Hope is Gone

By MistressAli

A Sonic the Hedgehog, Archie-comic verse story based off events (concerning Snively) in #152, #162, #177 and maybe some others. XD

This fic is incomplete; I started writing it because my friend Shychick mentioned that I should write a brief fic about the conversation between Snively and his sister Hope in issue #177, where she confronts him about his double-crossing. But now I'm bored with it, so onto the incomplete junkpile it goes with my other crap. YAY!

I hate people who's feet are firmly planted upon the ground. They're the ones I like to destroy. A face, etched with confidence, a poise self-assured, taken down, broken? It's the greatest pleasure in the world. There's a quote out there somewhere, and I can't remember who said it, but it went something like this:

'To knock a thing down,

especially if it is cocked

at an arrogant angle,

is a deep delight of the blood.'

I agree. Bringing down the brave, the strong, and those who thought they were so much better than me? Nothing makes my blood pulse warmer. And for a long long time, this was my favorite escape...besides the pills, and the drinks, and sometimes sleep...when it wasn't wrought with nightmares, that is.

Then one day, I found out I had a sister.

Things were looking up for me at that point. I had killed my uncle, Julian Kintobor. I had gone to prison and escaped. And I found myself face to face with Robotnik again, but not the one I had so cleverly snuffed. This man was from another dimension and at first I nearly fainted upon witnessing his wicked demeanor. But I think something got lost in translation. When he switched from body to body, like a snail seeking a new shell, this so-called 'Eggman' became...soft. He rose his voice against me, for sure, but unlike Julian, he never rose his fist.

Things happened in a blur, for I was still hooked on my drugs and booze, despite no longer frequenting the infirmary. I remembered roboticizing my father, and I even became roboticized myself. The loss of sensation was not so bad. It wasn't much different than the numbness that came to my fingers and feet, and mostly my brain, from the pills.

But in between these muddled events, there was one that was particularly interesting. It was upon seeing a young girl, perhaps 10 years in age, with the looks of a stereotypical fairy-tale princess. Pink cheeks and lips, golden curls, the skin of porcelain and the eyes of blue, though not the glacier-ice blue of mine. A blue that was warm, somehow. Welcoming.

Her name was truly gag-worthy.

Hope.

What a joke, right?

The notion of hope, to me, goes on the junkpile of crap along with faith, love, forgiveness, selfishness and all that other garbage people write songs and books about. It's all a desperate attempt to say something so many times that they start believing it's real. Most minds fall for that trick. But not mine.

Most people find my attitude rather appalling, and it's no surprise I have no friends. As if anybody would want to be friends with a villain like me, right? But even before my amass of crimes too black to nonchalantly discuss, back when I was playing the part of an innocent child (I have never felt innocent, I must confess.) I did not have these friends, these people who are supposed to support you, and care for you. I have discovered that these relationships don't really exist. There are the users and the used, and that is all.

Hope, the little Princess, tried her best to unknowingly prove me wrong. In the short time she lived in Robotropolis, she didn't judge me. Despite my caustic attempts to sway her from speaking to me, the little girl bounced behind my heels, asking me questions, and her gaze was interested and adoring. She had just discovered she had a big brother, this lonely only child. She... cared for what I had to say. This was a new experience for me. I found myself talking to her, and my voice was uncharacteristically soft. But my moods swung worse than a woman on the rag. I'd see my father doting on her, giving her the love and respect he'd never given me, and he'd look at me out the corner of his eye. I knew he was enjoying it. The little girl didn't know the subtle cruelty happening above her sweet blond head. But I did...and I -seethed-.

She would accept my subsequent harshness and cold words with nothing but a look of hurt in her eyes, and she would slink away. But like a kicked puppy, she was soon by me again, frolicking and forgiving, if perhaps a little warier.

And then came the day I roboticized ole daddy (or rather, Eggman did). Hope escaped that day. At first, I missed her sunny presence. I'd turn around, expecting to see her, shuffling her feet with her laces undone. But after awhile, I went back to my old friends. Small and round and dissolving bitter on my tongue... they were always there for me. Sweet blessed numbness took over any pang of longing I might have. Those feelings are for the -weak- anyway.

More weeks, months, years...who knows... went by in a blur. Eggman and I were deroboticized, that I recall. I didn't mind. I kept myself numb one way or another.

It was one scheme after another with Eggman. He build atrocious machines to keep him company, a butch android named Mecha and a pompously stuffy AI system called ADAM. He liked them better than me. I loathed them both, but only for their sheer powers of annoyance and stupidity, and not out of any sort of jealousy. They were just like their 'daddy' and I cared not for the affection of fools.

