Sonic: Sketchy
Concept by M.C. Griffin
Written by Sean Catlett and M.C. Griffin

Sunday

This place. I can’t stand this place. The walls seem to no longer accept me, rejecting me. I could swear that this place is alive. It’s like the inside of an organ, and I’m a foreign invader, a replacement limb taken from a different species. It knows I don’t belong here, it knows that I am all wrong for the tasks it needs me for, and worst of all, it knows enough to get rid of me. It’s trying to sweat me out of its pores.

So I do the thing I’m built for, the only thing I can do...

I run.

It seemed all I did was run anymore. Running is what I did best, but I was required to do so. This wasn’t freedom; only doing what was needed, then retiring for the day, every single day. Well, now I wasn’t running for him... I was running for me.

I was the Eggman’s errand boy, his little lackey. I was expected to do whatever, whenever, however he wanted. One of his many slaves, but even that’s a lie. He made me better than that.

I remember when I was born, about four years ago. Well, I wasn’t so much born as I was created, invented, made, and pieced together from blue plastic and hedgehog anatomy. But I used to have the distinct feeling of satisfaction with my work. I used to have to round up new subjects for Robotosization, but now he has more capable robots for that. Now I’m just used as a go-fer boy. But once again, I’m too good for both of those jobs.

You know… now that I think about it, I realize that I was, at one point, almost as bad as he was. I never questioned orders, or thought of the moral implications of sending living creatures off to their enslavement. In fact, I almost enjoyed hearing them whimper and squirm as I escorted them to the Scrap Brain Zone. I liked my life.

Until one day, when my entire outlook changed…

**********

I call him ‘Boomer,’ because I don’t know his real name and ‘Boomer’ pretty much summed up his appearance. A fat, slightly taller than twice my height, goofy-looking walrus. Sort of fat, really. I speculate that Robotnik must have engineered his kind to withstand a grassy, forest environment, as a regular walrus would have been uncomfortable in such a place. How else could he be here?

‘Boomer’ was damn sure uncomfortable now, but he did his best to hide it as he was escorted to the Scrap Brain Zone to be Robotosized. Four Buzzbombers flew both in front and behind, but they wouldn’t have been needed. He couldn’t have outran me even if he tried.

‘Boomer’ was squirming as he walked. He looked like he wanted to talk to me, working up the courage. It was almost like he was a little scared of me. Hell, I would’ve been.

He finally said something. “Would you... mind telling me where you’re taking me?”

“It’s best not to know,” I said. I saw no point in telling him, since it wouldn’t matter in a couple of minutes anyway.

He turned his head ever so slightly towards me. “I’ll try.”

I said nothing. I just walked with him, listening.

“It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about my family, back at Knothole. I went out to find food about two hours ago. They’re probably worried about me.”

Knothole? I wasn’t familiar with that name. Must have been one of the pens in one of Robotnik’s holding zones. What he called it.

“I haven’t seen you before, in any of the villages I’ve ever visited,” he continued. “Where do you come from?”

Hmm, sounds like he thought that I was captured with him. I was even starting to question whether or not he knew he was captured himself.

“Here,” I said, motioning around me, indicating the entire metal structure towering around us, neon beams pulsing.

His eyes grew wide. He stopped walking and was suddenly very energetic and excited. “I knew you were as important as you looked!” he exclaimed. “It must be wonderful to live with the demigods.”

Demigods? … The Buzzbombers?

“I’ve only heard stories,” he babbled on, “about how only worthy people are chosen to come live here. Is... is this why I’m here? Have I been chosen?”

... Okay, this was beginning to irritate me. Did everyone like him think that those assholes were demigods?

“Is it wonderful? Is it as wonderful as I’ve heard, living in paradise?”

I couldn’t listen to this shit anymore. I stopped walking and turned angrily to him.

“Shut the fuck up and listen the fuck up! Your ‘Gods’ are machines! The Death Egg is not fucking paradise! And the only thing you have to look forward to is helpless enslavement in endless darkness. Dwell on that and quit bothering me!”

**********

It took me about six months after that incident to realize what a fucking fink Robotnik is. I finally took some initiative and decided to first start by hacking into the Death Egg’s central computer. It took me a year to memorize the entire database.

I would have finished a lot sooner, but hacking into a maximum security computer isn’t easy when a security ‘bot goes by every ten seconds. As fast as I am, I can only do so much with that small of a window. And I was very careful.

I made a promise to myself to memorize every bit of information contained in that database, so I would be totally prepared for whatever I was about to face. After all, I had never been outside the Death Egg, which I soon learned stood in the exact center of Robotropolis, his entire domain, which stretched for miles on end in all directions. I knew it would take awhile to learn all there was to know, especially if I was meticulous about not getting caught, but I wanted to make sure that I at least knew what I was up against. More or less.

