Chapter Text
Most of the bounty hunting operations in the western US are run out of the basement of a gentlemen’s club fifty miles from Green Hills. Rockwell knows this because she was part of the operation that “politely convinced” them to relocate. It was a contingency plan, if any interested parties ever got too close to Sonic and his pals. The bunch didn’t know it, but they were the best kept worst kept secret in the global intelligence community. Of course, G.U.N. can’t always order a sanctioned hit when someone gets the urge to dissect an alien. But they could always write a check.
Shadow was different. He was considered a government asset. And he was a known threat. If he was going to get protected status, it would take some more polite convincing.
They continue down the highway. Rockwell feels the weight of her weapons against her skin. “This place is strictly ‘no guns,’ they don’t shit where they eat. That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. If I tell you to run, you run.” She notices Shadow didn’t actually put his seatbelt on. Maybe he didn’t know how, or maybe he doesn’t feel like being told what to do anymore.
“Why do you care what happens to me?” He asks like he’s been thinking it all this time, but didn’t work up the nerve until now.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I owe you.”
“You really don’t.” Rockwell takes her hand off the steering wheel to drive the straightaway with her knee. “I took you because I was pissed off. Because a handshake between a couple old men held a gun to the entire fucking world and they found a way to blame it on me.” She pops a Motrin from the packet in her vest. “You should know, Stone has a perfect operations record. And up until last week, so did I. Means we‘ve done a lot of bad shit, and not always for good reasons. You don’t owe us anything, trust me.”
Shadow keeps staring at her. She takes up the steering wheel again. “To answer your question: you’re innocent. And against my better judgment I’m starting to like you."
The engine rumbles. Shadow ingests her confession. Rockwell finds herself thinking of her little brother, back years ago when he was a moody kid with highlights and Claire’s piercings from the mall she’d drive him too. They haven’t talked for a while, he never liked her choice of career. She thinks it’s safer, the less they know about each other. You’re only as strong as your weakest pressure point.
“Sorry to break your record,” Shadow says finally.
Rockwell can’t help but chuckle at that. “Someone had to.”
.-
Shadow has no idea what a gentlemen’s club is. The music is loud, tones of blues and reds bounce over the walls, somehow there’s too many lights yet he can’t see much of anything through the haze. He can feel the rhythm from the speakers thrumming in his chest.
“Maybe cover your eyes,” Rockwell has to half-shout to be heard.
“Why?” He shouts back.
She groans instead of trying to explain. “Stay close.” She starts to move through the floor, weaving between platforms where it looks like people are doing some kind of gymnastics. He follows. No one notices him, low to the ground as he is, and apparently there’s more interesting things to look at.
A woman wearing not much breezes in front of Rockwell. “Hey baby, long time. You here to work, or to play?”
“Work,” Rockwell tells her, almost regretfully. “It’s good to see you, Iris.”
“You should stop by later,” Iris hooks a finger into one of the pockets of Rockwell’s vest before pulling away to move toward the front. They push deeper into the back.
“Is she a bounty hunter?” Shadow asks.
“Uh, yeah. Part-time.” There’s a door labeled Employees Only. Rockwell pushes through into a steep, narrow stairwell. The muffled music feeds through the walls. The stairs go deep and turn sharply into the basement. Shadow feels his chest tighten. This is the only exit. He can hear voices floating up from below, sounds of radio static and typewriters. Rockwell pats at a few places on her vest and lets out a deep breath. "Alright, let's go."
As they descend, another woman ascends towards them holding a thin envelope packet, the kind of thing the Professor would have passed to him in the halls, reports and readings, always promising, he’d say. Shadow never asked what it was he was looking for. She stops, not letting them pass. She looks at the envelope, then at Rockwell, then at Shadow.
“Holy shit.” The bounty hunter drops the envelope, but Rockwell is faster. She punches her squarely in the nose and sends her tumbling down the stairs with a series of thuds. The envelope contents go flying, spilling out a grainy photo of Shadow sitting in the weeds at that rest stop, Rockwell standing by him.
Rockwell takes out her first knife and leaps down the stairs to where the woman landed, the two of them grapple, she shoves her out of the stairwell and they disappear into the basement.
Shadow blips after them.
.-
The basement is a dog pit of about a dozen analysts, the light in the windowless place only from the screens and other whirring machines (CPUs, Stone had called them) on desks. It’s like a darkroom where they used to develop films. They weren’t all that concerned about the knife fight taking place in the middle of the floor, but when Shadow appears, there are gasps and yells. A few of them even leap out of their chairs.
Rockwell gets the upper hand on the bounty hunter, pinning her to the ground and pressing her knife to her throat hard enough to kick the skin.
“Okay! Okay! I yield!” The hunter yells and throws out her hands. “This shit ain’t worth dying for. He’s in the back.”
