The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.
The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations are made and the exchange of monetary units is not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to esn1g@earthlink.net. Thank you.


"As I look back upon my life, I see that every part of it was a
preparation for the next. The most trivial of incidents fits into
the larger pattern like a mosaic in a preconceived design."
-Margaret Sanger


The Next Life Over - Part One
by Roland Lowery

- 3233 AD -

Nothing had disturbed the darkness within the Oracle's sanctuary for nearly a century, a situation that suited the sanctuary's current inhabitants just fine. They scuttled around in the dark corners and slithered amongst the cracks in the walls and dwelt silently in the eternal night of their world. These creatures had never seen the light, and so it was that when a blue, steady flame began to blaze in their midst, many of them had no idea what to do with themselves.
Nack The Weasel curled his lip up as he watched millions of cave crickets, blind snakes, and various other creatures of the underground scurry away from the light and heat of his windproof cigarette lighter. He was not a squeamish man, but the thought of all of those things crawling across his fur in the dark made him shiver slightly.
Roughly shaking off the feeling, he stepped further into the sanctuary. Moss covered the walls of the stone structure, and besides the skittering of various insects, the only sound to be heard was softly dripping water. Nack had to proceed carefully, listen to every sound, and watch every step . . . as bad as the creepy crawlies were, the thought of a poison dart sticking into his neck after the careless tripping of a booby trap was even worse.
Fortunately for him, Nack had little to worry about. The structure was comparatively small to many of the caves and ruins he'd had to search through before and there were likely to be few - if any - traps. It never hurt to be careful, however . . .
Nack eventually stepped into the main chamber of the sanctuary and looked around to see what he could see in the dim globe of light his lighter cast. He then conducted a very thourough search of the room and found it to be lacking in any unusual surprises, like current residents with nasty dispositions and very sharp claws. With that finished, he proceeded to take apart the specialized backpack he was wearing and used the equipment to set up floodlights all around the chamber. When the entire place was lit up, he pulled a commlink from his utility belt and opened the channel.
"Oi, Jumpy," he yelled roughly into it, "getcher ass in here."