It wasn't long before I made my escape. I set off on my own, with grandiose plans in my head. I'd take over Eggman's foolish, misguided operation and show the Freedom Fighters the meaning of true terror. I ended up in an old hideaway of Julian's, hunkering down with my pills and my drinks. I didn't do much. I read quite a bit. I plotted very little. It seemed, out on my own, I began to care less and less about conquest. It was nice to just be... away.

But after a time, I need some stimulation. It didn't matter what. And it came in the form of Eggman's out of control nanites.

The 'Egg' possessed a brain, but an addle-brain, a scatter-brain. He was worse after his return to a flesh body. He had been robotic for so long that I don't think he could quite function correctly with the addition of those flesh things; the need to eat, sleep, take a piss, feel pain. So, with his brain all over the place, Eggman often lost track of his numerous 'brilliant' projects. Being so, he often left tasks up to ADAM to complete, and the AI seemed to have a mind of its own. It released the nanites Eggman had created and they went on a rampage across the countryside. The microscopic robots turned everything before them into metal. Julian would have approved, I think.

Here was something I could put my very bored mind to. I set forth to stop the nanites from consuming the planet. Not out of any real desire to save it, and certainly not to save the Mobian's mangy hides. I guess I did it to save myself, for after all, I can't survive in a world all of metal. That sounds amusing; that's what I lived and breathed for more than a decade.

I think I did it more to show Eggman I could do it. Maybe the reason he never hit me was because he didn't think I was even worth beating down... like all the spark had gone out, finally. He's quite wrong. I've got a light, like the reflected gleam in a corpse's open eyes.
Maybe I wanted to show him, anyone, that I wasn't insignificant.

So, I skipped on down there and was happily going about undoing Eggman's destructive little critters. When... HE showed up. Oh, you know who I mean. The bane of Julian and my existence alike. I was surprised...somewhat. I hadn't thought the Freedom Fighters knew about this nanite atrocity, way out here in the middle of nowhere. I only knew about it from remote hacking into ADAMs system.

But, I was only -somewhat- surprised, as I said, for Sonic had the knack of showing up on the damn moon, or 2000 leagues under the sea. Places he should never be able to reach, or know about, and nevertheless, he was there.

Sonic brought along a group of irritating girls. The pink hedgehog that stuck to him like gum on a shoe-sole. There was a yellow female something-or-the-other with purple hair, and a feisty fox who liked to put her hands on me. (And part of me enjoyed it.) The Princess, however, was nowhere in sight.

So, now that the Super Hero squad was there, the nanites were quelled and I was (this time, genuinely surprised) taken back to Knothole with them. At this point, Eggman and I already knew of Knothole's location, but I still didn't expect them to drag me there like some stray pup in need of a home.

There was a lot of staring, a lot of conversation over my head and behind my back. But like Eggman, they apparently thought I was no threat, just a little reed with a funny voice. I let them think whatever they wanted. I didn't speak, I didn't shoot dirty looks at anyone. Or at least, not when they were looking. I was in the heart of enemy territory, defenseless.

I wasn't put on trial, wasn't thrown in a cell. I was patted down by a couple of large MP s and a tracking anklet was placed on my right leg to ensure I didn't wander into any 'restricted' areas. I was thrust into the 'braintrust' group on the premise that the Princess (who I finally beheld, much to the delight of certain parts of my anatomy) thought I would 'fit in' there. As well as allowing these so-called brainy members of Knothole to keep an eye on me.

I found myself in the company of an irritatingly cheerful and childlike turtle by the name of Tommy. If that weren't bad enough, the two-tailed brat who idolized Sonic was often in the lab. He seemed much more mature than Tommy, despite being years younger. He was the only member of the braintrust who was not so preoccupied as to forget who the fuck I was. He did not like me, to put it simply. And that's all well and good, as I was often tempted to remedy his double-tailed affliction with a pair of garden shears and no anesthesia.

Another member of the braintrust was a hefty walrus whom I remembered seeing with the Freedom Fighters in their early years. He was quiet and seemed nervous around me. And finally, the elder of the group, the esteemed Sir Charles, inventor of the oh-so-lovely roboticizer. I wanted to thank him for giving me a way to make people suffer over the years, but it didn't seem proper. The other members of the braintrust looked up to 'Uncle Chuck'. The old man seemed cheerful enough, but underneath the jolly demeanor I could sense the self-hating brooding of a man steeped in guilt. I was...adept at picking up things like that.

