~~The Fundaments of a Beating~~

By MistressAli

It didn’t matter really what had gone wrong. Just something had gone wrong…like it always did.

It didn’t really matter whose fault it was. He was the scapegoat, after all. Who cares if nobody could’ve been at fault? Who cares if the plan was perfect…but the hedgehog still managed to get away?

It didn’t really matter at all.

Snively, of course, was aware of all this. He was also aware that HE was the scapegoat.

He was aware that, at the moment, he was cowering against the huge computer consoles with sweat running down his face.

He was also aware that his uncle, in livid rage, was standing before him with clenched fists.

“Sir…please…sir…It wasn’t my fault…”

Robotnik took a split seconds time to analyze that phrase.

First off…sir. Sir was the title his nephew used when addressing him. It was a title of respect… albeit respect out of necessity. After all, thought Robotnik, I’m much bigger than he…

The second word…please. Please what? Please don’t beat me, Robotnik assumed. Please don’t hurt me…please calm down…please don’t punish me for my stupidity.

Spare the rod and spoil the child, thought Robotnik. If I don’t punish him for his mistakes, then how will he learn? How can I trust him to do his jobs if he’s constantly making incompetent mistakes?

The third word…sir again. Again that title of respect. The acknowledgement that Robotnik was boss. That it was Robotnik’s choice whether or not to proceed with the beating.

But that last phrase…oh no. It was a no-no. Bad. “It’s not my fault.” Now his nephew was trying to shift the blame onto something else. Packbell, maybe? Faulty computer? Robotnik himself? Anywhere but him.

Robotnik considered the whole sentence in those split seconds…and the last phrase launched him out of logical thinking and into unfathomable and uncontrollable rage.

Sniv’ slid along the counter, putting distance between him and his uncle. He had seen the logic in his uncle’s eyes for a split second. But then the rage had taken over. Sniv’ wondered what he’d said. But whatever it was…it had clinched his punishment.

I’m going to get beaten, he thought, miserably. I can’t escape…I misewell just take it. Running just makes it worse…

Robotnik watched his nephew through his vicious gaze. Saw him start to relax, accepting the situation, then grow fearful again. Saw him scramble away.

Sniv’ found a space under the console. He pushed the chair out of the way and crawled in.

Although he knew it was a bad idea. Robotnik just got angrier when he hid.

Hiding like a kicked dog wasn’t Sniv’s idea of fun either. But it was an instinct…a fierce instinct to avoid pain.

Robotnik went over to the niche in the console. “Come out,” he commanded. “Now.”

There was a whimpering noise from the niche, but no movement.

“Snively,” growled Robotnik warningly. “COME OUT.”

Sniv’ thought about it for a second. He decided not to obey. He knew in the long run, it was a mistake. In the long run, it meant more pain. But at the current moment, it was working for him just fine…

“SNIVELY, COME OUT HERE NOOOOOWWW! IF YOU DON’T COME OUT, I”LL…”

Robotnik didn’t really need to continue. “I’ll beat you” just sounded frivolous (and anyway, it was the truth that need not be spoken), and “I’ll kill you” was going a little overboard. After all, Robotnik would never kill Snively. He needed him to work!

There was still no movement from the niche, and Robotnik’s anger, like a bomb, exploded.

He bent over and grabbed under the console. His nephew shrieked and curled smaller. But the niche wasn’t that big. Robotnik’s arm could reach all the way under.

He grabbed his nephew by the arm and dragged him out, crying and whimpering.

Robotnik clenched a fist, and for a second looked at it. His eyes took in every detail. How the leather crinkled and molded around his knuckles. It was a large fist, a heavy fist.

It was a fist that could do much damage.

“No, sir…please!”

Red was Robotnik’s favorite color. Red as in fire, red as in blood, red as in rage…

He indulged in his rage. He gave in to it. It felt so good to just give in. It felt even better to let it out.

One punch, two punch, three punch, four…

The pain filled his body. He cried and pleaded to his uncle.

But Robotnik didn’t understand mercy.

“OWWWWSTOPPPP!!!”

Screaming just made Robotnik wilder. It fed him, like gasoline to a fire…making the punches come even harder, even faster…

“PPPLLLLLEEEASEEEESTOPPP!”

It hurt so bad, he wished his uncle would just kill him and be done. He felt the grip on him loosen, and felt his body impact with the floor.

Though, he knew that wasn’t the ending of his abuse…rather just the beginning.

Robotnik drew back his foot. Like his fist…it was big, and it could damage. He threw it out in a kick, slamming it hard into his nephew’s side. There was a pained scream, and the impact sent his lackey rolling into the console.

A beating… Robotnik thought… Is a full body workout.

Hands: He snatched his nephew up, threw him against the wall. Caught him up again. Punch…punch…punch. The creaking sound of delicate ribs bending under the onslaught was lovely.

Feet: He dropped his nephew down, and kicked him like he was a living football. Slam---Snively hit the console again. He couldn’t even scream; his breath was gone from the impact.

Arms, legs, heart…all were put into action during these sessions of abuse.

And the most important thing, thought Robotnik, as his head began to clear of anger…My mind…oh, how my mind is cleansed. Too much anger wasn’t ever good for a person, was it? This was by far the best way to relieve his stress.

And of course…of course…it taught Snively a little respect. I’m in charge here, thought Robotnik, but not angrily now. It was just a calm fact now. One that his nephew was going to accept.

Robotnik took in a deep breath.

Feel so much better. Next time, hedgehog, next time.

And he turned away.

Stress relief, anger management, body workout. Is that all Robotnik considered this torture…?

Snively sat up, blood dribbling down his chin. Tears shadowed the other element in his eyes…the pure anger…the pure frustration…the pure hate.

One day, Julian…you’ll be on the end of this…

It didn’t matter what he thought.

It would never change.

The beating was eternal.

As long as he was alive, somebody would hurt him.

It was a fact, just a calm regular old fact.

Rage, hate, pain, frustration, desperation…hate hate…the want to kill… The need to not have a next time…

I don’t want a next time…

Those were the fundamentals of a beating.