"Jumpy" was Nack's latest employer, a nervous looking young badger who was supposedly the leader of the local Freedom Fighter group. How he had gotten into that position, Nack would never guess . . . the boy was more tightly wound than the tension coil in a vibroblade.
But . . . it wasn't Nack's place to question such things. He was there simply to do the work his employer had asked him to do and collect his payment from said employer, no matter what Nack thought of them personally. With his part of the job done, Nack leaned back on the wall next to the chamber's entrance and waited while Jumpy took his time looking around.
The chamber was about twenty feet square, with a small dias sitting in the middle of it. A few steps led up to the top platform of the dias, upon which sat the item that Jumpy had hired Nack to find . . . the Opal Oracle.
It wasn't much to look at. In fact, Nack himself thought that the vines growing on the stone walls were more interesting to look at than a silly lump of green stone sitting on top of a pedastal. But Jumpy hadn't wanted the Oracle for its aesthetic value. According to an old text that he and his Freedom Fighting buddies had unearthed a while back, the Opal Oracle had the ability show a person whatever they needed to see . . . past, present, or future.
At first - Jumpy had told Nack despite Nack's general disinterest - they had thought it was just an old legend of no great import. Sort of a fairy tale to tell little children or perhaps a bit of mythology handed down over the ages. However, the text they had found was only around a century old at the most and talked of many prominent figures of the relatively recent past who had gone to see the Oracle many times. Spiritualists, scientists . . . everyone went to see the Oracle at one point or another.
Then, apparently, the Oracle just stopped giving out answers. It announced that it would enter a hundred year's sleep and would only awake when its services were truly needed again. According to Jumpy's calculations, that hundred year's sleep had ended and the Oracle would now be awake, ready to help in the fight against Dr. Robotnik.
It certainly didn't look like it was ready to do anything at all, though. Just a stupid old rock on a stick, Nack thought as Jumpy made his way up the steps.
Then, the rock spoke . . .
"Jared Marsden Digger?"
Jumpy froze where he was and looked at the stone in shock. It had not lit up or levitated from its platform, but the voice that spoke from within it had enough force to stop him cold. It sounded as if the weight of a million years laid behind that voice; countless lifetimes and beyond resounded from within it and echoed across the chamber walls.
"Y-yes?" the badger stammered.
"Step onto the platform and touch the stone," the Oracle said. "The answers you seek are here."
Taking up all the courage he had in his dumpy little body, the Freedom Fighter trudged up the remaining two steps and laid his hand on the opal. There was still no flash of light, no indication at all that anything had happened or was going to. Jumpy stood still for a few moments, then let his hand fall back to his side. His shoulders slumped and his face fell nearly into his chest.
"That . . . that wasn't what I wanted to know," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"No," the Oracle intoned. "But it is what you needed to know."
Jumpy nodded mournfully and started to turn away from the Oracle. "I understand . . . " he said, then made his way down the stairs. Nack was still waiting at the entrance. "Here," the badger said as he handed the bounty hunter a small data crystal. "The maps to the supply depot are all there. The access code, too. Thank you for your help."
With that, Jumpy left, dragging his feet in a daze. Nack shook his head and turned to follow him out.
"Nack The Weasel?"
The bounty hunter paused when the Oracle said his name. He turned back and sneered. "What," he said, "you want to read my palm, too? Tell me there's love and happiness in my future like a good little fortune cookie? Thanks, Rocky, but I'll make my own path, neh?" He dismissed the Oracle with a wave and started walking down the corridor again.
"It's been almost ten years, Nack," the Oracle's voice followed him. "Don't you 'membuh me?"
The sudden shift in the voice caught Nack off guard, causing him to trip and almost fall flat on his face. He stopped walking and turned back to the Oracle . . . fear, confusion, and longing all momentarily fighting for control of his face.
"Don't you dare," he said. "Don't you fucking dare!" Pain and anger tore out of his throat as he turned back fully towards the chamber and stalked in, pointing a finger at the round stone. "You keep your Walkerdamned nose out of my business, or I'll bring this whole building down around you so fast, it'll make your builders spin in their graves! Do you get me?! DO YOU?!"
The stone stood passively accepting his threats, giving no indication if it was frightened or amused by them. It simply stood . . . waiting while Nack seethed, his breathing shallow and his teeth bared.
"Sweet Walkers," the bounty hunter finally cried out after an interminable moment of silence, "what the hell do you want from me?"
"I want nothing from you," the Oracle replied evenly. "I merely wish to present you with a gift."
"Why?" Nack asked, exasperated. "And what could you possibly give me that I can't get anywhere else?"
The Oracle seemed to be contemplating its answer for a few moments. "You are a facinating creature, Nack," it said after the pause. "I can feel your mind, and I know that you are amongst the rare few in life who have no regrets . . . none at all for your actions, what you have done to and for other people, or what you have had to do to get what you want. No regrets . . . except one."
Nack ground his teeth together. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to say it wasn't true. But he couldn't. "And what," he managed to say through his teeth, "would that be?"
"You already know," the Oracle replied simply. "Now, step onto the platform and touch the stone."
He hesitated at the command, but only for a moment. With a few quick leaps, he cleared the steps and was standing on the topmost platform.
"All right, Rocky," he said as he tugged his right glove off and touched the top of the green stone. "But I don't know what you could possily show me that has to do with-"


