Vector's Memoirs; The Chaotix That was (Part Ten, Epilogue)
VECTOR'S MEMOIRS: THE CHAOTIX THAT WAS (EPILOGUE)
by Foxy Boy
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I never made it to the hospital that night. I'm sure they'd have let me go - at least temporarily - if I'd said anything about my condition, or the extent to which I'd been duped. My mouth never opened, except to tell them I'd gladly follow if I could answer at the scene. Nothing had changed about my hatred for Doones; it was alive and well, with every ounce of bitterness I could muster. But it wasn't N he'd expected only hours before, and with that charlatain covering for me, there was no question of where the guilt belonged... Or, who would suffer for it.
Getting Espio and Charmy to stay put was an uphill battle - the office comprised all of us, and they were rightfully curious - but with a solid few minutes of begging, I convinced them how important it was that I go alone. Though maybe not completely alone, after a night spanning the best of Earthly hell... And with Sergeant Redhead's suspicions, I didn't have to look far for the reassurance of an escort.
I've had alot of big surprises in my life; the seven days that N wasted dominate the worst. By then, he was coasting into an afterlife, seperate from every sentence or accountability in ironic mercy. He'd never see the damage from his lowest act, as I did the very second I stared past yellow crime-scene tape in my newly-tainted office.
It was hard to say where the floor ended and the body began. His skin was a crust, black crumbs drawing a humanshaped halo around melted features... I doubt any charred human ashes in the rubble of a doomed warehouse could be harder to recognize. While the Sergeant rambled on with facts, holding none of my attention, the first thought in my head was how white-hot N's flame had looked as it missed his speedier killer. This was no fucking grill lighter, or faulty wiring, but a man who wanted _some_one out of his way. And all the law really knew, was I had a deep-fried remnant of their respected friend, lying prone on the floor of my working space. Even through my presence at this stage of the discovery, accusations flew like poison darts. Proof of my innocence meant shit to me in these moments; I still felt there were two dead men in the room.
In effect, I'd swapped one foe for another: circumstance. There were no worries over the collateral from N's final fight, only because its witnesses stood somewhere in the thousands. Doones, on the other hand, roasted alone. I didn't see much reason in playing up my injuries... It wouldn't change my new title, of suspect number one. In fact, nothing changed that title at all, long after they led me away in cuffs.
With my reasons more or less out in the open, Sonic took it harder than I'd have guessed. He made sure to apologize, once my trial took a recess; I responded by asking what the hell he could've caused. I dug my own hole... No one threw me a shovel. Least of all, the idol I should've trusted from the beginning.
The two greatest friends I'll ever have - both bonafide heroes - sat with me for every appearance, in life-saving but undeserved support. They could skirt the subject all they wanted, and they did, forgetting my curse of observation. There was no hiding the buzz in their heads, about where they might go if I should lose the jury's sympathy, and my freedom. A very real concern, since I'd even been implicated at all... It proved no one with power had access to the facts. So much for my hopes of political pardon.
I soon got to know every uber-lawyer in the country - at least the ones that weren't busy with CEO's or half the NFL - as they grilled me for all I was worth. Every spin put over my answers brought new highs of fear, until I'd all but labeled myself a lost cause. Attorneys, and their work, have no use for the truth. It was nothing, if not dark and demeaning... But it also carried a bright side. Once Espio was brought up to testify, I learned more about N than I ever wanted to.
His family tree rooted in the Ming Dynasty, and northern China. A certain dragon - whose name escapes the history books - was born lacking the verve and bloodthirst of his kind, and after coming of age, decided human chicks weren't all that bad. What followed could only be the smoothest pickup lines ever known, as he met a village maiden and convinced her to see things his way. Some genes are stronger than others; their only daughter could easily have passed for pure dragon. But her fierce looks hid a human mind, which somehow broke through the overrides when she took a pure-blooded husband. Every later generation kept this unlikely hybrid... And, as their lineage never mixed with another human, they were free to learn all the savage codes of their contemporaries. So, what started as a harmless eddy in the gene pool, quickly changed to the bane of Far-Eastern society.
Normal dragons, of course, were no friends of man... But with the mind and outlook of those they terrorized, any mischief was all but unstoppable. Farmers, used to roars or flames preceding an attack, were now facing fork-tongued geniuses. An entire town could fall to a single clan member, who might sneak in under disguise, or send false messages to lure the strongest villagers into traps. The Asia of today might well have been a nation of dragons, if not for - of all things - industrialization.