So, I became part of this little clique. I was sure I would loathe it. But as a week went by, I began to sink into my role of insider...outsider. They did not trust me, but they let me in anyway, and they would compliment me on any job well done.

I suppose just letting me into their group was a big step for them. I found the kindness unsettling. It was undeserved, and it put the obligation on me to act somewhat civil. I gave them some codes into certain areas of Robotropolis, albeit reluctantly. 

They kept me leashed around their group. Dragging me away from the cot that was rigged for me in Rotor's home/workshop. I don't think they wanted me alone around his many inventions. Several Mobians suggested I be spending my time in the jail cells, and they made it clear that should they catch me out alone, there would be fists involved. I just shrugged, spat out something coy, kept my eyes frigid. They couldn't dish out as hard or as ferociously as Julian. I did, however, make sure I was always with an escort. I'm no masochist. 

A few weeks went by like that. I got a bit more comfortable with this new style of living, though I still woke up at 6 AM and leapt out of bed, expecting to take a quick shower and shuck on my uniform. I would blink up at the metal rafters of the workshop and realize where I was, and hear Rotor's rhythmic snoring from his bed up on the loft.

So, there came a day when I was strolling with Rotor and he had some greasy parts in a wooden toolbox. He was lugging it to whom he called 'another of Knothole's little geniuses, and someone you might be interested to meet.' I was pretty doubtful of that. There wasn't anyone here I cared to meet. 

We came to a grassy patch of field on the outskirts of the town. Several airplanes were lined up, including one that seemed to be in the process of being built. I saw a pair of legs standing on the other side of the plane, and the metal tapping of a hammer. It stopped tapping as we halted before the plane and Rotor set down the toolbox.

"Rotor, that you?" 

I froze. The legs carried their owner into view. Bouncing curls of gold concealed under a bandanna, porcelain face smudged with grease. Hope wore a pair of oversized overalls. Her face seemed wiser, somehow, and it brightened like a sun at the sight of me.

"Snively!" She cried. "So you really are here!" 

"Um..yes." I wondered why I hadn't seen her around. 

She was prancing towards me, clearly wanting to hug, but I stepped back. I wasn't ready to get that familial with her. She stopped short, dropping her arms back to her sides, and doing a fairly good job of concealing her disappointment. "Well," she said, scuffing the ground with her shoe, "I've been spending a lot of time out here. And going to classes with Aunt Rosie. I haven't been walkin' round the town much...." 

"I didn't know you were here," I said. Though, I suppose I should've known. I wondered if would have sought her out. I doubted it. 

She smiled. "Now you do! So where are you staying?"
I was hesitant to answer. She'd be at my heels again, just like in Robotropolis. Rotor filled in the gap. "He's staying at my place." 

"Cool!" She said. "Now I have an excuse to come over! Besides stealing all your tools n' stuff, Rotor." 

Rotor shook his head, but he was grinning. "I already had to padlock my shed, now I have to lock my house too?" 

They exchanged laughs, and I felt awkward and in the way. The two of them obviously were friends, or close acquaintances. I wondered why Rotor hadn't introduced us before. But he answered that question.

"If I'd known you and Snively were already acquainted, I might have brought him out here sooner. The others didn't seem to think....well...." Rotor trailed off, but I could guess. They didn't think a sweet child like her would want anything to do with me. I didn't even know why she was happy. The last I saw her, her aunt and her father were being roboticized in front of her face. And I was there. And I was smiling grimly at seeing ole Colin Senior turn into a tin can. Maybe she didn't look at me. Maybe she didn't see it. But she must have wondered.

“It's ok...” Said Hope, and she took a wrench out the large pocket in her coveralls and began to toss it from hand to hand. “I've been busy.” And suddenly, she wasn't smiling anymore. I didn't know what had happened. Maybe she wasn't as naïve as I thought. 

Rotor shifted his weight restlessly, before blurting: “I'll let you two alone then.” Leaving his toolbox behind, he shuffled off. 

I looked in the direction Rotor had gone, trying to think of an excuse to follow him. I didn't want to be alone with her. 

Hope had the wrench in both hands, holding it to her chest. She still wasn't smiling. “How's my daddy? Agnes?” 

I shrugged, kept myself impassive. It was hard not to let my disgust for 'daddy', the man who'd sired us both, to creep into my voice. “They're still roboticized. Nothing has changed.” 

--
OMG NO the END!
Lucky you! I ran out of boring trite to write hahahah that rhymes...

(quote from George Santayana)