- 3215 AD -

Nack felt the tears running down his face as he slowly came back to consciousness. It was actually rather surprising that he could tell they were tears, since he was completely covered from head to toe with rainwater. Which wasn't surprising seeing as he'd spent the last two nights sleeping in an alleyway during a torrential downpour that never seemed to stop.
Even though he knew it was a futile gesture, he raised his hand to his face and fought to wipe the tears from his cheeks. They mingled in the rain that was still pouring down on him through the top of the plastiboard box he was currently calling home.
Home . . . just thinking about it twisted his guts and made anger pour over his nerves like a thousand swarming bees. He'd had a real home once . . . or a real house, at any rate. The only times it was truly a home was when his mother was there and his father wasn't, which wasn't often.
Nack snarled angrily at himself and threw aside the mental image of his father. As far as he was concerned, the man didn't exist anymore. In fact, Nack decided to further his mental discarding by daring to cast away one of his father's most prized possesions . . . his name.
Throughout all fifteen years of his life, Nack had been forced to listen over and over again how Grandfather Packleader had done this and Great-Great-Great Grandmother Packleader had done that and how every Packleader in the entire expanse of Mobian history had been the greatest and most powerful and influential being on the face of the planet and how Nack was not measuring up to the Packleader standard and how his father, the Great Head of the Packleader Family Itself, could not understand how a runt like Nack T. Packleader would ever amount to anything-
"nnnnnnnnnnnnnnYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!"
It felt as if his head was going to explode from all the pent up pain and frustration. His muscles were fueled with the hatred that could move mountains, destroy worlds, evaporate galaxies into nothingness. He stored up every bit of the power his hate could give him and used it to do what he would never have thought possible before.
He slammed his way out of his box and stood in the middle of the alleyway, screaming at the rain that fell all around him.
"I . . . am . . . Nack . . . The . . . WEASEL!!!" he yelled. "I hate the Packleaders! I wish they'd never existed! And I will outlive and outdo everything that they have made and done! I will destroy them! AAAAAAAARRRR!!!"
Fury still ran through his veins, causing him to jump up and down and punch at the air. He railed against everyone and everything that had done him wrong, real or imagined. He cried and screamed and cursed the fate that had put him here until his throat was hoarse and his body ached from the exertion. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, tears and snot leaking out and getting washed away by the rain.
For two days straight he had woken to this same routine, and it seemed that he would be following it for some number of days to come if things didn't change . . .
Even with the blood pumping through his ears and sounding like a raging waterfall, Nack couldn't miss the sound of several people running through the alleyway adjacent to his own. The steady pounding of feet through the inch of water covering the ground was unmistakeably that of people running away from something as quickly as possible.
Nack picked himself up on the ground and wiped his nose on his forearm. As miserable as he felt, his interest was still piqued. After a few second's wait, the group came into view as they passed the junction that connected his alleyway to the one they were running down.
Not a single one of them could've been over the age of twenty-five. Their clothing ranged from bright, flashy, and gaudy to plain, dirty, and well-worn. Every single one of them was as thin as a rail, looking as if they hadn't eaten in weeks. Some of them were toting handguns of various makes and models, and all of them were carrying weatherproofed mini-computers.
As they passed, one of them looked to the side, saw Nack, and flashed him a wicked grin. Then . . . they were gone. Their receding footfalls were all that was left to prove that they had even truly existed.
Pulled out of his myopic state, Nack leapt to his feet and ran after them. He had no real idea of what he was doing or why he was doing it. All he knew was that he had to find out who these people were. He turned the corner just in time to see the last of the strange group turn down another alley about a hundred feet away.
Nack pumped his legs harder and sprinted forward, now filled with an even greater purpose. Yesterday he had explored that very alley, and he knew that it was a dead end. If these people were running away from someone or something, they would be trapped down there . . . he didn't know who they were or what they had done that they would have to run away, but he couldn't let them just be captured or killed because they'd made a stupid mistake!
He angled around the corner and came to a slippery and abrupt stop. The short alleyway was completely deserted.
"What the-?!" Nack whirled around, searching every corner of the dead end to see if he'd missed something. The service door to the surrounding building didn't have an outside handle, and after pushing at it for a few seconds, he figured they couldn't have possibly gotten out that way. The walls had no fire escapes and were otherwise unscalable. They'd simply vanished.
While he was looking around a third time, an arm suddenly reached out from one of the walls and grabbed Nack around the neck, dragging him in. Everything went pitch black and several hands clamped around his mouth, stopping the yelp that had started to jump from his throat. His back was pressed hard up against a young woman's chest, his head held underneath her chin.
After a few intense seconds, a soft whine filled the air. Nack recognized it immediately as a Peacebot's hovercycle, slowly cruising down the alleyway that Nack had just recently occupied. After a few moments, the whine hit a higher pitch as the Peacebot picked up speed and moved on.
"Maze?!" he heard one of the other Mobians whisper angrily. "Near bloody skullcapped! Who 'quaked?"
"None's 'quake," someone else said. "Zero Kelvin, neh?"