When I couldn’t hack or assimilate information, I made sure to keep up the front that I was still a happy little worker. I kept doing what I had been doing; training, walking around, leading mammals off for Robotosization (even though it sickened me to do it; watching them die wasn’t easy…)

And every weekend, the Eggman would ask me to accompany him to the screening room, which he built for some sort of flying machine. I have no idea why, but he would show me movies for an entire day. His explanation was so I could learn “valuable things about life.”

On one of these outings, I asked Robotnik why he built all of this, why go through all the trouble.

“I wanted to do something great for my kind. Now I can finally get the respect I deserve...”

I hate the bastard, with all of his towering mystery and hidden motives. He’s deeper than a chasm and filled to the brim with mal-intent. Maybe this is the wrong way to feel. Maybe there’s no way out of it. Maybe he shouldn’t have put images of good and evil in my head with those goddamn movies, but maybe then I wouldn’t be doing this.

**********

And here I am now, running from Robotnik and his evil. It’s been four years since I was born, two years since I met ‘Boomer’ the walrus, one year since I started memorizing information from the computer, and one week since I finished.

I then asked Robotnik for the following two days off, just to rest, really to give me a head start. I’m hoping it didn’t make him suspicious. He seemed oblivious enough of my insubordination. I wanted my two-week notice to come in two weeks after I left.

After that, I took off running. I want out of this hellhole fast, but I want to do it quietly, if possible. This was priority number one. I try not to think about what to do when I leave the Death Egg. Maybe I’ll look for the place that ‘Boomer’ was from, or any other tiny village to blend into. Yeah fucking right, I’d be the most suspicious looking needle in a retarded haystack.

Home was a small cot on the 1999th floor of Robotnik’s round fortress. I’m now trying to get to 150 where security starts to slacken, so I can steal a HoverUnit. Right now, I’m on the 1439th floor, and so far I’ve gone undetected.

Even though I had hacked into the entire system, the computer was vague and secretive about many things. For instance, it did not give away the location of all the traps on all the floors. Why there are traps in the first place worries me slightly, but no matter. I tried to piece together the computer info with what I had learned during my existence. There are still missing pieces.

I’m worried about security for a reason: the corridor in front of me is rather suspicious, though I’m not sure what makes it that way. It’s just a hallway, but I know absolutely nothing about it, which is highly unusual in this place. I know something about every hallway that I had passed so far. I mean, I haven’t ran into any trouble thus far…

I look around the corner for the millionth time, still finding nothing. I weigh my options:

1) Looking for an alternate route: It would take time. It’s been three days since I asked Robotnik for two sick days. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t reported in yet. Most likely he will soon discover I am nowhere near where I’m supposed to be. The clock is ticking down.

2) Backtracking: Again, more time would be used. Slightly less, albeit, but it’s still a precious commodity. Plus, I would be pressing my luck with the patrol ’bots I’ve already fooled. And I’m back to the consequences of step one.

3) Taking my chances: The more I think about it, the easier this decision seems to me. If my intuition turns out to be bogus, then I would waste valuable minutes if I’d choose either of the above choices. My enemy lurks even in the ticking of the clock. God, could I ever use some time...

Then again, if it is a trap, all hope for me would be lost. Robotnik sure as shit wouldn’t let all this slide. He would most likely send me to conditioning, Robotosization, or possibly total eradication. His other creations would love that. I was becoming increasingly unpopular with them, since Robotnik favored me. It would be wonderful to them if I left, but it’d be even better if they were the ones who got rid of me. They’d come at me as soon as alarms began blaring.

But I’m not going down without a fight.

… I’ll take my chances with the corridor. After all, if you don’t take risks, you receive no rewards.

I start walking up the hallway, confident and sure of myself for the first time in days...

And then the floor drops out from under me.

**********

“Is everyone as fuckin naive as you?!”

I finished my long tirade of explanation. ‘Boomer’ just stood there, looking completely crushed.

“No...” he muttered. “You’re lying.” He looked like he was either about to cry or scream at me. Couldn’t decide which.

He responded in the way I expected him to, but I couldn’t blame him. I might have been the same, except I wouldn’t have acted like such a bitch about it.

“Then . . . why was I chosen?”

“Listen, you weren’t chosen, you were fuckin’ captured. You just happened to be where the Buzzbombers were. You were captured because of Robotnik’s need for you.”

“Who’s RoBUTTnik?”

My patience was wearing thin. I did my best not to yell at the guy. “Robotnik. This is his place, Robotropolis. It’s his domain, his HOME. Robotnik needs you for two things: labor and power. Because of his domain’s size, it needs a lot of maintenance. And that’s where you come in.” I had suddenly turned into Joe the Explainer from all those movies Robotnik made me watch. I didn’t care. I was pissed.

“So... what now?” he shakily asked, small tears streaming down his face.

“You fucking putz. Right now, I’m supposed to escort you to the Scrap Brain Zone to be Robotosized. Now, I know that doesn’t sound good, and that’s because it isn’t. Now, wipe off your face and quit ‘yer fuckin blubbering!”

