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(at)yahoo(dot)com. Thank you.
"Great families of
yesterday we show,
And lords, whose parents were the Lord knows
who."
-Daniel Defoe
Training Day
by Roland 'Jim' Lowery
Prologue - Day Zero
Thursday, January 8
3215 AD
With consciousness came the sound and smell of rain, and the feeling of complete and utter desolation. He could feel tears running down his face at just the right difference in density to be distinguishable from the rainwater. He had been crying in his sleep again. Undoubtedly, it wouldn't be the last time. That made two nights he'd spent sleeping in an alleyway and crying himself through sleep, two night spent in 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 tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks. The outside pressure merely caused the salt water to mingle in with the fresh that was covering him from head to toe. He was calling a plastiboard box home now, but it certainly wasn't much of a house, unable to keep even the slightest amount of the elements from reaching him.
Home.
Just thinking about it twisted his insides and caused fire to spread out over his nerves in almost physically painful waves. He'd had a real house once, though it was hard to ever call it a home. The only time it ever seemed to approach such a state was when his mother was there and his father wasn't, which wasn't often.
He snarled at himself angrily and violently shook off the mental image of his father. As far as he was concerned, that man didn't exist anymore. In fact, he decided to go even further with his mental discarding by finally daring to cast away one of his father's most prized possessions . . . his name.
Through all fifteen years of his life, the young man had been forced to listen over and over again about how Grandfather Packleader had done this. How Great-Great-Great Grandmother Packleader had done that. 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 he 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 him would ever amount to anythi-
"nnnnnnnnnnnnnnYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"
His head felt as if it were going to explode from all the pent up pain and frustration. His muscles burned with the hatred that could move mountains, destroy worlds, evaporate galaxies into nothingness. He stored up every bit of the power flowing through his body until he felt he could no longer stand it and then burst out of his box. He stood in the middle of the alley, roaring his fury at the rain falling around him.
"I. Am. Nack. The. WEASEL!" he bellowed into the darkness. "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!!!"
Rage still ran through his veins, causing him to stomp on the ground and punch the air. He railed against everyone and everything that had ever done him wrong, real or imagined. He cried and screamed and cursed the fate that had put him on Mobius until his throat was hoarse and his body ached from the exertion. He collapsed to the plascrete in a heap, tears and snot leaking out and getting washed away by the rain.
It had been two days since he had left that dreaded place, and each day had been filled with similar displays of pure infuriation. They had also been cold, miserable, wet days, and it seemed that they would continue to be so if things didn't change . . .
Even with the blood pumping through his ears with the sound of a raging waterfall, Nack couldn't miss the sound of several people running through the backalley adjacent to his own. The steady pounding of feet through the inch of water covering the ground was unmistakably that of people running away from someone or something else as quickly as possible.
He picked himself up cautiously and wiped his nose on the forearm of his jacket. As horrible as he felt, his interest was still piqued. He started walking towards the alley intersection but had only taken a few steps when the group came into view.
Not a single one of them could have been over the age of twenty-five. Their clothing - on those that bothered wearing clothes, in any case - ranged from bright, flashy, and gaudy to plain, dirty, and well-worn. They were all as thin as a rail, looking as if they hadn't eaten in weeks. Some of them were toting handguns and other weapons of various makes and models, and all of them were carrying weatherproofed mini-computers.
As they passed, one of them looked to the side and saw Nack standing there. A truly wicked grin spread across the narrow face and then . . . they were gone. Their receding footfalls were all that was left to prove that they had even existed.
Pulled out of his sudden state of shock, Nack propelled himself forward to run 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 those 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, pushing himself into a full sprint. He was now filled with a greater purpose than mere curiosity. Yesterday he had explored all the nearby junctions of the labyrithine alleyway, and he knew that that very alley was a dead end. If they were in fact running away from someone, they would be trapped down there. He didn't know who they were or what they had done that they would have to try and escape, but he couldn't let them be captured or possibly killed just because they'd made a mistake following directions!
He angled around the corner and came to an abrupt stop. The short corridor was completely deserted.
"What the-?!" Nack whirled around, searching every corner of the dead end to see if he'd missed something. He checked the surrounding building's service door, but it was sealed just as shut as it had been the day before. It didn't have an outside handle or access pad anyway, so it most likely opened up from the inside only, giving no chance for escape. The walls had no fire escapes and were otherwise unscalable.
They'd simply vanished.
On his third circuit around the short alley, he felt an arm circle its way around his neck and clamp down before the yelp that had formed in his chest could get out. He barely had time to register the fact that the arm was reaching out from inside one of the walls before it dragged him that wall and into complete and utter darkness. He could feel his back pressed up against a young woman's chest, his head held underneath her chin. Before he could say anything, he also felt her free hand clamp down across his mouth.
After a few intense seconds, a softly keening whine filled the air. Nack recognized it immediately as that of a Peacebot's hovercycle, slowly cruising down the alleyway that he had just recently occupied. After a few moments, the whine hit a higher pitch as the 'bot kicked up the 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 asked himself 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 be following it all well enough. But even though he couldn't understand any of the specifics, he gradually became aware that the topic of discussion had turned towards him.
A particularly gruff voice spat out, "SFB! Peepin' the domes here! Skullcap 'im, Breva!"
This was accompanied by a sharp jab to Nack's ribs. He squirmed in the girl's grasp, but she simply clamped down tighter. Even though she was so thin that he would've been sure he could easily break her in two with his fingers, her muscled had suddenly turned into steely bands that held him tighter than any weightlifter could have ever done.
"Quiet!" she hissed, tilting her head to the side and forward so that her warm breath poured over his ears. "No one's going to hurt you . . . right-right, Dackers? None's skullcappin'!"