What the hell are they talking about? Nack thought as he listened to the unfolding conversation. None of it seemed to make any more sense than the first of it, even though the people talking seemed to follow it all quite well. But while he still couldn't understand it, he gradually became aware that the conversation had turned towards him.
"SFB!" one of them said. "Peepin' the domes here! Skullcap 'im, Breva!"
This last comment was accompanied by a sharp jab to Nack's ribs. He squirmed in the girl's grasp, who simply clamped down tighter. Even though she was so thin that he thought he could easily break her in two with his fingers, her muscles had suddenly turned into steely bands that held him tighter than any weightlifter could have done.
"Quiet!" she said, tilting her head forward so that her warm breath poured over his ears. "No one's going to hurt you . . . right-right, dackers? None's skullcappin'!"
A chourus of agreements - some more enthusiastic than others - filled the dark space. Nack relaxed. If these people were planning on doing something horrible to him, they were at least postponing it for the moment. Slowly, the hands left his mouth and the girl released his body from her death grip.
"Who . . . are you people?" he asked as he turned to face them in the dark. Before anyone answered, bright light assaulted his eyes as two of the Mobians pulled open a trapdoor set in the ground.
With the darkness dispelled, Nack could now see that the girl who had been holding him was the one that had grinned at him as they had run past in the alleyway. A grey-furred ferret, she looked to be about three years older than Nack, and almost a full head taller.
"Hallo," she said as she held out her slender palm. "I'm Breva. We're the Hacker-Dackers."
Nack took her hand carefully and shook it. He expected to get his paw back, but Breva seemed to have other ideas. Still holding onto him, she pushed her way through the group and joined the several who had already jumped down through the hatchway. Nack clumsily landed on his feet, then looked around at his new surroundings with wonder.
The entire place was in complete disarray. Electronics equipment, computer parts, tools . . . every available surface from desks to tables to the tops of a row of coffee machines was covered with enough gadgetry to keep even the most rabid tech-geek busy for centuries. The building construction was much like that of a plascrete bunker, though it was hard to tell through all the diagrams, musical band posters, and computer printouts that covered the walls and much of the floors.
The Hacker-Dackers for the most part ignored Breva and her new little friend, all of them scurrying to their individual workstations to plug their micro-computers into the desktops or chattering constantly to each other in their strange lingo.
"Cozy, ain't it?" Breva asked. Nack could only nod as he gaped at everything with his wide eyes.
"This is MobiaNet," she replied to his unasked question. "The computers in this room are linked to every single computer matrix on the entire planet. We got the secrets that even the secret-keepers don't know about."
"Why?" Nack asked, finally able to control his voice well enough to talk.
"Freedom of information, kiddo. We dackers believe that everyone should get what info they need when they need it. Often, folks need the info, but don't know where to get it. So, we use the 'net to find these folks, and we send the info to 'em. Others, they can't get to the info they need 'cause there's all kinds of agencies and people and such that get in their way, either on accident or on purpose. We break the ice, we cut out the middle man, we get their info and we send it to 'em."
Feeling like an idiot, but not knowing what else to say, Nack repeated, "Why?" He then shook his head to clear it and added, "I mean, what's in it for you?"
Breva flashed her pointy-toothed grin at him. "We take our cut," she said. "Plenty of crooksters and data-thievies out there that steal from honest decent folks. We steal from them, take our cut, give the rest back to the community at large. And of course, there's the moral satisfaction of helping the world overall, kiddo."
Nack tried to find some trace of sarcasm in her last statement, but found none. He tried for a few moments to understand why anyone would do something just to help others, but decided it wasn't important at the moment. His immediate future amongst the living was, however.
"W-why are you telling me all this?" he stammered out.
The ferret leaned down and motioned for him to turn his ear to her. When he did so, she put her lips to his ear and said, "It don't matter if ya know, 'cause we're gonna eat ya! RAR!"
Nack squealed when he felt her little needlesharp teeth lightly nip his ear. He jumped away and covered the ear with his free hand and tried to pull the hand that Breva was still holding away from her. He stopped when he noticed that almost everyone in the basement was either laughing at him or staring at him oddly.
"That wasn't funny," he muttered as he stepped back over to Breva, who was fighting to stop giggling.
"Ah, it was," she said when she finally calmed down and everyone else had gone back to their business. "But, tell me . . . where are ya livin' right now? Hmm? That old box I saw ya sittin' by in the alley? Who's takin' care of ya? Hell, kiddo . . . where were ya plannin' on gettin' your next meal from, neh? Have ya got any friends to help ya out?"
The young boy was silent, staring steadfastly at his own boots. His silence was all the answer Breva needed.
"Well, then," she said. "I'll ask ya this one . . . do ya got any family?"
Nack winced. He somehow knew that question would come sooner or later, and he had been hoping it would be later, if ever. He wasn't sure how he was going to answer . . . he didn't want to lie to Breva, and images of his parents kept popping into his head. He could see the picture and holo albums of his ancestors and distant relatives. He could hear the voices of his cousins, aunts, and uncles.
And slowly, gradually . . . they faded away. Evaporated.
"Gone."
Breva leaned down closer to Nack. "What's that, kiddo?"
"I said I don't have any family." He looked up and stared straight into her eyes. "I used to," he said in a firm, even tone, "but they're gone now."
A soft, understanding smile spread across Breva's face. Nack thought for a second that she looked just like an angel . . .
"Well, then, kiddo," she said as she put a hand on his shoulder, "we're your family now."