**********

I fall for what seems like a long time, which is good, because it gives me a chance to rest, but more for a chance to mentally chastise myself for being so goddamn stupid. I should’ve fucking gone around! I’m such a dumb ass, fucking shit, man! Dumb as a fucking pile of rocks on a pile of shit! And so on and so forth. It’s a childish way of dealing with what’s happening to me. I don’t know what’s in store for me next. The voice in my head is really mad at me.

Finally, I land.

“Shit . . .” That hurts a little, the impact sending shocks up my spine. I shake it off and take a look around.

“Shit.” The Scrap Brain Zone. This isn’t good. The one place in Robotropolis I DON’T want to be, and I fall smack dab in the fucking middle of it.

You see, not only does this area serve to Robotosize newly captured mammals, but it also holds their brain energies in the form of electrical arcs, all collectively connected by powerful electricity. This harnesses the brain energies into a useable power source. These tall electrical staffs are scattered as far as I remember being able to see, electricity running from arc to arc for miles on end.

“Shit!” And I’m trapped, surrounded by nothing but electricity.

Suddenly, the floodlights turn on above me, blinding me. I try to squint past the glare into the source . . .

“Oh SHIT!!”

E-102, Robotnik’s personal robotic assassin, standing on a platform above me. This is not going to be an easy day.

To me, he looks big, bulky, and awkward, but I know from the report, and from experience, that he has a full compliment of gun emplacements on almost his entire body. Gattling guns as arms, missile launchers on his back. He has it where it counts for a shitload.

As I said, this is not going to be an easy day…

“So, what time do I clock in tomorrow?” He doesn’t laugh.

“BY ORDER OF ROBOTNIK, REPORT BACK TO DUTY, OR EXCESSIVE FORCE WILL BE USED.”

Just my luck I’d run into this dinger bastard. I’d rather tango with ten Buzzbombers any day rather than him. It’d be much more fun, because they at least frown at you when you say something that you think is funny. E-102 just sits there expressionless, like he’s doing right now… I hate him so much.

Options. There were always options, out of any given situation. Taking a look at my surroundings a second time, I look for an option that would work in my favor. I think back to the reports of this place…

*********

I mentally skip through the statistical reports, concentrating on certain incidents. Let’s see…

There were thousands of documented cases of when Buzzbombers lost control of themselves because of the static that this place conducts, flying into one of the energy arcs on their patrols. Their casings would harden, and circuits would short out. Every week or so a ‘cleaner’ ‘bot would be sent to find any lying around.

**********

The Buzzbomber blueprint. Since they were mass-produced on an assembly line, they had interchangeable parts, like all of the ‘bots in Robotnik’s domain. If a Buzzbomber’s emplacement was the only thing undamaged in a fire fight, a completely different ‘bot whose gun placement was the only thing damaged in a fight could take that handgun, press the button on the side, and add it to their body with no problem.

**********

The gun report. Pressing the button on the side would turn on the gun’s “fit” mechanism, meaning that the gun would fit into anything that was holding it. In essence, ‘bots mass-produced in the Death Egg could have a “weapon exchange program” and not have any incompatibilities.

**********

And how is all of this useful to me?

There is a shorted out Buzzbomber twenty feet to my left, lying past three pairs of electrical fields. It looks like a tight fit between the fields, about two feet wide, but it’s better than giving up. Anything is better than giving up.

Suddenly, I dive to my immediate left, twisting my body into a good hedgehog pretzel, curling up my extremities. I miss the arcs by inches, the static causing what little hair I have to stand on end. Dimly, I can hear E-102’s guns whir into place to fire on me.

Now the gun. I ignore the surprisingly loud whirring of guns and I outstretch my right hand. I turn in mid-air so I can easily grab it when I sail past. I jam my hand into the Buzzbomber’s hardened casing, shattering it. As my body arcs over the top of it my fingers find the handle of what I’m looking for. I grip it tightly, and I’m swung down to the ground on my right side.

Using my shoulder to absorb most of the impact, I use my momentum and come up standing. Already my fingers thumb the button on the newly retrieved gun, sending it into pedestrian mode. E-102’s guns blaze yellow fireballs, and for one moment, my brain tells my body that I’m dead. The voice even offers exasperated running commentary: “Fuck! You’re too slow.”

Lucky for me that Robotnik and E-102 consider me a big enough threat to launch a missile at. Idiot didn’t consider what would happen if it exploded next to an energy arc. Assassin indeed.

KABOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

The explosion from the staff knocks me back fifty or so yards, I can’t be too sure. It’s sketchy in my mind. I think I may have blacked out for a second, or maybe I was anticipating the cold grip of death and tried to outrun it.

So, when I wake up seconds or minutes later, I see E-102 melting in the distance, a giant smoldering ruin, a product of his own overkill. Moderation is an unknown word in this place.

Because of the explosion, the energy arcs within a fifty yard radius are destroyed, my path to freedom opened before me.

Too easy, much too quickly. Either the explosion from the destroyed arc destroyed the one above him as well, or I fired a shot at it and I just don’t remember. Either way, it’s extremely anti-climactic. Disappointed that I didn’t get to buzz saw his ass.