With the early 20th century, came all the advancements of the Western world. Almost overnight, computers and the digital age settled over a growing region... And N's ancestors, capable of most anything human, found their land was a magnet for powerful new tools... And all the money that followed. They were the moths, and technology was the flame.
For the most part, this march to progress was led by Japan... So after ages on the mainland, their vast numbers made the trek to the Land of the Rising Sun. Naturally, they were bound to collide with a force so strong and disciplined as the ninja; And for every slit-eyed spawn taking refuge in their new haunt, there were five patriotic killing machines waiting among the hills. Hidden from everyone - including itself - Japan was now ground zero for a feudal, underground war.
Persistence, oddly enough, proved disastrous for the dragons. While they could've left at any time, and escaped the only threat to their dominance, nothing of the sort ever happened. For honour - or maybe just opportunity - their claws stayed firmly on foreign soil. By strength alone, they had no competition... But muscle isn't good for much, if a shuriken parts your scalp from well beyond arm's reach. The clan slowly dwindled, its numbers cut into fractions as they were slowly picked off. Three decades in tug-of-war combat, and they'd all but vanished... Save for two kaniving brothers, whose luck and finesse kept the sword at bay. A grab-bag of the strongest warriors tried their hand at finishing the job; among them, Espio's sensei, hard at work moulding his new pupil. While he failed - N's brother narrowly escaped a katana to the back - Espio quietly cruised under the radar, honing every skill for a grateful master.
On the night his training was to be complete, the burden of that brother's death was placed on his shoulders, as the only graduating "condition" left undone. Never one to disappoint, he went after his prey like a rabid wolf, and proved himself - leaving N truly one-of-a-kind. As they celebrated, and the sensei brought new use to the fresh carcass, my future client saw the writing on the wall - and what his own future might hold. Like anyone, he wanted better for himself than to end life as dry-clean only. So he broadened his horizons, and took off for a land where he'd never be recognized... Much less hunted.
The year was 1980; and before snap bracelets came into vogue, he was easily sitting on millions. The dream of every relative who died for the chance, and he lived to enjoy it. Apparently, nothing was off-limits as a means to that end... While the courts litigated, the cops investigated, all eyes on my trail through the warehouse. None of their evidence proved I'd been anything beyond present, but there were no sighs of relief. N found alot of use for speedboats; transport, resale value, and storage for more blow than an Ed Wood film. Very few detectives could brag they've been the right hand of a drug lord, confessed or otherwise.
I eventually dug up a copy of the headline where Espio first spotted him... In their own words, he'd found the prestige of "Local businessman and entrepreneur, who fell out of public attention following a political defeat". Right under my nose, for well over twenty years. I'm sure of two things: Espio appeared with me in every tabloid covering our great success, before any of this; and I was targeted. The rest, is self-strangling history.
No surprise, the court believed next to nothing of this mytho-centric origin... But he sweated confidence, and I tried my best to follow suit, so it was nowhere near the disaster it could've been.
Through it all, I must've done some thing right. They let me go - three months after the fact - for lack of evidence... And I waltzed out of that courtroom with the biggest, goofiest grin of my professional life. Of course, it touched off a firestorm in the almighty media; I learned every synonym for "payoff" and "conspiracy". But my first and only reaction was a genuine 'Fuck that'... I had my balls back, and could rejoin society knowing the darkest days of my career were behind me.
... Yeah, right.
Gossip is raw power; enough to bring down a kingdom, without a trace of sympathy. In legal terms, I was innocent, but it's harder to fool the public... And after months under a publicized magnifying glass, they knew. My reputation - already on its last leg - died a quick and painful death, and the floodgates of steady work welded themselves shut.
We lasted through half of another year, fed only by my confidence from sidestepping what I really deserved. Their level of support amazed me... Never so much as a grumble, or any form of ill will. I wish I could say it helped, and in some way it probably did, but candor is no check to pay the bills. Our office - now just a shell of the profit it once brought - became nothing more than a watering hole for three stiffs in denial. The backlog and all of its hope were gone... In its place, bleak discussions about sports, news, familiar faces crossing our path... Any thing but the goddamned plunge into failure. Attempts to break the bone-dry spell could only amount to a string of dead ends, as experience showed us. We were untouchable... Kidding ourselves, and no one was laughing.
Despair's only reprieve was my condo. At least, when the day's foot-dragging ran its course, I had shelter; an asylum, where I could disconnect for hours of empty solace. I'll always miss that, even more now than the day I let them in on the news.
No income, no payments, no chance. The bank did what it always does, and a high-flown letter told me I was flirting with the luxury of homelessness. It hit hard, but not hardest; another morning, and Charmy made his second - and final - absence.