“Good answer.” Rockwell rolls off her and let’s the hunter run out. She turns to the analysts. “Anyone else?”
They’re wary of her, but they’re more scared of Shadow, he can tell. The first analyst reaches under their desk and extracts a knife. A few more do the same.
“Oh, fuck this.” One of the younger analysts runs for the stairs, but the rest stay, ready to defend their territory. Shadow blips to the first guy and knocks him in the head hard enough to send him smashing into his own machine. Rockwell pulls her second knife, but she doesn’t need to. With Shadow at full capacity, the fight is over in seconds. He blips back next to her, arms crossed.
“…Thanks.”
He nods. “What’s next?”
The final door at the far end of the basement eases open, spilling harsh incandescent glow into the darkroom. It looks like an office. A man in a polo shirt and khakis (“casual Friday”, as the scientists would call it) sits behind a desk, with a neat stack of more of those envelopes at his right hand. He must be the one giving the orders. A crew of four others hover around him.
“Director.” He beckons them to come closer.
Rockwell goes rigid. “Shadow…remember when I told you to run?”
“No.”
Shadow blips into the office. And the world goes black.
.-
Rockwell can’t do anything but watch when an arc of electricity from the doorway catches Shadow mid teleport, knocking him back into this dimension. His body hits a pressure trigger on the floor and a cage springs up around him, enveloping him in a tiny prison of mesh and wire. Smoke curls up from his form and his whole body shakes.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck --
She runs right up to the doorway, and the electricity fries the knives right out of her hands. She drops them harshly and pulls back, her hair starts to stand up. He can’t teleport through an electric field, you idiot. You read that in the file, that’s why they kept him in the containment tube because the fluid held an electrostatic charge like a capacitor. Shadow in a cage fills her with an anger she didn’t know she had. You idiot. It was never a trap for you. Her heart thrums against the concealed arrow in her vest. Titanium’s a poor conductor.
The guy in the polo shirt runs the show, but the two of them were never on a first name basis. “Now we can talk like adults.” He motions to one of his entourage, and the electric field on the doorway powers off. The mesh on the cage is still live, sparks run up and down the wires. Shadow curls in on himself. The lights flicker, and in the club above there’s groans and exclamations, but the current holds. G.U.N. must have given them some insider tips, but the set-up is still unbelievably dangerous, for humans and hedgehog alike. That’s how they do things out here.
Rockwell takes a cautious step forward, isn’t barbecued on the spot. They let her approach the desk. No one pats her down, they assume she’s not armed anymore.
Polo shirt keeps talking. “You put a lot of my people in the hospital this week. What happened to professionalism?”
“A professional would’ve put them in the ground.” She stands over the desk and nods to the stack of envelopes, forces herself not to look back at Shadow. “How many files did you give out?”
“Enough to get you here. They just want the asset. The only reason you’re on the hook for this is because you brought him to your family home in a truck registered to your parent’s insurance. You should’ve just left it alone. I’m giving you a chance, now. They’ll even let Robotnik’s agent walk.” If you give up Shadow. He pulls a file, presumably Stone’s, off the stack and places his hand over it.
All the choices she’s made led her here, a series of unfortunate events and inconvenient necessities. But she knew what she was doing, knew that picking up Shadow would inevitably tie their fates together, for better or worse. She slips her hand up and pulls down the zip on her vest.
“I’m not the one on the hook.”
She tears out her arrow and plunges it through his hand. A great spurt of blood geysers over the file, he screams and tries to rip his hand away, but it’s affixed to the desk. She leaps over the surface and straddles him, pinning him to his chair. She hears the other four spring to action behind her and swiftly wrenches the arrow out of his hand and plunges it into Polo shirt’s throat before rolling off and holding him by the neck. Blood runs over her hands and shirt.
“ Bitch,” he gurgles through the titanium arrowhead.
“I take this out, he dies.” She stares down his four henchmen. “If you back off now, he might live.”
The henchmen draw their knives. Fair enough, if he dies one of them probably get his job.
“Have it your way.”
.-
It feels like his body is on fire. Shadow‘s field of view is crisscrossed by mesh and wires. His ears ring with the electricity around him, he tries to sit up but there’s not enough room in the cage to move. He kicks out his leg, and yelps when the current connects and arches through him.
No, no, no I can't go back —
Before he can process what’s happening, a body falls to the floor in front of him with a dead-eye stare, blood dripping from the corners of the mouth and a knife protruding from its chest. Shadow’s hearing starts to come back, he cranes his neck to see out of the cage but only catches scuffling feet, yells and grunts, crashing office furniture. He sees flopped out from behind the desk is the casual Friday man with a hole in his throat. There’s a snikt sound of metal piercing through bone and another body with a hilt protruding from its skull slides down the far wall into a heap.