I walk up to him slowly, the pain in my head hopefully starting to subside. E-102 steadily on his way to becoming a melted puddle on the floor, I decide to end his misery quickly, so I raise my foot and kick him in his halfway melted breast plate.

Unexpectedly, his chest explodes outward, sending sparks and debris straight at me. I shield myself with my arms as a low moan reaches my ears. When the smoke clears, I have an unobstructed view of what made E-102 tick.

**********

“You see, Robotosization is not the direct conversion of animals to robot, or mortals to demigod. It’s really just the repeated placing of metal parts upon flesh until the original animal is no longer recognizable. The body runs the ‘bot parts like a battery. This once animal has no free will, because all thoughts are diverted here, to the Scrap Brain Zone, hence the arcs of electricity. In a sense, the animal is still alive, but he is a slave, his thoughts never again able to move its body. Trapped forever in a hard metal casing. Here, Robotnik managed to create a perfect form of energy, and the entire complex, including the places where you and your family live, ‘Boomer.’ Your entire life is geared towards this servitude. So, please, can we get this over with-”

I was cut off. ‘Boomer’ took a swing at me.

**********

A raccoon sits inside of E-102, tubes entering and exiting its body, running from the metal shell to the raccoon, most ripped out of him with the exploding of the armor. Since he’s still technically alive…

Blood. More than I thought could exist in someone.

Poor guy looks like he’s caught in a state halfway between life and death, body contorted in anguish, arms hanging limply outwards, the small holes all over him, and his eyes... it’s eyes... peering into me, trying to call out to me. Oh God, the blood...

The gun is no longer in my hand, probably thrown across the Zone because of the explosion. I need a replacement.

E-102’s gun was in good shape, only a little melted. I pluck it off of his body, minding the heat, and I press the button on the side. The gun whirs into its fit mechanism.

Good. Still works. Wonder if it still fires.

I eye the raccoon’s head…

It works perfectly.

Suddenly, I realize that alarms are blaring all over the place, red lights flashing on and off, on and off. Soon, thousands of Buzzbombers and God-knows-what will soon converge on my position. And I still need a way out…

The gun. A way out.

I put the gun to my head. It might come to this, if I ran out of options. Sure, it was giving up, but I was wrong earlier. Robotosization is worse. I’d rather...

“What do you do when the food is cold, the stores are closed, and all the clocks say Shit:50?”

… You wait 10 minutes.

The gun lowers, and I sit down on the cold floor.

Ten minutes comes too quickly.

**********

Since I was built to be super fast, I perceived everything differently, as if life were moving in slow motion. I saw the punch coming before it was halfway to my head. I ducked it with ease, but didn’t fight back. I wanted to see what he would do next.

‘Boomer’ must have realized that I was too fast for him, because he went after the two Buzzbombers in front of us. He sent the one on the left flying into the wall with a jumping rabbit punch, and then took care of the one on the right by twisting its head around and pulling it off.

The last two Buzzbombers came up quickly behind him as he was busy twisting their comrade. They swung their stingers out at him and dived full speed at his back. Quickly, ‘Boomer’ turned around and threw the head of a Buzzbomber at one of them, knocking it to pieces, while the other continued its dive. No time to dodge it, ‘Boomer’ jumped backwards and slapped his hands together to catch the stinger.

It worked… sort of. He didn’t succeed in stopping the stinger, but his hands diverted it to just above his shoulder, pinning him to the hard metal floor. The Buzzbomber now stuck, he slammed both his fists into it head, breaking it. His hands were cut to ribbons.

I was impressed slightly, although now he had to deal with me. Unless he had a truckload of back-that-shit-up, he was fucked.

“You done?” I asked plainly. “You have just destroyed what are most likely two of your former friends, so you should have all the heroics out of your system. Now, come with me, or I break every finger you possess.”

“Please, I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want out of here.” He raised his hands in the air non-threateningly. “Help me. Please.”

“No. I have a fuckin job to do. And willfully or unconscious, you’re coming with me.” I started toward him.

He didn’t back away. He just stared at me.

“You’ve never left here, have you?” I stopped walking. He continued. “This is all the world you know? Do you realize how pathetic that is?! All you do is what you’re told! You kill innocent beings!” I resumed walking to him. “Listen, I can help you. Come with me. I can show you the outside world, the world you’ve only heard about, only dreamed about. You can live a real life for once. Sounds intriguing, doesn’t it?”

I kept walking until I was right up to his face. Then I hit him on the side of the head, knocking him out.

**********

What a day.

My life has meant nothing until now. Sitting in this stolen HoverUnit, piloting through narrow sections of the Labyrinth Zone, after just recently killing hundreds of Buzzbombers with living creatures encased inside them that I most likely made enslaved, not until now do I realize how decidedly corrupt I used to be and probably still am. My own hands had a part in all of this, all that I now fight against. There’s something sobering about actually recognizing every pool of blood, every corpse. There is almost no chance for redemption here.