- 3221 AD -

Nack The Weasel flew backwards through the holographic wall that masked the entrance to the Hacker-Dacker HQ and skidded across the ground in the alleyway outside. In seconds, he was back up on his feet and jumping for the real wall beside fake one. He unsheathed the small, retractable grappling claws hidden in his gloves and used them to climb up a few feet.
He waited several minutes, his ripcord muscles easily strong enough to keep him holding onto the wall for hours if need be. He didn't need to wait for hours, however, as his foe's patience was much shorter-lived than his own. A small ball of brown fur came bursting out from holo-wall, hit the ground, seemed to almost instantly transform into a highly-strung Mobian chihuahua, and started running for the opposite wall.
Nack calmly pulled out a small device from his belt and activated it as the chihuahua leapt up, rebounded off the wall, and jumped back with a dropkick aimed at the wall-crawling weasel. He didn't even make it halfway across the alley when Nack's device slung a shock-net from one end. The net, weighted by the batteries sewn into its lining, hit the attacker and wrapped around him, then sent a non-leathal electrical charge running through the metal fibers wound into its mesh.
Nack jumped down from the wall and stepped to the side as his attacker hit the wall, then the ground, in a heap. The weasel pulled the net off and began to stuff it in his longcoat pocket while nudging the unconscious figure with his titanium-toed boot.
"Shine, SFB," Nack said with a grin. Wake up, shit-for-brains.
"Skullcapped," the chihuahua replied in a whisper. I'm dead.
Nack laughed. "En, 'cept skullcappin' vrai time I fate ya!" he said, swinging a kick at his friend's side.
Meth curled into a ball and rolled to the side to avoid the blow, then stood up and clapped Nack on the shoulder. "«You'll be old and grey before you could ever get finished with me, kiddo!»" he said. "«Just because you've gone and joined the bounty hunter guild, you think you're hot stuff, don'tcha?»"
"«Hell, Meth,»" Nack said as he put his arm around the chihuahua's shoulder, "«you know damn well that I've always been hot stuff. Now I've just got the credintials to show off to folks!»"
The two old friends laughed and joked while they made their way back down into the main MobiaNet chambers.

For six long years, Nack had lived with the dackers. They were his family, the only people he cared for in the world anymore. He had trained his body and mind alongside them and while he hadn't been very good at the computers, he had been their top bodyguard . . . taking care of them while they stole their way into buildings across the city to crack away at the information systems locked within. That position earned him a lot of respect from these people.
And more, he had their love. When he had agreed to join their group over half a decade before, he hadn't fully realized the meaning of Breva's words about family. He had thought of the dackers as little more than a street gang of sorts, simply watching each others' backs to keep from having to kill each other.
He knew better now. He knew how tightly knit together these people were, and how closely knit he was to them. But now . . . now he was leaving them.