Someone tries to run and trips over the bundle of cables that deliver the electricity to the contraption and falls to his hands and knees. He locks eyes with Shadow, above them there’s a horrible crack when a neck snaps against the desk and the final body drops. The man in front of him looks as terrified as Shadow feels.
The modified arrow zips down, thrown with precision, and takes a chunk out of this surviving henchmen’s ear. He gasps and clutches at it, stumbling to his feet. Shadow stares at the arrow on the floor, it’s covered in blood. Above him, he hears voices.
“No, wait, wait - I’m not like these guys, I just got promoted --”
“Turn it off.”
Boots hurriedly scramble and then the electricity around Shadow cuts out. A desperate exhale escapes him. The man nearly trips a second time in his haste to get out of the office, then he disappears.
Rockwell kneels down and peers into the cage. Shadow flinches, he can’t help it. She’s covered in blood, a half wild look in her eyes, but she softens immediately when she meets Shadow’s gaze.
“You okay?” She moves to undo the mesh panels. As soon as there’s enough of a gap Shadow hauls himself out into the open and collapses onto the carpet. He picks himself up. Rockwell moves away, unsure, guilt etched on her face. “Shadow, I’m so sorry --”
A wave of relief washes over him and he barrels straight into her arms, nearly knocking her over. She places a hesitant hand on his head, whispers hoarsely, “Next time, you run, okay?”
Shadow can’t promise that. “Your plans suck,” he mutters. He pulls away and tugs on her sleeve. He’s ready to go home. Rockwell obliges.
She leaves her weapons behind.
.-
Shadow won’t admit it, but Rockwell can tell he’s too weak to teleport. That’s fine, they race up the stairs and back into the club, which still continues business as usual, the dancers and the patrons oblivious to what’s just happened. Except Iris, who spots them trying to exit and eases herself off the lap of a now indignant customer to approach Rockwell.
“Hey sweetheart, did you win?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling a knife from her garter. Rockwell is able to catch the blow and direct it away from her heart. The blade ends up in her stomach.
“ Fuck, Iris --” Her breath catches. That might’ve hit something important. They commissioned her favorite bounty hunting stripper to take her out, that’s just great. What happened to ‘we don’t shit where we eat?’ Her legs falter and her ass hits the hardwood floor, she tries not to think about the nondescript stickiness coating it. Shadow is at her side immediately, his fist sparks red.
The music shuts off. The bar goes silent, a few people scream. The disco lights keep spinning overhead, or maybe Rockwell’s just seeing stars.
“Stay back,” Shadow warns. Everyone is staring at them.
In the distance, a familiar engine revs. A motorcycle bursts through the doors, blowing them right off their hinges. The crowd parts like the Red Sea to make room for the sliding stop and brake, wheels smoking with friction. Show-off. She knows it’s Stone under the helmet and the leathers. No one else could ride with that much presentation. He flips up the visor. “Need a lift?”
She grimaces. “You had that outfit the whole time?”
Instead of answering, Stone addresses the crowd. “Show’s over, folks. Shadow, let’s go.” Between Stone and Shadow, they manage to get Rockwell on the back of the motorcycle. She peers hazily into the crowd. Iris winks to her. Rockwell blows her a weak kiss with a bloody hand. Nothing personal. Shadow gives the gentlemen’s club one last death glare and rockets out in front of them.
“Hang on,” Stone whispers to her. He peels the motorcycle out the way he came in, leaving skid marks on the floor.
It’s the last thing Rockwell remembers.
.-
Stone understood the logic of the plan; he was the final ace in the deck, as long as one of them was still out there, G.U.N. had something to be afraid of. But when he realized Shadow had snuck out, he couldn’t stay behind. They were a team, come hell or high water. He took the motorbike from the impound lot, got the location from a very surprised Wade on the night shift (the deputy even offered to go with him, said he’d mastered motorcycle side car basics, but Stone refused. Too dangerous). He got there just in time.
Shadow helps him get Rockwell into the backseat of the car, Stone ditches the bike, pulls the keys off her and they’re off.
“Is she going to be okay?” Shadow asks.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine.” Stone doesn’t know how yet, but he’ll make it so.
.-
She wakes up a few times, finds enough strength to mouth off before fading again.
“Didn’t know you were a medic,”
“ I picked up a few things.”
Stone patches her up well enough, they don’t go to a hospital. Maddie sends Sonic over with extra medical supplies, he doesn’t ask even though he clearly wants to. Tails is able to provide a full 3D scan of her internal organs, which is helpful if weird. Shadow doesn’t leave her side.
“ You should’ve let me go alone,” she mutters to Shadow.
“ You could’ve died.”
“ It would’ve gotten the point across.”