Almost. If I can do one thing right in my life, I can stop him. Robotnik. The epitome of all evil in this world. If I can stop him, kill him, before any more innocents are raped of their lives, I might be able to call myself a decent creature. My hate for him is so great that it overflows my veins like a lava flow.

When I kill him, it will be the most painful, degrading, deserving death he can get. And it will be beautiful. It will turn uglier the more I beat his dead body with a lead pipe. That is my definition of justice.

Currently, my situation could be a lot better. Security is on full alert and coming after me with a vengeance. My gun has long since ran out of juice, fighting with my hands and quills now. I can kick serious ass as long as I’m not attacked in great numbers, but that’s looking less and less like it’s going to happen.

I found this HoverUnit sitting alone in an isolated hangar, so I took my opportunity and lifted off. Once I reach the outside world, I’m in shit’s creek without so much as a boat. Every ‘bot within radio range will want a piece of me, and they’ll tear me apart with no mercy. Whatever it takes.

What a fucking day…

Artificial sunlight floods the cockpit. Without shielding myself from the glare, I hunch over the controls, meeting whatever opposition head on, matching the vengeance.

“Bring it on.”

*********

‘Boomer’ woke up next to me and at first, he started fighting back. “Calm the fuck down!” I whispered to him. “You want them to catch us?!”

He stopped struggling and looked around him. The piles of metal and the repair tables must have confused him. “Where are we?”

“We’re in a HoverUnit repair room. It’s small, no surveillance, and hardly anyone ever comes in here. Perfect for us to hide until I figure things out. Just a patrol ‘bot comes by every 10 minutes or so.”

He touched the side of his head and grimaced. “Um, why did you hit me?”

“I said ‘alive or unconscious,’ didn’t I? Also, I have decided to accept your offer. And I needed you quiet to sneak us down here, after the stunt you pulled.”

‘Boomer’ leaned his back against the wall and sighed. “Thanks, I guess.” Silence from him for a while. “Sorry ‘bout taking a swing at you.”

“Hey, no harm, no foul.” I shrugged.

“So, why did you decide to help me?” he asked.

“Don’t know. I guess deep down I’ve always dreamed of a better way to live. You sounded like my ticket to that life.”

“Well, I’m assuming you have a plan. Actually, more like I’m hoping you have a plan.”

“I do... sort of. My plan is to wait until a HoverUnit becomes available, steal it, and sail to freedom. And freedom at this point is probably that Knothole place you mentioned.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “That sounds really easy. Then what?”

“… I guess we’ll find out when we get there. Until then, we concentrate on getting us a ride out of here.”

Again, silence from him. “So… what’s your name?” he asked.

For some reason, I hesitated. “Sonic.”

“Sonic? That’s a strange name for a hedgehog.” I snapped my head angrily toward him. “Sorry,” he quickly added. “It’s just I’ve never heard of a name like that. Did your parents give that name to you?”

I was suddenly angry with him. “I have no fucking parents! I was built! My name just means what I do for a living. Now, do you mind shutting your fu-”

I was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. No time to berate him. A patrol ’bot came into the room.

**********

Wait. Before I continue, let me first tell you more about the place I was born and the place I live in…

Robotropolis. What it is, is a manmade, domed structure with many different areas, called Zones, encased within. Robotnik built it to conduct his tests on Robotosization, and the utilizing of synapse energy in the brain, and converting it to a usable power source. In order to do this, he needs test subjects.

Around the edges of Robotropolis are holding pens. These pens are fashioned to look like real environments, so the animals are none the wiser, comfortable in their bliss. A patrol ‘bot comes by when a new subject is needed, and one that is most isolated from a large group is taken, quickly and quietly.

Now, these subjects, these animals, they have not rebelled in the entire span of Robotropolis’ existence. The reason is that they don’t want to fight back. They all think that their captors are Gods and Goddesses and the giant egg structure is paradise.

I don’t think for one second that this is an accident. I think that the religion was purposefully introduced into the hierarchy, and is still enforced by officers hidden in the field as their own.

As for the Robotropolis Zones:

The Death Egg: Robotnik’s fortress, where he resides. Also houses three other zones where tests are
conducted, ‘bots are built, and animals are Robotosized.

Scrap Brain Zone: Where cheap labor is born and a highly unstable power source is utilized.

Star Light Zone: Construction point of the Death Egg. There’s something here, but I can’t remember what it is.

Labyrinth Zone: Runs the entire length of Robotropolis, starting in the Scrap Brain Zone. So many tunnels inside, I don’t even want to think about where some of them lead.

Circled around the Death Egg are Robotnik’s personal areas:

Casino Nights Zone: Eggman’s personal recreational area, run by ‘bots and failed experiments, populated by tightly regimented subjects. Whores and poker.

Spring Yard Zone: I was trained here. Giant metal fucking springs hurt like a bitch and the flying projectiles can cut me in half. Avoid altogether.