"«Sometimes I wish we'd never gotten that damn request,»" Meth said as they sat down at his workstation. "«You'd be staying with us if we'd just ignored it-»"
"«You couldn't just ignore it,»" Nack reminded him softly. "«That's not the dacker way, neh? Besides, when the guild says they need help, you know something bad for the whole world has to be in the works.»"
"«The truth doesn't take the sting away, kiddo,»" said Meth.
Nack shrugged. "«I know,»" he said. "«But it's not like I'm never gonna see you again. One of the reasons the bounty hunters wanted me to join was 'cause of my contacts here, so I'll probably be stopping by at least three or four times a week.»"
"«Those little gizmos you've been picking up over the years are more likely the main reason they want ya.»" Meth raised an eyebrow. "«Speaking of which, how's my fur look?»"
Nack looked at the small singe marks left on Meth's sides from the shocknet and had to stifle a laugh. "«Looks fine to me,»" he said. "«The color kinda reminds me of . . . 'burnt' sienna.»"
Meth stared at him with a longsuffering look, causing the weasel to burst into full laughter.
"«Yah, yah . . . laugh it up, shit-for-brains,»" Meth said with a mock punch at Nack's head, causing him to laugh even harder.
For the next few hours, the two of them talked about the years past while Meth rapidly typed away at his computer. They had spent a great deal of time just like this, talking back and forth while Nack watched the master hacker break through the thickest ice the 'net had to offer. It was a comfortable place in the midst of all the changes Nack was going through.
Eventually, a silence fell over them. Only the sound of Meth's keydeck could be heard as the general hub-bub of the MobiaNet crowd slid away and the dackers prepared for their morning naps.
Suddenly, Meth stopped typing and turned his chair to face Nack. He looked at the weasel with soulful eyes that were slightly misting up.
"«Breva would've been proud of ya, kiddo,»" he said after a long pause.
The silence settled over them again . . . Nack suddenly seemed to find his hands to be very interesting. "«Yah,»" he mumbled. "«Yah, I know.»" He looked back up, a tear running down his cheek. "«I miss her, Meth.»"
"«I do too, Nack. She was a wonderful lady . . . she didn't deserve-»"
"«Yah . . . well,»" Nack suddenly interrupted, collecting himself roughly, "«we all get a lot of things we don't deserve, don't we? Fact of life and all that shit. You gonna walk me out to my bike or what, old man?»"
Meth smiled sadly and nodded. "«Let's go,»" he said. "«You've got bad guys to catch.»"


