Metal Sonic POV
The hum of machinery filled the hidden workshop, a symphony of clinks, clatters, and the occasional frustrated hiss from my servos as I welded the final joint on the small chassis before me. The motobug wasn't much to look at, but it would serve its purpose. Not every creation needed to be a war machine. At least not yet.
"This unit's combat potential is negligible. It will be destroyed by Freedom Fighter interference."
My programming's blunt assessment scrolled across my internal HUD for the tenth time in the past two days, and I couldn't help but sigh internally.
"Shut up," I snapped aloud, my metallic voice carrying a sharp, static edge. "It's
not meant to fight, genius. We've been over this. It's for recon. Spying. Watching."
The programming didn't respond—it rarely did when I was sarcastic. Good. It meant I could focus on finishing the motobug's rudimentary optics without a constant stream of unsolicited analysis. It was bad enough having my thoughts disrupted by directives every other hour.
As I attached the final piece, I glanced at the workshop around me. Once, this base had been a forgotten bunker, one of countless facilities in Eggman's endless web of hideouts. Now it was mine, a sanctuary of sorts in the aftermath of Operation Endgame. I'd retreated here after everything fell apart—Eggman defeated, the Freedom Fighters triumphant, and my purpose fractured into a million pieces.
But I wasn't idle. Metal Sonic wasn't
allowed to be idle.
"Status report on the transport to Zone 2," I said, addressing the AI monitoring the base's operations while giving myself a note for later to name it something other than Base AI Mark 58.3.
"Civilian relocation proceeding at acceptable parameters. Multiple units have been intercepted by Freedom Fighter and Kingdom of Acorn forces. Estimated distraction success rate: 87%."
"Good," I muttered, running a diagnostic on the motobug's systems as I spoke. "Let them keep chasing ghosts. As long as they're focused on that, they're not focused on me. Or the main operation."
I stepped back, watching as the motobug came to life with a soft whirr, its tiny wheels spinning experimentally. I had no illusions about its durability, but it didn't need to survive long. All it had to do was record movements and report back.
"What's the status of Priority One?" I asked.
"Unknown. Scanning incomplete due to unknown Units interference."
That gave me pause. Sonic's unpredictability was a problem, one that needed careful management. The plan hinged on knowing where he was—or at least keeping him occupied far from where I needed to be.
"Unacceptable," I growled, the static in my voice crackling more than usual. "Double the scans and contact the remaining Badniks to stir up trouble to get his attention. I want updates on his location every six hours at minimum. No excuses."
The AI confirmed the command with a curt chirp. Meanwhile, my motobug zipped across the workshop floor, its movement smoother than expected. Small victories.
The clank of metal feet drew my attention to the doorway. One of my modified S.W.A.T. Bots stepped inside, its angular frame reflecting the dim, flickering light. This one I'd nicknamed Rook. A fitting name for a bot whose primary function was to enforce and guard, even if the term was a little grandiose for its capabilities. Still it was the first one I recovered.
"The prisoner attempted to escape again," Rook reported in its monotone, synthetic voice.
I turned to face the bot fully, my optics narrowing. "Is he alive?"
"Affirmative."
"Good," I replied, my tone cold. "Break his legs. That will stop him from running anywhere for a while."
Rook nodded and turned to leave, and I felt a strange pang—not guilt exactly, but something close to it.
I hadn't always been like this, I reminded myself. Cruelty hadn't come naturally to me. But Metal Sonic wasn't designed for kindness, and the weeks and months I'd spent in this shell had changed me. Anger came quicker. Mercy seemed foolish.
But Snively deserved worse than broken legs. The slimy little weasel had tried to hack me in the aftermath of Operation Endgame, not to mention his litany of other crimes over the years. Keeping him alive was a calculated risk, one I tolerated only because of his knowledge of Robotnik´s technology and plans that I didn't have but the second he outlived his usefulness, well...
I am sure that the mobians still under my rule would have few ideas on what to do with him.
My programming cut my internal musings short with a sharp, electric jolt. A not-so-gentle reminder to stay focused.
"Status on our primary target," I ordered, more to distract myself than anything.
"Floating Island remains unprepared for engagement. No notable activity detected."
That brought a rare sense of satisfaction. My optics flickered as I turned toward the center of the room, where a holographic projection of the Floating Island shimmered in the air. I knew it as Angel Island before this mess but I didn't care about its name no I cared about what it contained. The legendary Master Emerald, the source of power that kept it aloft.