Surrounding these are the maintenance areas for the ‘bots.

Chemical Plant Zone: Exactly as it sounds; storage area for chemicals.

Oil Ocean: The oil refinery for all ‘bots that need oil. For something that’s relatively small in demand, this ocean is BIG. So huge, in fact, that it effects some areas around it in a great way.

And the holding pens:

Aquatic Ruin Zone: Stony structures, covered in dead plants. Used to be underwater.

Green Hill Zone: Holding area #1. This is where Robotnik keeps some of his free-range animals awaiting Robotosization. Breeding is unrestricted, so new subjects are almost always available. Where Knothole is, I’m guessing.

Marble Zone: More stony structures, close to the Green Hill Zone. Molten lava surrounds it.

Emerald Hill Zone: Holding area #2.

Hill Top Zone: Holding area #3. Sits right next to the Oil Ocean, dropping the IQ’s of the animals residing here.

Mystic Cave: In the Hill Top Zone. Don’t know why it was mentioned, but it was in the report, so I assume that it’s important somehow.

Outside…

Angel Island: Mentioned that it is of great importance, and the only thing about the outside world with any real information on it. Run by a group called “The Chaotix.” A playground of sorts with all kinds of mystical background and a detailed back-story. Half ruined civilization, half theme park. Loads of tactical information, and something about a mission I was supposed to execute in the future, but I suppose I’ve fucked that idea up for sure.

Enough of that bullshit. About me…

Some may tell you that I am a hedgehog, when in fact I am not. Technically not. I am, fundamentally, a creation of Doctor Robotnik. My body is made of a durable plastic, built for high speed traveling stresses. However, my insides are made from organic parts. The reports I hacked into had a file on me, but it didn’t contain much information. All I know is that my organs were cloned from a genetic template, then a blue plastic was molded on me. The plastic formed along my head and back are pointed at the ends. I’m genetically engineered to run at superhuman speeds, and coupled with the shoes Eggman gave me, I can break the speed of sound in six seconds flat. For attacking purposes, all I need to do to hurt something badly is get a good head start, and curl into a tight ball. Because of the spines on my back, I turn into fast moving buzz saw. You all know what happens next.

And as for the rest of me, it’s a complete mystery. I have no idea why I was made or from whom I was cloned, but I hope to God that it’s not Robotnik’s genes running through me. Just the thought of him coursing through my veins…

**********

I’ve been piloting this HoverUnit for ten minutes. I expected an armada of flying things to converge on me and knock me out of the sky after the show I put on inside, but… nothing. Not even a bird flies in my wake, if they even exist here. I suppose I should be grateful that I’m so lucky, even the slightest bit grateful that I’ve gotten this far, but I’m not. I keep telling myself that I’m being paranoid, but the feeling of being royally screwed hasn’t left my mind. I keep coming up with notions in my head; always the same “It’s probably a trap” or “They’re probably following you” and “They have a homing beacon planted on you.”

“Your body is set to self destruct in ten seconds if you don’t surrender.”

“They have you in their sights, Sonic. Turn left, turn left or you’re dead. Turn left NOW!” and always, nothing happens. But this didn’t stop the nagging voice in my head. “Sonic, you fuckin idiot. Don’t you realize that they’re letting you go?!” … That last one didn’t sound so farfetched…

Oh SHIT!

An explosion rocks my HoverUnit, sending the craft into a downward spiral. I’m already on my way out of the ship. The door automatically opens as I run towards it, diving outwards, right as the HoverUnit explodes in flaming debris. The force sends me crashing to the ground faster than gravity would have. My eyes close and I brace myself for whatever surface awaits-

… Ooooo, soft.

Huh?

I… I’ve landed in the middle of a grassy field. A large one at that, about fifty feet in diameter. Trees line the edges of what look to be a huge clearing. My HoverUnit explodes on my left in a shower that engulfs all of the surrounding trees. Squinting through the smoke… I can see two figures standing in the distance…

Scratch and Grounder.

**********

“Quiet!” I whispered to him.

The patrol ‘bot moved slowly around the maintenance area, searching and scrutinizing. I motioned ‘Boomer’ to follow me, to keep out sight.

I started leading him to the other side of the repair hangar. I figured there was enough debris and such to keep me hidden, but I didn’t know about him. He was a fat fucker. No offense, of course.

I moved under a big piece of scrap metal and held up my hand. Rotor, who was crawling on his hands and knees, stopped. I took a look over the pile to see where the ‘bot was.

It was at the other side, moving along the perimeter. Pretty soon it was going to check our area and probably find us.

I searched the room for an alternative. My eyes moved over several tables, tool cabinets, and piles of metal. Nothing would accommodate Rotor’s size.

I sighed in exasperation. We would just have to avoid it, rather than hide from it. I motioned for ‘Boomer’ to follow me, but to keep extremely low to the ground. He did so, then followed me.

We crawled, staying to the other end of the patrol ‘bot. ‘Boomer’ was doing a pretty good job of staying quiet and low to the ground. He flattened his body as best he could against the floor. I was actually proud of him.