.-
A week after the gentlemen’s club, the Mean Bean gets a visitor. They’d been leaving the door unlocked to let Sonic and Co. come and go. A few people have even walked in asking for coffee, and Stone will oblige if they pay in cash. Call it a soft opening. This new visitor is not here for coffee.
Shadow stands on top of the counter. His rings glow. “Captain Walters.”
“Hello, Shadow. Agent Stone. Director Emeritus.” His arm is in a sling, but he looks mostly recovered. He tips his cap to Rockwell.
Rockwell walks up to him, there’s still a slight falter in her step from the knife wound. She slaps Walters across the face and knocks his sunglasses right off. They skitter underneath a table.
Whoa. Sure the jab about her losing her job was a little petty but that looked uncalled for.
“Just had to make sure,” she says, righting herself. Shadow seems to get the reference. Walters doesn’t. He rubs his jaw.
“Perhaps I deserved that,” he concedes.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Shadow clenched his fist in a warning.
“I wanted to tell you personally that we’re willing to forget the events of the past two weeks which never occurred, and grant Shadow protected status. In the interest of avoiding...further casualties”
“Is that all?” Stone asks, ever the realist.
“Contingent upon the expectation that, should we ever encounter a threat of sufficient magnitude, we can call upon Project Shadow for assistance.”
Stone and Rockwell turn to Shadow. It’s his choice. Stone watches him get into his vengeance stance. Shadow crosses his arms, narrows his eyes.
“I’ll do it,” Shadow says. “But not for you. For the world.”
Walters nods. “Excellent.” He rifles through the wallet and tries to hand Rockwell a business card, but she doesn’t take it. He clears his throat. “May I have some assistance in retrieving my glasses?”
“No,” all three of them say at the same time.
"Right then.” Commander Walters adjusts his cap. “As you were.” He backs out of the cafe, throwing one last look over his shoulder. “You take care, now.” The door jingles with his exit.
Once he’s gone, Rockwell clutches at her side. “I think I tore my stitches.” She eases herself into a chair.
“Yeah, you did hit him pretty hard.” Stone grabs the first aid kit. Just another day at the office. “Shadow, you alright?” It’s not every day you have to meet with the guy who put you in cryo sleep for half a century.
Shadow hops off the counter. “I don’t know. I feel different. …I think we won.” He looks at Stone, there’s something in his eyes that could almost be hope.
Stone nods, can’t help but smile. Kid finally learned to lighten up. “Hey, if we’re going to do world saving in the future, we should have a call sign. A team name.”
Rockwell and Shadow make the same face. “No we shouldn’t.”
“I’ll workshop it.”
“Please don’t.”
Shadow sits with them while they bicker, content to listen. For the first time in his life, he’s on his own terms. No orders, no experiments, no containment. It’s a big world out there. For the first time, he wants to be a part of it.
I miss you. There’s so much I wish I could tell you.
At those last moments on the eclipse canon, Shadow closed his eyes and felt light, felt warmth. This is different, this isn't a fiery ending. This time he chooses to live.
Shadow closes his eyes. Feels light, feels warmth.
I love you, Maria.
.-
.
.
.
Epilogue
“Shadow! We found it!” Sonic races up the stairs to Stone’s loft. There’s been some rearrangements made, Shadow has his own room now, sort of, Stone found his way to one of those weird wood panel separator things you see in old movies. He’s got his own lamp, a little shelf, like five half burned candles for some reason, and a cot pushed under the window. No beanbag chair or comic books, but they can work on that, Sonic thinks. Shadow is sitting on a blanket, reading…Bram Stoker’s Dracula? Not beating the Emo allegations, dude.
“Found what?” Shadow snaps the book closed and Sonic shows him the prize. It’s Tom’s old CD player, straight from the 1990s, complete with headphones with actual wires. Sonic bounces with excitement. This is his first time giving Shadow a gift. Shadow takes it, toys with the buttons until it pops open, stares at it.
“So? Which one did you want to listen to?” Sonic hops over to the short stack of CDs on the shelf.
“The top one.” Shadow pulls on the wires, trying to work it out. Sonic swipes the CD, red and black and white. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.
Sonic pops the disc in. “Here, let me help, human headphones don’t fit 100% for us.” Shadow lets him, he uses his patented method to get the headset on comfortably.
“Us?”
“Yeah, us.” Sonic flips the lid closed. “Well? Does it play?”
Shadow hits the play button. His eyes widen and he nods, yep, it works. Sonic catches him smile and it takes all of his self control to not race around the loft in a victory lap.
After a few minutes, Shadow takes the headset off, and puts it on Sonic with the same care. “I think you’ll like the next one,” he murmurs.
Sonic’s heart skips several beats. He listens to kickass guitar shredding and what sounds like people banging on pots and pans, and the lyrics kick in.
Oh baby, here comes the sound.