"Mind slowing down? I wasn't born with Ferrari wheels fused to my ankles."
"Endurance, Vector. No one uses it to their full potential. And assuming I'm right, time is of the essence."
"Why? If he left us in the dark on purpose, goodbye would be far from tearful."
"The voice of blind emotion."
"Hardly. More like the voice of common sense."
Breathless, and speeding through Central Station like coke mules on the run from justice. I couldn't fault him for the rush... With things as they were, we both feared the worst. Not suicide, which needs a type and a trigger; Charmy'd always been a type of his own, far out of suicide's league. But endless doldrums might trigger anything... And could easily launch him out of town, once the fruitless routine caught up with his impatient side. Trains have a certain, anonymous quality, perfect for those who don't want to be seen. And why, in the seventh circle of Dante's oven, would he ever want to be seen.
The clock had inched its way to ten; morning rush was just a memory, and we had only the usual, five-minute grace period until conductors quit hoping for capacity. Picture how the crowd might've looked, with us winding past train door after train door from inside, and you'll have a god idea of how close I was to a heart attack.
Checking every car took all the time we could've spared. With me on one train, and Espio on another, I'd expected to pinpoint him in no time; reality wasn't so generous. Finally, at the strike of 10:05, my eyes caught his antennae poking over a seatback. Somewhere in his mind, he must've been expecting me... All it took was for my face to appear beside him, and he hopped out of his seat without a word. I followed him onto the platform, where Espio could find us, wishing for a long, regret-filled explanation. I say "wishing" because I knew better; and of course, all he gave was an over-acted sigh.
My ass didn't suffer the shame of running after him for nothing. "You'll have to do better than that," I muttered, slowly crossing my arms.
In his face, I saw three seperate shades of how the answer would come: guilty, humble, and totally insincere. "It was only so I could see Tails. I never told Sonic we were sorry, and it's too hard to find him."
The puny brain's loudest thought, was hoping he could feel the daggers in my eyes. "Great excuse. It might've worked, if your pangs of honour didn't fall on company time."
Another sigh, but this one was no act. Busted.
Next, would come the blubbering apology; some things are a sure bet.
"I'm sorry, Vector," he wailed, mist covering his doe-eyes. "I just couldn't take it anymore."
While I never believed his phony alibi, it wasn't due to knowing the real counterpart. Confusion overtook me like I was on a mo-ped. "Take what!?"
It dawned on me no later than the end of the sentence. His lips parted, but I threw up my hand to deflect the answer. "...You're giving up, aren't you?"
A blank wall of silence. Moments later, breached, by a grim nod. "Please don't be mad at me. I like you, Vector, and Espio too, but... What's the use?"
What's the use, indeed. Why terrorize the poor squirt for rational thinking? We were all in the same, sinking boat... Only he had the good sense to abandon ship before drowning. Soon, the crowd split, spitting Espio out and into our presence. Rather than carry on about something he missed, I decided it was best to let him catch up.
His gaze centered on Charmy so fast, I almost felt ignored. "Pardon me boy, were you on the Chattanooga choo-choo?" he asked, releasing a rare smirk.
Charmy was in no mood to laugh - or, to recount the story; it was clear that duty would have to fall on me. "I wouldn't break his balls, Espio. He was minutes away from what all of us should've done months ago."
It would be a lie to say I thought he wouldn't understand; why waste doubt. His face, losing the sly edge of a joke, now beamed with empathy. You could almost hear a burden hit the floor, falling from his shoulders. "You had my loyalty every step of the way, Vector. That's why it's so painful to know I can't disagree."
No response could mask how that affected me. The burden wasn't gone; it only transferred. "You should be feeling vindicated, not hurt. You were the voice of reason, time and time again, and I'll be damned if I listened even once." My wonder at why he felt pain, of all things, was real - but the reason didn't trail far behind. It's too easy, forgetting how other fates depend on your own. Three victims, for the price of one.
"Well," he began, his expression no brighter. "It would seem N's death was a hollow prize after all. He crafted quite a malefic revenge."
I shook my head intensely, setting the tone for my answer. "He'll get no credit from me. I don't imagine the devil plans to give him any, either."
Thoughtful silence fell over us, as a shaky hand fondled my pocket in search of nicotene therapy... Yes, I almost lied. Charmy's head swung solemnly upward to watch me light it; something he'd seen millions of times, but his therapy was distraction. A few further moments of awkawardness, and he seemed ready to speak.
"I'm - so sorry, you guys, but..."
No conclusion. I show him an impatient scowl, that he didn't see; his eyes were all over the place, like any squirt fighting back tears.