I stopped crawling when I reached shelter under a sizable repair table. ‘Boomer’ was a couple of feet away, still crawling. I checked the patrol ‘bot’s position.

Shit! He altered his course and was only a few feet away from ‘Boomer.’ I motioned for him to stop crawling. He halted and held still. The ‘bot must have detected motion in this area.

The patrol ‘bot swung its massive legs and kept walking. Sooner or later, I knew it would find him and alert security. And then our entire plan was shit. I was screwed. I had to do something…

**********

Scratch, he conveys a composure of pompous confidence and practically stares disappointment into me. I hate that about him, being able to speak with his mannerisms. If I’d have known that these guys were waiting for me, I would have brought me some shotguns. These two are a handful.

You might be wondering, “Sonic, why are you so scared of those two?” Well, Billy, it’s because that, even though both of them look stupid as shit, they are actually cold, calculating, efficient killing machines.

In fact, what makes them dangerous is their appearance. At first glace, these two look like bumbling idiots that you could swindle their entire lives out of, but they were actually made to look like that. For, like, fooling people and shit. Duh.

Scratch is this tactical genius sort, a general in every sense of the word. He’s designed like a chicken in order to blend in with the animals in the pens and monitor their activities, as well as reinforce the religion. He might have a hand in their capture as well.

Grounder, who is your basic grunt-turned-all terrain vehicle, follows Scratch around wherever he can, but mostly hides close by in radio contact with him, as backup. Information from Scratch is radioed to him, then radioed directly to Robotnik.

Across the grassy field, Scratch shakes his head in mock-shame and clicks his tongue loud enough for me to hear. “Sonic, Sonic, Sonic… Why this little insurrection? You know it’s a futile exercise, but I guess I should be grateful, for it gives me a chance to make a better name for myself in the boss’ eyes. Still, your logic escapes me…”

Flames from the downed HoverUnit lash out at me from far away. My eyes fall to the ground. “Fuck off,” I mumble.

“Pay attention, boy!” he yells, his patience already wearing thin. “Now, my orders are to take you in alive, but you’re obviously resisting arrest, so I’m forced to use old Grounder here to soften you up a bit.”

Grounder, sitting at Scratch’s left, raises his drills in the air.

“Grounder, remember those machines I showed you that chopped meat into dust?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“It’s your turn.”

Grounder’s drills start moving and he advances, the horrible sound of steel cutting air burning and vibrating my insides.

Grounder’s downfall is his mobility. He’s built to be tough rather than maneuverable, which suits me just fine. I wait for about five seconds until he’s close enough, and I jump over the top of him just before those spinning drills slice me into veal cutlets. He’s still trying to reverse direction when I land behind him, throwing out kicks and punches with lightning quickness. They hardly make a dent.

When Grounder turns to face me, I flip backwards, arm over arm cartwheel. Yes, I’m showing off, and yes, I’m lucky that he isn’t equipped with any projectile weapons. However, it is quite unfortunate that the enemy that I have my back to is equipped with projectiles.

Scratch starts firing at me as soon as I land, base rounds whizzing past my ears. I roll away from him and jump on the other side of Grounder again, who is already facing my direction. His drills come at me faster than I would have imagined. And as I try jumping once more, a shot from Scratch’s gun hits me in the back.

FUCK!!!

Stars fly, and I hit the ground with a thud. I shake my head violently and my hands go to my back, already the harsh red liquid flowing. Not too bad a wound, just a little fleshy. No big deal. Went off to the side.

I look up and see Grounder standing over me, his drill aimed right at my forehead.

“Stop!” I dimly hear. Scratch walks up next to Grounder. “He’s mine.” He points his gun at me. “Stand up, now.”

Slowly, I get up. Scratch keeps the gun trained on my face.

“Turn around,” he orders. I stand still. He gets closer to me. “Turn around!” he says in a harsher tone. That chicken exterior makes him look fucking ridiculous, I’m telling you. No way this piece of shit is telling me what to do. A small roar starts in my head. Scratch thumbs the control on the gun to fully automatic.

He leans forward. “Turn the FUCK around!” he gets right up to me and yells. Idiot should have known I’d spit in his face if he got that close.

Scratch takes the trouble to hit me in the head with the gun before wiping my spit off of himself. I fall to my knees. The wet grass feels so good, and real, too. The roar grows even louder…

“Goodnight, Sonic.” The gun pushes into my head. I close my eyes.

The roaring in my ears is almost unbearable. I feel like reaching up and covering my ears, but that won’t help. Tears start to well up in my eyes, and I grit my teeth, waiting for it to come. Anything to quench it, anything, even death. Pull the trigger already, please end it, end it now! Why is he moving so slowly?

Then... in perfect clarity, the voice in my head, the voice that’s always with me wherever I go, he speaks in booming clarity. It tells me what to do, how to stay alive, and to act before life slips away, lost forever. My saving grace. But I have to move fast. Scratch’s finger already tightening on the trigger.