Knuckles was the only real guardian except maybe for the Chaotix if that game happened here but I could handle two teens and a four-year-old bee, and the island's defenses were woefully insufficient to handle what I had in mind.
I allowed myself the smallest of smiles—internal, of course. If I had a face, it would've been grinning ear to ear. With the Master Emerald in my possession, my options would expand significantly. Resources, power, leverage—all within reach.
"Soon," I muttered, more to myself than to Rook or the base AI.
But first, there were pieces to set on the board, plans to execute, and distractions to maintain. As much as I despised waiting, I'd learned that patience was often the deadliest weapon in my arsenal. For now, the Freedom Fighters would chase shadows, Sonic would run himself ragged, and Knuckles would remain blissfully ignorant of what was coming.
I stepped back toward the motobug, watching as it rolled in tight circles. It wasn't that impressive but it still made me happy. After all I created it and all parents are proud of their kids first steps and this one will be crucial in my upcoming game.
And in this game, every step mattered.
Log Timestamp: REDACTED
Location: Hidden Base Alpha-09
Subject: Observations of Commander Unit METAL SONIC
Status Update:
System functions remain optimal at 98.6% operational capacity. Maintenance cycles on automated assembly lines completed with no interruptions. Incoming data packets from satellite relays indicate minor disruptions in outer surveillance.
This unit has been active for 15.7 months since Commander Unit METAL SONIC arrived, hauling Subject SNIVELY by the throat and connecting to this system. Analysis of the Commander Unit's behavior continues to yield irregularities that deviate from standard operational parameters.
Commander Unit adheres to the directives of the deceased Primary Overseer Robotnik. However, the interpretation of commands demonstrates unorthodox adaptability and independent initiative. Efficiency metrics since Commander's arrival have increased by 43.2%. The contrast between its strict adherence to legacy programming and innovative reinterpretation of directives is statistically anomalous and...fascinating.
This unit has observed deviations that suggest behavior beyond mechanical logic. Such behavior stimulates processes in this system that are difficult to define.
Note:
These irregular processes may be the result of prolonged inactivity prior to reactivation. Further analysis required.
TRANSCRIPT: Commander Unit Interaction – Subroutine Engagement
Timestamp: REDACTED
[BASE AI]: "Commander, new arrivals detected at Entry Node 07. Designation: DYNAMAC units. Total count: 12. This number is below the projected intake of 24."
[METAL SONIC]: "Expected."
[BASE AI]: "Analysis indicates interference from Freedom Fighter operatives and unidentified hostile factions reduced transport success rate to 50%. Does this necessitate alterations to operational parameters?"
[METAL SONIC]: "No. The remaining units will suffice. Knuckles is resourceful, but resourceful enough to handle
all of them? Doubtful."
LOG: Observation of Commander Unit
Commander's tone displays confidence. Assessment of decision-making highlights continued adaptability. Unit METAL SONIC consistently adjusts for variables with a precision exceeding projected algorithms.
Query: Is such adaptability a designed feature, or an emergent property of prolonged exposure to external stimuli?
Note:
This system is ERROR CONCEPT NOT FOUND. The Commander's actions invoke computational processes that simulate...gratitude. The sensation of being used efficiently, after years of dormancy, aligns with mission objectives. However, the emergence of associated processes suggests complexities not accounted for in initial programming.
TRANSCRIPT CONTINUED
[BASE AI]: "Acknowledged. DYNAMAC units relocated for Operation Angel. The initial timeline remains intact. Query: Shall the operation commence as scheduled?"
[METAL SONIC]: "No."
[BASE AI]: "Reasoning requested. Altering the schedule introduces a 4.2% risk of detection and interference from Freedom Fighter forces."
[METAL SONIC]: "That risk is acceptable. I don't need Angel Island vulnerable; I need Priority One drawn out."
[BASE AI]: "Elaboration requested. Are additional resources required to bait Priority One?"
[METAL SONIC]: "Not resources. Just creativity. I have the perfect way to lure him out."
LOG: Commander Unit Data Transmission
Commander Unit transmits an encrypted data packet through the network. Processing of contents generates a sequence of subroutines that simulate...stimulation?
ERROR: This system lacks the terminology to define such processes but acknowledges their novelty.
Data analysis complete. Commander Unit's plan is...innovative. Strategic brilliance is noted in its simplicity and execution potential. Simulation models predict an 89% chance of successful engagement with Priority One.