My heart, in the meantime, was too heavy in its own load to function. "Spit it out, before we all petrify."
It sounded worlds colder than the intent. He had his share of pushable buttons, and my tongue had struck the one labeled "resume". A deep breath, and he was back in his protective distance. "... But, there's nothing that'll change my mind. They're holding the train for me."
I froze, and the cigarette fell from my lips. "You mean-"
"-This is goodbye." He sniffled. "I... Hope you have fun with the business, now that you won't have me in your way."
From another mouth, I would've taken it as bitter and taunting sarcasm. No point of his situation would suggest he wasn't dead serious, a fact only proved by his countenance. I could've said a million things, on a better day; as it stood, very few were in the neighborhood of suitable. Watching Espio weather the murky depths along with me, I heaved an invisible sigh, and stopped on the only one I supported. " What business?"
It was enough to coax a smile, but couldn't last with no contentment to fuel it. Mirth faded, while he gave a wanton glance behind him at at his ticket out of there... And the rows of unhappy riders, whose day waited on one last passenger. The decision was silent common among all of us; they would have to come first. Why not, since dragging it out any further would be nuking a dead horse. He turned to his cronies one last time; the vibes were almost too much to bear. "Take care, you two. Don't be, uh, strangers."
I threw up a solid arm, with four fingers out; my Dad's wave. "Happy trails, stubby. If you do find your way to Tails, don't bend over too close to him."
The rafters echoed our first genuine laugh underneath. With this smile slower in passing, Espio bowed to the very ground, which I took as an immense show of respect. Charmy did his best to reproduce it, before stepping back onto the train's landing. Two more steps, and he was inside, a quiver on his lip as the door hissed shut.
In most ways, it was a moment I can accept for our last.
Of course, even suitable goodbyes aren't without their trauma. My face was a wall of stone; a mask for my emotions, made to last until his ride crossed out of visible space. Watching him slowly roll away strained it to the breaking point, but courage held. It had to, unless I'd felt we needed any more embarassment. All too soon, he was swallowed up by the tracks beyond, leaving me to cut a sideward glance at my other true friend.
I couldn't guage one single reaction from any part of his appearance; more proof he led a life that I'd never follow. I gave him his space, knowing he'd talk if he wanted to... This was no time to force a discussion. Patience well-placed; soon, he made eye contact, and answers spilled forth.
"He has a grand future awaiting him. Of that, there can be no doubt."
It reeked of certainty, and him of hope-filled closure. I nodded, while a grim chuckle slipped out. " One thing's for sure; he deserved a better present." Thoughts of the follow-up quickly took what was left of my brighter countenance. "And that goes for someone else, too."
I saw his head dart away from me, to nothing in particular. At first, I wondered if his pride felt an accidental blow, through some side effect of ever-present dignity. Thankfully, I was light years off the mark. "I should go. Extending my presence here would only beg more attention, of the worst kind."
"Uh- huh ," I replied, with a passive narrow of my eyes. "So you're the problem, and not us, right?
His one-sided smile told everything; dirty looks were the least of his concerns. Something about the day - or his turn toward the humble - had me feeling generous, so I granted a reprieve, and played along. "Well, problem , I guess there ain't room on this platform for the two of us."
"Heh, I suppose so." The floor took possesion of his focus, a shy sign that he understood. "You'll never leave my conscious, Vector. Working with you was the opportunity of a lifetime."
"Tch, for me more than you. Thanks, for saving the life of a dumb shit." I made sure my sarcasm came barreling across, so he couldn't miss how grateful I really felt. "Well, am I to think you plan on staying in the business? 'Cause if Charmy does go and fall into success, I'd want you to hunt him down, so I can dispense a good beating."
"Thanks," he smiled, "But no. I've considered reaching out; expanding my resume." He looked past me, with clear interest. "Some roads are definitely tempting." "No argument here. I'd wish you luck, but someone of your stock never needs it."
The smile grew for an instant. then faded into nothing. I detected a shallow crouch, just before he leaped across the tracks in pure Espio style. We faced each other, like best buddies staring from worlds apart... Then, came his version of a final goodbye. "Does that mean you wish me nothing?"
It hadn't crossed my mind. I thought for a moment. " ... Maybe honour."
Nothing was expected, above ackowledgement. In his usual way, he did me one better, as every corner of his gaze filled with respect; the kind you could never miss, nor mistake. But we were still in the heart of a bustling depot... And within seconds, another metal giant pulled in, by the same track bearing Charmy away. It loaded with impossible speed, and rolled on its merry way, to leave me gaping at an empty space on the other side.