- 3224 AD -

It had come out of nowhere. Robots dropping from huge sky machines . . . Peacebots rejecting their programming and arresting citizens . . . the castle under seige . . .
Mobotropolis was in ruins, and Nack The Weasel was right in the middle of it, pushing his way through a crowd of people bound and determined to go the opposite way that he wanted to go.
"C'mon, folks!" he yelled out over the din that they were making. "Watch it! Make way! Pregnant lady on fire, comin' through!"
"Hey, buddy, you watch it!"
Nack found himself being shoved off-balance, nearly toppled into the oncoming rush of people. He hadn't made it so far in the bounty hunting profession to be taken down so easily, though . . . in seconds, he was back on his feet and grabbing Mr. Pushy by the scruff of the neck. Before the brawny fox could even start to complain, he was cut off by Nack's ion pistol, which was now wavering dangerously close to his right temple.
"Oi, boyo," the weasel said as he flashed a toothy grin. "I wouldn't be pushin' poor helpless barbers like myself around if I were you. I might just use my power scissors here to give you a haircut from the neck up! Got me?"
Seeing that he'd adequately gotten his point across, Nack tossed the fox back amongst the crowd, who began to shove him around. Nack took the time to laugh at the poor bastard's attempts to regain his footing, then shook his head at all the stupidity in the world and went back to swimming against the tide.
Gradually, it began to thin out, mostly because there were getting to be far more robots than Mobian citizens on this side of the city. Nack barely had to slow down to pick off the traitorous Peacebots that even dared to look in his direction. He'd had far too much practice already at putting their kind out of commision to be overly bothered by them now, and his path through the Mobotropolis streets was soon littered with their torn and smoking husks.
It had all started almost an hour ago. All the Royal Acorn Air Force airships had suddenly appeared on the horizon, led by Warlord Julian's private craft. There were so many of them that the entire sky had seemed to have gone dark as night. Warbots rappelled their way down from the airships as the Peacebots on every street corner suddenly went berserk. Bombs began to fly and buildings crashed to the ground. The air became choked with smog and flying sharpnel.
Those Mobians who weren't killed outright were captured and carted off, for what purpose Nack couldn't guess. Nor did he care. The only thing on his mind at the time was reaching MobiaNet and ensuring the safety of his family.
A bomb hit nearby and flung dirt and plascrete up in the air, but he paid it no mind. Rogue Peacebots were becoming more frequent, but he simply mowed through them without blinking.
"Hail, domes!" he yelled out, slipping into dacker-speak as he dodged a volley of stun lasers. "Ye passin' out walkers, neh? Skullcap Nack er skolly on!" He laughed maniacally as his ion pistol turned them to scrap.
The laugh died in his throat as he finally reached his destination. Not one hundred yards away sat the entrance to the dacker alleyways . . . but less that seventy yards away sat two heavy-duty troop carriers and a tank, all crawling with Warbots who seemed to have an unhealthy facination with the alley in question.
"No . . . " Nack moaned. "No! Motherfuckers!" Nack popped the dim energy cell in his ion pistol out and quickly slapped in a new one. He felt a rage that he hadn't felt since the morning he had first met the people who had become his family. Everyone that had ever meant anything to him was in that alleyway, and now a gang of heartless metal bastards were planning to take it all away from him.
A scream of primal fury burst from his lungs as he launched himself forward. His anger had given him wings, making him blaze across the distance at supersonic speeds. He would shoot them until he had no more shots left in his gun. He would rip them apart with his bare hands until they were too bloody and torn to grasp anything. He would pour forth his anger and bile and all the resentment and hate and fears and pain that he had gathered up in his entire life and use it to spread firey death among them . . . just don't take my family, don't take my fami-
He tripped.
He fell.
The pain that tore into his right arm wasn't as harsh as the pain ripping through his heart, but it was enough to force him back to reality momentarily. He blinked away the hot tears and looked to see what he had tripped over and possibly find out why it was making such a fuss over it.
Nack's eyes widened and he took in a sharp breath when he realized that he had tripped over a young child. It was barely distinguishable amidst the smoggy haze that had settled around the street - especially since it seemed to be rolled up in a fetal posistion - but it was a child, alright.
"Dammit!" he cursed, then laid out flat on the ground and quickly crawled his way to the child and reached out his hand. At his touch, the ball of fur started to bawl even louder than before, causing Nack to wince. He quickly located the thing's mouth and covered it with his glove to muffle the noise, then looked over his shoulder to see if any of the Warbots had noticed all the commotion.
Both fortunately and unfortunately, they had not. They weren't hellbent on tracking him and the child down, but only because they were too busy setting explosives around the buildings surrounding the alleyway.
I don't have time for this! Nack thought. He staggered to his feet, picked up the child, and cradled it in his arms, his hand still firmly clamped on its mouth. He could see now that "it" was a "she" and that she was only about five years old, if even that. Two long ears with small purple ribbons told him that she was a rabbit, but nothing about her gave any indication of who she belonged to.
Now almost completely frustrated out of his wits, Nack scanned his surroundings to see if anyone else was stupid enough to be around this section of town . . . and indeed they were. Almost two blocks away, he could see an old lady herding a group of youngsters down the street, trying to stay out of the robots' lines of sight. At some point, the small girl that Nack now held must've gotten seperated from the group.
She wouldn't survive out in the middle of the street. What little conscience Nack had wouldn't let him just drop her and let her take her own chances with the 'bots . . . she was only five years old! But if he took her with him to save the dackers, they might both get killed and the dackers would still be bombed . . . and if he took her to the old lady first, there would be no way in hell he could make it back in time to stop the explosives from going off!
A low whine escaped Nack's lips. He had to make a decision now, but he just couldn't make up his mind. His family needed him, but so did this little girl . . .
The pain of the decision must've made itself all too plain on Nack's face. The small bundle in his arms had stopped bawling, and now looked up at him with tearful, frightened eyes. He slowly raised his hand from her mouth, and she said just one thing in her weak, wavering voice.
"Please, mistuh . . . don't leave me . . . "
Nack looked down at the girl in surprise. His jaw worked for a few seconds, but made no headway into actually causing him to say anything. Their eyes were locked to each other, forging some sort of connection that he was powerless to break.
After what seemed like an eternity, he looked up. The old lady and her young charges had been joined by two other people . . . a hedgehog and a squirrel, from the looks of it. They were directing her towards a building on the other side of the street, but she was hardly paying attention to them. Instead, she was looking straight at Nack.
His jaw closed and tightened, as did his resolve. He had made his decision. The old lady seemed to recognize this, and he swore that he saw her head bow down sadly, as if she didn't approve of what he was doing but saw no way of stopping him.
Nack swung the kid onto his back and held her arms under his chin until she clasped her hands together. "Hang on tight, sugar," he said to her. "Things are gonna get real excitin' here in a moment."
She hugged tightly to his back as he moved to take a different approach to the Warbots than he had before. Instead of rushing headlong forward, he began to creep amongst the wrecked gravcars, trying to get closer to the troop movers without getting noticed. He grinned as he moved forward. As long as those trucks were that close to the building, they wouldn't detonate the charges, he knew. He had plenty of time . . .
. . . plenty of time see one of the Warbots pull out a dead-man switch and pull the trigger, as it turned out. It was during that terrible second between the switch-pull and its release that he realized his mistake. Mobian troops would have moved back from the killzone, but robot troops didn't give a damn. He could almost hear the switch click as the 'bot's finger pulled away . . . and it was followed by the sound of a family dying.
Nack turned away from the blast, dodged back behind the nearest gravgar, and strongarmed the small rabbit child back in front of himself. She was still hanging onto his neck, leaving his arms free to spread his longcoat out and then around her, shielding her from the debris that came raining down and the smoke that belched out of the building's burning husk.
Both of them were coughing their lungs out and covered completely with soot by the time they reached relatively fresh air. Nack looked around to find that the streets were completely empty of both Mobians and robots. A wretched sob grew in his chest and fought its way to the surface. Tears began to cut a path through the dirt and grime covering the fur on his face as he fell forward onto his knees. Rocks dug into his skin, but he didn't care . . . none of it mattered anymore.
They were dead. His entire family, gone . . . again. Again! There was no justice in the world, no happy ending for Nack The Weasel. He was the only one left; and moreover, it was all his fault. If he hadn't deliberated for so long, if he had just taken the little girl to the old woman and been done with her, if he had just hurried his stupid slow ass up a little . . . they'd still be alive, and he wouldn't be all alone.
A sound of misery coming from near his chest reminded him, however, that he was not alone. The rabbit girl was still there, clinging to his neck. She had buried her face in his chest fur, caught up in her own world of loss, confusion, and fear.
Nack wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. She returned the favor by tightening her own grip. Together, the two of them drowned their sorrow in tears until there were no more tears left.