A chorus of agreements, some more enthusiastic than others, filled the dark space. Nack relaxed a little. If they were planning on doing something terrible to him, at least they were postponing it for the moment. Slowly, the hand left his mouth and the girl released him from her death grip.
"Who . . . are you people?" he asked as he turned to face them in the dark. Instead of an answer, he heard the muted rustle of bodies moving around in a tight space. Suddenly, bright light assaulted his eyes as two of the Mobians pulled open a trapdoor set in the ground.
After his sight quickly adjusted, Nack could see that the girl who had been holding him was the same grey-furred ferret that had grinned at him back in the alleyway. She looked to be about three or four years older than Nack and stood almost a full head taller.
"Hallo," she said, holding out a slender palm. "I'm Breva. We're the Hacker-Dackers."
Nack took her hand and shook it carefully. He had expected to get his paw back right after, but Breva seemed to have other ideas. She half-dragged him as she pushed her way through the group and joined the several others who had already jumped through the hatchway. Not expecting this, Nack landed on his feet clumsily. After getting back on balance, he looked around at his new surroundings with wonder.
Everything around him was in complete disarray. Electronics equipment, computer parts, tools . . . every available surface from the desks to the tables to the tops of a entire row of coffee machines was covered with enough gadgetry to keep even the most rabid tech-geek busy for centuries. The room - and from everything Nack could see, it was all just one single gigantic room - was built in the same manner as 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 floor. Metal alloy pylons dotted the room in an irregular grid pattern, apparently the only thing holding the ceiling and the rest of the building above from crashing to the floor.
The Hacker-Dackers ignored Breva and her new little friend for the most part, all of them scurrying to their individual workstations to plug their micro-computers into the desktops. All the while, the air was filled with the constant chatter of their strange lingo.
"Cozy, ain't it?" Breva asked. Nack could only nod as he gaped at everything with his wide green eyes.
"This . . . is MobiaNet," she said, answering 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."
Nack stared for a few more seconds before finally regaining his voice. "Why?" he asked.
Breva flashed her toothy grin at him. "Freedom of information, kiddo," she said. "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?"
Another of those easy grins. "We take our cut," she admitted. "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 or cynicism in her last statement, but found none. He tried for a few moments to wrap his head around the idea of anyone doing something just to help others but finally decided it wasn't important at the moment. His immediate future 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 needle-sharp teeth lightly nip his lobe. He jumped away and clapped his free hand over the side of his head while trying desperately to pull the other from Breva's grip. He stopped when he noticed that almost everyone nearby was either laughing at him or staring at him oddly.
"That wasn't funny," he grumbled as he stepped back towards Breva, who was fighting to keep from laughing out loud herself.
"Ah, it was," she said when things had finally calmed down. "But tell me," she asked, looking down at him with sudden concern, "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, giving Breva all the answer she needed.
"Well, then," she said softly. "I'll ask ya this one . . . do ya got any family?"
Nack felt his face convulse in a minor twitch. He had somehow known that question would come up sooner or later, but he had rather hoped it would be later, if ever. He wasn't prepared, wasn't at all sure how he was going to answer. He didn't want to lie to Breva, and felt that she was the type who could tell even if he did.
Images of his family members kept popping into his head. He could see the picture and holo albums of his ancestors and distant relatives flash through his memory as if they were set on fast forward. He could hear the voices of his cousins, his aunts and uncles.
He could see his parents.
His mother. Beautiful. Intelligent. Radiant in all the ways he could never be.
His father. Demanding. Controlling. Everything that Nack hated condensed into a single man.
And slowly, gradually . . . they faded away. Disappeared. Evaporated.
"Gone."
Breva leaned down closer to Nack. "What's that, kiddo?"
"I said I don't have any family," he said quietly. He looked up and stared straight into her eyes. "I used to," he said, his tone turning firm and even, "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."
The two of them stood in silence for a few minutes, their hands still clasped together. Nack continued to stare out at these people, these strange and wonderful people who were going to take him in. It seemed strange to him, so awfully strange. In a way, it almost seemed as if in the act of discarding his old name and life, he had actually conjured the Dackers up through his own willpower to fill in the vacuum left behind.
It was pure coincidence, of course. He'd just happened to be in the right alleyway at the right time . . . but still, it felt like something almost magical to him.
Breva was the one to finally break the silence.
"So, kiddo," she said, "if we're gonna be family, I'd guess it'd only be proper to know each other's names. You've got me at the disadvantage, o'course . . . "
Nack hesitated for a bare second. "I'm . . . Nack The Weasel," he said distractedly.
Breva seemed to mull this over for a few moments. "Really?" she said as she released his hand and turned fully to look at him appraisingly. "If your gonna lie, kiddo, we're definitely gonna have to teach you up a bit on how to do it properly. What's your real name?"
He frowned deeply, turned, and faced her in return. "I am Nack The Weasel," he stated.
This time she nodded approvingly and said, "The truth this time, neh? Good. Telling the truth is a good habit of truly exceptional liars. But we are gonna need your birthname at some point, okay? I promise only two people here are ever gonna know it."
"You and me."
"Bright boy," she said. "You're gonna do fine around here. Now c'mon, let's go get you cleaned up and fed. I'm bettin' there wasn't much of a food processor in that box of yours." Nack fell into step beside her as she turned and started walking towards the far end of the room. "After that, I'll give you a little tour," she continued, "but then I'm gonna have to ask you to stay in your room for the rest of the day. We ran more than a couple of missions today and gotta sort through all the crap we got. But be ready to get up bright and early tomorrow mornin', 'cause that's when your trainin' starts. Alright, kiddo?"
"Huh," Nack replied thoughtfully. "I get my own room?"
END DAY ZERO