive into the belly of the blizzard.
As the air split underneath your body like a meteor plummeting to the earth, an arm coated in red fur protruded from the window and failed to grasp your ankle. Cracks splintered the portion of the wall where the hand had collided with it. The face of Knuckles appeared a moment later, his eyes widening with hope for your safe landing. A thicket that consisted of leafy twigs and pulsating darkness around the edges of your vision marked your introduction to the ground.
Sharp pain darted from your calf to your hip, and you did not know whether the snap belonged to the bushes or yourself until a paralyzing loss of energy dragged you into unconsciousness.
Shadow the Hedgehog - "99 Raindrops"
The airy voice of a young girl reverberated through the house, seemingly pouring from every room and convening in the black depth of the ceiling. "You need to help them, Shadow," it cried with frail strength that was unable to rise above an emphatic murmur. A memory punctured his concentration like a javelin hurled across the battlefield, and the wave of recognition that followed both shook his resolve and stimulated it.
As another failed attempt to move yanked his knees to the floor with a thwack, the urgency in her voice swelled to a desperate wail. "Help them, Shadow!" There was no disappointment or assignment of guilt in her plea, but the hedgehog's arms began to quiver from the humiliation striking his core as if he were thrashing just below the surface of a powerful tide.
"I'm trying!" came his anguished howl, beaten by inexplicable fatigue and the growing sense of dread that seemed to encourage the black sludge to creep higher. It was a need for his efforts, however ineffective they were becoming, to be acknowledged in the vain hope that doing so would relieve his frustration.
The blade swung again and again with renewed fervour, and its ringing and whipping emulated that of a lasso snatching a rebellious stallion on a ranch. As the metal severed the final tie to life that inhabited your body, a chasm of grief, new and old, and utter dejection tore, from this time until the moment Shadow awoke in a cold sweat, all hope for a better world from his heart. The assailant dissipated with a buoyant cackle that descended in pitch as it merged with the silence.
* * *
Rainwater was blowing into the den and thumping the floorboards like tiny missiles, darkening the wood until it resembled the rich texture of chocolate.
As a bolt of lightning struck the outskirts of the forest and illuminated the property in fleeting light, the lean silhouette of a hedgehog materialized in front of the open window. The grass beneath his feet, which were clad in thick sneakers that hovered slightly above the ground, was charred and crumpled like ash. The rest of the earth had succumbed to the deluge and washed away in torrents of mud and sodden foliage, threatening to collapse under the slightest weight and consume anything that travelled across it.
Crisp leaves were severed from branches and flung through the air with haphazard aggression. A few smacked the sides of his head and embedded themselves in his fur, but Shadow grasped the windowsill and hiked his leg over it as if there were nothing else in the world that deserved his attention. Upon heaving himself into the house with an arduous grunt, the hedgehog landed on his knees and planted his hands on the floor to avoid bouncing his face off the wood.
Raindrops hugged his quills like a wet blanket, gliding the length of each spike and dangling from the tip before plopping to the floor. A small puddle had accumulated around his hands and feet, and with each laborious breath that the hedgehog took to regain his composure after subjecting himself to the violent whims of the downpour, the pool sank deeper into the floorboards. Soiling the bottom of walls and nearby furniture were the crevices in the wood, which were drowning in rainwater and transporting the liquid to further areas of the room.
The once pristine fabric of his white gloves had been stained with grey blots and clung to his hands as if they were sponges. Despite the cold dampness that was attacking his fur, Shadow raised his head and surveyed the inside of the house with unfettered determination. He looked like a track star preparing to sprint at the start of a competition, but the dour concentration that guided his red eyes as they swept across the expanse of the room mimicked the resolve of a hunter.
A part of you that viewed him as a friend thought he deserved a greeting, but a primal instinct, one that seized control with overwhelming force, caught your voice before it could utter more than a noiseless gasp. Torn between cordiality and a newfound sense of danger, your mouth wobbled as if pronouncing a silent message. The wood finish of the handrail was cool and smooth like ice as you retreated up the stairs.
The string that summoned the entrance to the attic was thin and black, and a passing worry about it snapping entered your mind when you yanked it downwards. A series of pops reverberated through the corridor as the ladder's joints flexed. The sound was like a punch in the gut and eliminated all care for discretion. You mounted the still unfolding rungs as if the floor were plunging into an abyss beneath your feet, clambering into the attic with the desperation of a wild animal attempting to pull itself from a body of water.
As if the creaks were not enough, the ladder slammed shut into the ceiling with a thud. An explosion of brilliant light flooded the living room, approaching the top of the staircase with preternatural urgency and swinging back and forth as if attached to a pair of legs. Various doors groaned as they were manhandled before a swirl of dust was drawn into your heaving lungs and elicited a cough.
His ear twitched at the sound, and a cold fury overtook his senses that brought the hunt to an ominous lull. Hatred, a flaming and vindictive eruption of malice, clenched his teeth with such passion that his head began to quiver. While the first major loss in his life had been an inevitable tragedy executed by a faceless organization, this successor was a mindless evil that, to him, found its motivation in pure whim and opportunism.
The deaths of Robotnik and Maria were outside his control, but as the alleged culprit of your demise hid in the attic like a trapped rat, Shadow squeezed the emerald that was pressed against the palm of his hand. A pulsating light filled the stone before it glittered like golden fire. The hedgehog whirled around with a torrid growl, eyeing the door on the ceiling. "Chaos spear!"
As a lustrous spike rocketed through the floor between your legs, the harsh sound of wood splintering accompanied the loss of warmth that spread from your toes to your neck in a frigid wave. Your throat, which carried the beginning of a scream, tightened in a moment of anxiety. No cries of pain reverberated through the walls, and the air possessed a stale absence of the metallic odour of blood. This failure to obtain the anticipated result excited Shadow's hunger for lethal justice into raising the emerald beside his head.