Nearly an hour after the death of both their worlds, Nack stood up and started to walk towards the edge of town. He was able to easily avoid the Peacebot patrols now that all the noise had died down, and the Warbots had apparently decided to vacate the city completely. Once he reached the city limits, he ducked into a secret garage of his . . . one of many that he had built around the city of Mobotropolis, and one of many that he knew he would never use again.
He set the little girl on the back of his hoverbike as he searched around the garage for supplies. Camping utilities he always had on hand; but food, he found, was in short supply. He scrounged what he could from a mostly empty mini-fridge and put it all in one of the side compartments on his bike.
After he had conducted one last search for anything useful, Nack stepped back over to the bike, helmet in hand. The girl hadn't moved from where he had set her. She just sat there, staring down at her feet and crying silent tears.
"Oi. Kiddo," he said softly, getting her attention. "You'll need this." He handed her the hoverbike helmet and showed her how to put it on. It was a couple of sizes too big for her small head, but she had to have some sort of protection. Nack didn't want to have gotten her this far just to lose her to a stupid bike accident.
"So, ah," he said awkwardly after she'd gotten situated, " . . . what's your name?"
She just stared at him through the helmet's open visor.
"Right," he said. "Well, look . . . I'm Nack. I . . . I just want to apologize about what happened back there. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I don't know how to take care of a kid. Hell, I can't even take care of a hamster . . . "
That, at least, elicited a weak giggle from the girl.
"Now there ya go, kiddo," he said as he brushed some particularly bunched up grime from her shoulder. He smiled at her for a moment, then sighed sadly. "Here's the deal, okay?" he told her. "We're gonna have to take care of each other for now. We ain't got much to go on except ourselves, and I can't keep up with just me. So . . . I'm gonna need your help. Do you think you can do that?"
A small shrug.
"That's gonna have to do for now, I guess," said Nack. "If you are gonna help, tho', it'd really do wonders for me if I had something to call you besides 'hey, you' and 'yo, cute stuff'!" He winked at her, getting another giggle for his efforts. She looked down for a moment afterwards, then looked back up, her bright green eyes burning into his.
"Bunnie 'lizabeth Rabbit," she said, her voice muffled by the hoverbike helmet. Nack smiled at her and patted her softly on the back.
"Good gehl," he said with a smile. "Well, Ms. Rabbit . . . do you think you could tell me where your family is?"
Whatever confidence Nack had won with her rapidly disappeared. Nack felt his own eyes start to water as the girl choked back a sob. He quickly grabbed her up and hugged her tightly to himself and started making comforting noises.
"Tsh tsh tsh tsh . . . c'mon now, it'll be alright," he said as she hugged his neck and cried into his shoulder. "It's okay . . . it'll all be okay . . . I'll be your family now . . . it'll all . . . be alright . . . "

That evening, father and daughter sped out into the wastelands to find their new life together.


CONTINUED.

Roland Lowery
esn1g@earthlink.net