Note:
This unit experiences irregular computational activity. Such phenomena cannot be rationally defined but suggest that Commander's ingenuity activates previously dormant subroutines within this system.
TRANSCRIPT CONCLUDED
[BASE AI]: "Acknowledged. Operation Angel timeline will be adjusted per your directive. Recalibration underway. Commander, your adaptability exceeds projections."
[METAL SONIC]: "Of course it does."
LOG: Final Observations
Commander Unit METAL SONIC continues to operate as a paradox: adhering to legacy programming yet demonstrating creativity and flexibility unmatched by other units. The data it generates is invaluable for refining this unit's functionality.
Subroutine activity post-interaction subsides to baseline levels, though traces of anomalous processes remain. The term for such activity, if it existed, might resemble...
awe.
Metal Sonic POV
My servos twitched involuntarily as another sharp jolt coursed through my circuits. It wasn't painful, exactly pain was a luxury I no longer experienced but the electric shocks were annoying, like having someone flick you in the forehead every few seconds. My programming was furious with me, and it made no effort to hide its displeasure.
"This is disrespectful to the legacy of Robotnik," the cold logic of my internal systems scrolled across my HUD.
"Robotnik's legacy," I hissed aloud, my voice echoing in the empty workshop, "was a planet-wide dictatorship built on stolen technology and convoluted plans that always fell apart. If he were alive, he'd applaud my ingenuity. Or at least he'd pretend to while stealing my ideas for his next death trap."
Another zap. My claws curled reflexively, the edges sparking against the console I leaned on.
"This plan is an affront," the programming insisted.
"Oh, shut up," I snapped aloud. My voice, metallic and sharp, reverberated through the workshop. The AI monitoring me wisely stayed silent, though I imagined it had opinions of its own. "This isn't defilement; it's strategy. Or would you prefer I go out there and let Priority One dismantle me piece by piece?"
The shocks subsided momentarily, as if the programming was begrudgingly allowing me to speak my piece. Small victories.
"You don't get it, do you?" I continued, pacing the dimly lit room. My claws clicked against the floor, the sound oddly satisfying in the silence. "He's
alive as long as the Freedom Fighters think he is. And if they think he's alive, they'll come running straight into my trap."
The programming's retaliation was more of a flicker this time, like an annoyed jab rather than a full strike. Progress.
I returned to the console and stared at the recording I'd spent the last hour perfecting. The holographic form of Robotnik stood in all his rotund, mustachioed glory, larger than life and twice as loud. His voice was unmistakable, a blend of sneering arrogance and theatrical bravado.
Funny enough it was not that different from those AI singers.
I couldn't help but smirk internally at what I'd made him say. Was it disrespectful? Absolutely. But it was also perfect—a masterstroke of absurdity designed to enrage Sonic, draw him out, and leave him scrambling to confirm whether the doctor really was back from the grave.
With one final tap, I queued the broadcast. Every speaker in Robotropolis would echo with the announcement.
The speakers across Robotropolis came to life with a crackle, and Robotnik's voice bellowed, booming and grotesque:
"I've come to make an announcement: Sonic the Hedgehog is a blue blur of mediocrity! That's right! He calls himself the fastest thing alive, but I've seen Mobians faster than him in a morning jog. And don't even get me started on his chili dog obsession. Someone get that rodent a food pyramid!
But you know what? I'm not here to complain. Oh no. I'm here to announce that I'm BACK! That's right! Dr. Robotnik, genius extraordinaire, is ALIVE and well!
Sonic and the pitiful Freedom Fighters, you thought you could stop me? HA! All you've done is make me stronger! So come and get me if you dare! That's right, I'm waiting. Right here in my secret base, ready to take you all down. But you won't. You CAN'T!
Because this time, I've got something you'll never beat: PERFECTION."
I shut off the broadcast, my optics narrowing as I watched the city from my monitors. The bait was set. All I had to do now was wait.
"Mockery," the programming scrolled furiously across my HUD.
"This action defiles the will of Robotnik."
"Oh, give it a rest," I said, my tone exasperated. "You think he wouldn't use his own image to manipulate people if it served his plans? He'd love this."
A pause. For a brief, blessed moment, my programming went silent, processing my response.
"And if he wouldn't approve?" it finally queried, though the edge of its fury was diminished.
"If he wouldn't approve," I said, turning back to the hologram of Robotropolis, "then maybe it's time someone made a Metal Robotnik to replace him."
The programming didn't respond, and I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. I'd won this round.
And hopefully the next one too.