In a fluid motion, my left hand swipes his arm, knocking the gun from my head to Grounder’s. Scratch pulls the trigger.

My right hand knocks the gun clean out of Scratch’s hand, and he was gripping the gun so tightly that all of his fingers snap off.

Grounder’s head looks like a hunk of caved-in metal, but I don’t care. I just want to do the exact same thing to Scratch. Nothing else matters until I kill this motherfucker.

Scratch lands a punch in my face with his left hand, but I slam another to his stomach. He backpedals surprisingly far back from the force of it. I move towards him.

Grounder suddenly comes in front of me, limbs flailing. He still has enough control over himself to attack with drills up and at the ready. And he’s quick, too. I jump backwards, feet sliding along the grass. I crouch forward like a bull and run straight for him again, electricity building around me. My muscles fire and my feet move faster than I can feel them. Flames build beneath my shoes, burning the ground beneath them. When it all blurs, I roll into a ball and I spin.

Friction goes all around me, and when I stand on solid ground again, Grounder is in two pieces. History.

Scratch had apparently gone looking for the gun. He’s ten feet away, searching in the bushes, right near where I saw it land. Recognition flares in his eyes. He’s found the gun. Shit.

Grounder. I quickly run over to his husk and grab his drill bit arm. I found the fit mechanism button on the side, and pressed it . . .

Nothing. Just a small “whir,” but no more. Granted, I can still use the drill as a hand-to-hand weapon, but not a gun, no projectiles.

Scratch has the gun hanging at his side. He stares daggers at me. “That was my best lieutenant you killed.”

I say nothing, just stare back at him. I throw the drill bit to the ground.

We both dive for each other at the same time.

**********

VISUAL SENSORS ON: TIME DELAY- 10000TH OF A SECOND.

WARNING: SENSORS DETECT DENSE OBJECT MOVING AT HIGH SPEEDS ON COLLISION COURSE. SET DEFENSE PARAMETERS: COORDINATES 10387568 ALPHA SEARCHING FOR WEAK SPOT . . . . . . . . . . TARGET AQUIRED. FIRING . . . . . HIT SCORED . . . . . . HIT SCORED . . . . . . MISS . . . . . . . . RECALIBRATING . . . . . . . . MISS . . . . . . . . . RECALIBRATING . . . . . MISS . . . . . RECALIBRATING . . . . . . . ALERT, ALERT, OBJECT IN CLOSE PROXIMITY, COLLISION IMMINENT . . . . . ERROR, ERROR, 101000010010101010100101<> . . . . . .

**********

I stand over Scratch’s decapitated body. His head I could not find. My body weak from exhaustion and the wounds in my stomach, I wobble on my feet as the artificial sun sets. I would have thought that it was beautiful if I didn’t know that it was fake. A lie. Nothing in Robotnik’s world is beautiful.

**********

You want to know the truth? What really happened between ‘Boomer’ and me? Well, here it is:

After I knocked him out, I started to drag him to the Scrap Brain Zone, but before I got there, Buzzbombers came in front of me. At first they just stood there, then they started to attack me. “Why!?” I yelled out to them. I pleaded with them to stop firing at me, but they wouldn’t STOP. Maybe they thought I was the one who attacked their comrades. I didn’t have a choice. I had to kill them before they killed me.

After the four Buzzbombers lay in pieces around me, I looked down at ‘Boomer’s unconscious form. I considered his offer. I thought Robotnik would never let me back after the number of troops I killed. I decided to take ‘Boomer’ up on his offer. I wanted to leave. Or, at least, that’s what I thought…

Remember?

“So… what’s your name?”

“Sonic.”

“Sonic? That’s a strange name for a hedgehog… sorry. It’s just I’ve never heard of a name like that. Did your parents give that name to you?”

And just before the patrol ‘bot came in:

“My name’s Rotor, by the way.”

Why did he have to tell me his name… why? Why can’t I ever get what I fucking want? I want to be happy. That’s all I want. I can’t be happy after I know his name and turn against him.

That’s right, you heard right. I TURNED HIM IN. I stood up in the repair hangar and gave up. Said he tried to get away and I caught him. He was escorted back to the Scrap Brain Zone. I guess I figured Robotnik would take me back.

Robotnik was surprisingly understanding. He gave me a hug, dwarfing me, and said I did the right thing. Then… something strange…

“Would you like to see it?”

See Robotosization? Okay, why not? I let him lead me into the Scrap Brain Zone.

I watched the walrus Rotor strapped onto the table. I watched tubes being inserted into his ears and neck. I watched as his eyes snapped open mid-process, but it continued. And . . . I watched the life leave his eyes . . .

WHY DID HE HAVE TO TELL ME HIS FUCKING NAME?!

**********

I wait until the sun sets all the way, then I let my legs give out from under me. The world slips away as I hit the soft, grassy ground.

**********

All I want is to be happy. I should be happy. That’s why this doesn’t seem real.

The End of Sunday