"Chaos Control!" were the final words to reach your ears before a bold light enveloped the attic. His usually methodical tactics were rushed and aggressive, for the glow supplied by the emerald was turning a duller shade with each step. He paced the length of the room in a quiet rage, searching for someone who escaped his thoughts. It was plunged into darkness once more when the hedgehog turned at the creak of a plank beneath you.
Insurmountable pressure dwelled in the ball of fear exploding within your stomach, and the silence, unbroken by footsteps, seemed to beg for another projectile to succeed where the original had missed. Such deathly agony never came. The stone was resurrected with a dim life, illuminating the face of Shadow hovering directly in front of yours. A gush of surprise and relief broke the steely mask that his countenance so often wore, and for a fleeting second of innocence, the hedgehog looked as if he had been reunited with a dear friend after a period of terrible distance.
His enjoyment of the moment was short-lived. Remembering the omen behind his arrival, Shadow grasped your hand and pulled you to your feet. "We need to leave." A slew of protests echoed in the attic as you scrambled to reach the entrance, but your tugs against his hold evoked only a grunt of frustration.
"We don't have time to play games." Before your outcry could reach its pinnacle, a yell from Shadow overlapped with a burst of light from the emerald.
Rouge the Bat - "Somnolence"
Sleep was hesitant to claim you, plunging you into a fitful state of exhaustion and tension. The major irritant was a whoosh that would return to your window at the start of every minute like a travelling breeze. Frustrated thoughts about the imagined bird and silent curses towards it prompted your teeth to clench and your eyes to squint, but the hope that the animal would cease its racket without your encouragement kept you in bed.
It was not until the dreadful sound of the window opening brushed your ears that you had enough of an incentive to sit upright and confront the offender. The silhouette of a large bat, almost as big as the window itself, was perched on the frame. White fur and aquamarine eyeshadow glowed in the luminescence of the full moon, and a feminine voice spoke from the darkness, "Don't get up on my account, hun."
Rouge had pressed her back against the side of the window, drawing one leg towards her chest and kicking the other with the same lackadaisical confidence that weaved her tone. The pair of wings that curled around her shoulders as a scarf in old magazines fluttered. Despite the blackness obscuring most details beyond an educated guess, the notion that she could hear the way your breathing lulled and your fingers squeezed the sheets cast a frigid numbness across your body.
"I hope you didn't think this dime-store dud would keep me out." The padlock you had attached to your front door after returning from work to find it battered and sagging, made weary by the taxes of the day, was dangling from her index finger. It swivelled on the middle of her limb and glinted under what little moonlight reached the centre of the room, its rusty texture comprising a grimy shade of brown that was not unlike dirt.
She raised the lock closer to her face and examined it with tepid amusement. "I cracked one of these just last week." A clank demolished the fragile stillness of the house as it was tossed in your direction, sliding across the floorboards and resting at the foot of your bed.
"You should know how-" she lowered her head, a slight downturn in her lips causing her voice to acquire a hint of menace "-unforgiving criminals can be." Among the condescending lightness, there emerged an element of bitterness that was reflected in the crinkling of her eyes. A verbal throwback to some past vice had been made, yet the only emotion courageous enough to serve your expression was a fear of the world outside your decrepit walls.
She resumed kicking her leg with a watchful irritation, the heel of her boot rapping the windowsill like the hand of a clock ticking after each second passed. To distract your mind from succumbing to panic, you counted the taps. This time, Rouge stopped after ten clicks. "You'll need to get somewhere safe." This notion of imminent danger, the implication that any malevolent person could wander into your house with ease, spurred an impulsive glance at the wheelchair sitting in the corner of the room.
It was facing the window and bathing in the livid glow pouring through the glass. Before you could attempt to grab the push handle, a flutter of wings drew your gaze to the startling sight of Rouge gliding to the edge of your bed. She hovered above you in a position that mirrored your once unconscious shape, and under far more benevolent circumstances, the gentle flapping would have eased your loud mind into a much-coveted state of peace.
"I can take you there," promised the bat. Despite never explaining the nature of 'there', she spoke with a pleasant assurance that made it seem all the more enticing than the forbidding home in which you found yourself.
Dust blanketed your walls as if it were an additional coat of paint, one that contrasted with the muted dye of the original and filled the spots where it had begun to chip. The furniture, as grimy as the space it inhabited if not wounded from neglect, reeked of mould and dead mice. It was a house you had intended to sell within a few months of renting it, yet as your reward for work grew slimmer and slimmer, it became an impossible feat to leave.
The thin walls did little to insulate your rest from the piercing sounds of gunfire, every unintelligible order yelled into the night appearing closer than the last. Muffling the daily calamity with a pillow was a temporary solution that would not protect you if your unlawful neighbours decided to host their business in your residence. Protection was something Rouge had offered many a time, for it was her occasional donation of stolen jewellery that had, thus far, safeguarded your life from the carelessness of your landlord.
"If I go," you pondered, the wind pushed by her wings brushing your face like a cold breath, "will that be the end?" The bat outstretched her arms and intertwined her hands with yours.
Touching the smooth texture of her white gloves was akin to hugging a silk gown, and with audible satisfaction, she declared, "I'll give you a new life. How's that sound?" The gesture seemed limited to emotional support, for she soon relinquished her grip and maneuvered behind you. Upon being lifted from the bed by your shoulders, the last part of you that wished to choose the familiar risk over that of the unknown dispersed.
Passing through the window was like jumping from a cliff and diving into a lake. Your survival was dubious, but as the echoes of the chaos that ravaged the streets quieted to forgettable hums, you were able to think without interruption and realized your grave mistake.