Curiosity had bid its time to strike me; retracing his earlier, short glance, I was treated to a good-sized ad, papered over the grandaddy of public signs. The script read small and unimportant... The picture, a hulking promo of the latest Mario game, complete with the dynamic duo plungers-in-hand.
He never ceases to amaze me.
I didn't stick around. With eyes growing in the crowd around me, a quick and subtle exit was long overdue.
Team Chaotix was dead in the water, past all hopes or miracles. Stripped of my two greatest lifelines, it ended parallel with the way I'd become: aged, worthless, and perfectly repellent. Bills continued to stack, business continued to founder, and wonder of wonders - my morale never paused between new lows. Except now , reality and its arrows had no other target.
Maybe, the logic behind my view of Sonic is starting to wax a little clearer. But if not, I've told enough to feel comfortable spelling it out.
Nothing was ever his fault. No chunk in the history of the world, or of his rare setbacks, or my own undoing. Simply put, he's a better person, and his life glaringly reflects that. Most laboring joes dream of my past, brewing coffee in a 35th-floor kitchen while their keys warm an eight-cylinder engine. His life experience? Taking the globe like a line of stepping stones, every leap wilder than the last, no slave to money or deadlines. Evil can't catch him, failure won't touch him, and the world can't quit him. At the peak of my career, it took a seasoned con to show me why he stands today, after years of planned opposition. He's more than just a cut above the rest; he's a living legend, destined for statues and monuments and bedtime stories in dimmed cottages. No one to be fucked with, in any case; a fact I'd always known. Then, I forgot... Only a week, at the promise of easy money, but it happened. I used to look on all the gambles I'd naturally shirk with pride; never played the slots, or put my faith and paycheck on a numbered horse. Sonic put them all to shame... The biggest gamble I could take, and I lost.
So I had to watch every comfort vanish, knowing he was not only right, but unscathed.
I think of him alot, maybe more than he's even worth, reclined against the cold brick of the market district. Where he might be; what growing heights his adrenaline must be reaching, in the latest act of a never-ending journey. I have no use for what he thinks of me; I'd sooner French-kiss him than hinge on his opinion. But to get inside that mind... To see through the eyes of raw renown, knowing all the personal demons he never shows nor confesses. They have to exist; not just out of logic, but for my only reassurance to live on. Otherwise, it would mean perfection has no price.
And Rouge - dazzling, deviant queen of grand larceny - never leaves my mind. Not that I miss her, save for choice features; it's more she won't let her charms be forgotten. Midnight sharp, every frigid night, her shadow crosses the sky above me, and doubt comes flooding back. How much of her interest could've been real, before the underlying truth choked it out. She'll never own me, the way she owns the rest of her world... Let the rich, corporate targets deal with her sick games. But the nightly route of choice was never about seduction; instead, it's about remembering. I must've been fun... At least as a guinea pig, if nothing else. Godspeed, top-heavy jezebel. May you thieve in fucking peace.
The rest, stay somewhere lower in my mind. Knuckles, and his gruff brooding that defines us both, holds the trace of respect I'm still capable to give. Our standoff at the warehouse only strengthened that, in proving he had the balls not to lie by restraint. Tails, on the flipside, is everything short of a marked man. True, he saved my life, and that's exactly why I'd harbour such a grudge; by his hand, this nightmare continues, while he traces the steps of a lifelong fixation. Maybe, tucked away in the folds of his cute little mind, there's a spark of something greater than his age. I've yet to see it, and I'm not holding my breath.
Still, the worry they command is nothing, versus what my real comrades create. It's no comfort, knowing where Espio likely settled, and God help the poor dumb bastard who tries to follow Charmy. I'm sure they think of me in the same way, though I would hope I'm wrong. Snow disagrees with me, but I've grown to like the unmericful hand of weather. And even lacking any permanent buffer, no force can snuff inginuity. Shop awnings, gracious families, the Seventh Street Bridge... There's always some thing.
To both of them, I'd wish only the life I wanted all too badly; and, for the guilt they might struggle through to find different victims. They have the heads to make it work, and unlike me, the hearts to deserve it. To Sonic's ever-growing Rat Pack - Rouge included - I'd give a world of caution, against questioning any part of their fearless leader. And to the eighth wonder himself, in words I hope to use before the glory days end: Enjoy your acclaim, and the freedom it gives you. Drink in every speck and sliver of gratitude... Because one day, given your enemies and their track record, the constant quest for good will lead you right back to Central City, and the middle of your very identity.
I'll be waiting in the shadows.
"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor... And everyday, the paperboy brings more..." - Roger Daltry, Dark Side Of The Moon