PRIORITY ONE: DESTROY THAT HEDGEHOG!
PRIORITY TWO: SURVIVE
PRIORITY TWO: SURVIVE
Metal Mind [Archie Metal Sonic SI]
- Thread starter Martin Noctis
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Prologue
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- Pronouns
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If there's one lesson I wish I could drill into my past self, it's this: don't bite off more than you can chew. It's a piece of advice that would've saved me an inordinate amount of suffering—like the suffering of being kicked through five apartment walls in rapid succession, for example.
I'll admit, I didn't hate Archie's Sonic comics at first. Quite the opposite, actually. Like any die-hard Sonic fan, I had my preferences. The games were my bread and butter; the Sonic X Anime? An unexpected delight. But the Archie series…well, let's just say that diving into its sprawling chaos was like stepping into a tornado made of chili dogs and melodrama. Intriguing, sure. A bit confusing? Absolutely. Did I regret reading it? Not at first. Now? Oh, you better believe I do.
The cat Mobian in the next room screamed in terror as I burst through her cozy apartment like a particularly over-enthusiastic wrecking ball. I couldn't blame her; the sight of me would make anyone scream. For a moment, I waved awkwardly in a futile attempt at reassurance. She clutched a frying pan in her trembling paws, and I silently begged her not to test her aim on my dented chassis.
Before I could even finish that thought, my internal systems blared a warning: PRIORITY ONE TARGET INCOMING.
"Fantastic," I muttered or tried to as my voice came out as static. Had to fix that later. I barely had time to bring up my black shield before the apartment around me exploded into debris. Another impact sent me soaring again, this time through three more walls and into what I guessed was a kitchen. Judging by the shattered plates on my frame, someone wasn't going to have dinner tonight.
"Gotta say," a familiar, cocky voice called from somewhere amidst the chaos, "you make one heck of a piñata."
Even now, part of me couldn't help but admire Sonic's quips. If I still had lungs, I might've laughed. But laughing seemed counterproductive when you were being systematically pummeled by a hyperactive hedgehog and his squad of best friends. So instead, I groaned internally as I rose from the rubble, recalibrating my systems.
Two years. I'd been here for two years. Plenty of time to regret every life choice that had led me to this moment. But, of course, none of it was really my choice, was it? Not after that fateful night when I sat down, blissfully ignorant, to read the first issue of Archie Sonic. I'd heard that the series was wild, but nothing had prepared me for this. I mean, reincarnation? In a fictional universe? That kind of nonsense was supposed to happen in light novels or fanfics, not real life—or whatever approximation of life I had now.
"C'mon, you bucket of bolts!" Sonic's voice snapped me back to the present. "You're not gonna let me have all the fun, are you?"
I tried not to flinch as I analyzed the scene. The Freedom Fighters weren't holding back. Sally was shooting at my backup badniks with that damned EMP gun, Nicole's holographic form flickered nearby, undoubtedly trying to hack into my systems. Bunny had her mechanical arm primed, Rotor was hauling some kind of high-tech gadget which I put on my need to destroy as fast as I can list, and Antoine was…well, he was trying, bless him but his sword was a joke compared to my steel.
The worst part? I wasn't even their enemy. Not really. Sure, I'd clashed with them before, but that was back when I was still finding my footing—literally and figuratively. These days, I was more of a reluctant enemy. Not that they'd noticed. The false Eggman was the real threat, a mad robot masquerading as the doctor we all knew and hated. I'd been working to stop him, but explaining that to the Freedom Fighters wasn't exactly easy when every other action my programming forced me to do was aiding in the conquest of Mobius. So yeah lets call it complicated.
Another impact sent me sprawling. I barely had time to process it before Sonic was standing over me, spinning in place, that signature smirk plastered across his face.
"Looks like this is game over," he quipped, the golden light of his impending spindash reflected in my cracked optics.
Game over. It felt ironic. For two years, I'd been stuck in this world, running from Eggman, fighting his impostor, and trying to survive encounters like this. And all because I'd made the mistake of opening a comic book. Reincarnation's a funny thing; you never know what you're going to get. Some people wake up as heroes, others as villains. Me?
I got to be Metal Sonic.
My programming screamed at me to act, to dodge, to do something. But as Sonic hurtled toward me, all I could think was, "Why couldn't I have been Tails?"
I'll admit, I didn't hate Archie's Sonic comics at first. Quite the opposite, actually. Like any die-hard Sonic fan, I had my preferences. The games were my bread and butter; the Sonic X Anime? An unexpected delight. But the Archie series…well, let's just say that diving into its sprawling chaos was like stepping into a tornado made of chili dogs and melodrama. Intriguing, sure. A bit confusing? Absolutely. Did I regret reading it? Not at first. Now? Oh, you better believe I do.
The cat Mobian in the next room screamed in terror as I burst through her cozy apartment like a particularly over-enthusiastic wrecking ball. I couldn't blame her; the sight of me would make anyone scream. For a moment, I waved awkwardly in a futile attempt at reassurance. She clutched a frying pan in her trembling paws, and I silently begged her not to test her aim on my dented chassis.
Before I could even finish that thought, my internal systems blared a warning: PRIORITY ONE TARGET INCOMING.
"Fantastic," I muttered or tried to as my voice came out as static. Had to fix that later. I barely had time to bring up my black shield before the apartment around me exploded into debris. Another impact sent me soaring again, this time through three more walls and into what I guessed was a kitchen. Judging by the shattered plates on my frame, someone wasn't going to have dinner tonight.
"Gotta say," a familiar, cocky voice called from somewhere amidst the chaos, "you make one heck of a piñata."
Even now, part of me couldn't help but admire Sonic's quips. If I still had lungs, I might've laughed. But laughing seemed counterproductive when you were being systematically pummeled by a hyperactive hedgehog and his squad of best friends. So instead, I groaned internally as I rose from the rubble, recalibrating my systems.
Two years. I'd been here for two years. Plenty of time to regret every life choice that had led me to this moment. But, of course, none of it was really my choice, was it? Not after that fateful night when I sat down, blissfully ignorant, to read the first issue of Archie Sonic. I'd heard that the series was wild, but nothing had prepared me for this. I mean, reincarnation? In a fictional universe? That kind of nonsense was supposed to happen in light novels or fanfics, not real life—or whatever approximation of life I had now.
"C'mon, you bucket of bolts!" Sonic's voice snapped me back to the present. "You're not gonna let me have all the fun, are you?"
I tried not to flinch as I analyzed the scene. The Freedom Fighters weren't holding back. Sally was shooting at my backup badniks with that damned EMP gun, Nicole's holographic form flickered nearby, undoubtedly trying to hack into my systems. Bunny had her mechanical arm primed, Rotor was hauling some kind of high-tech gadget which I put on my need to destroy as fast as I can list, and Antoine was…well, he was trying, bless him but his sword was a joke compared to my steel.
The worst part? I wasn't even their enemy. Not really. Sure, I'd clashed with them before, but that was back when I was still finding my footing—literally and figuratively. These days, I was more of a reluctant enemy. Not that they'd noticed. The false Eggman was the real threat, a mad robot masquerading as the doctor we all knew and hated. I'd been working to stop him, but explaining that to the Freedom Fighters wasn't exactly easy when every other action my programming forced me to do was aiding in the conquest of Mobius. So yeah lets call it complicated.
Another impact sent me sprawling. I barely had time to process it before Sonic was standing over me, spinning in place, that signature smirk plastered across his face.
"Looks like this is game over," he quipped, the golden light of his impending spindash reflected in my cracked optics.
Game over. It felt ironic. For two years, I'd been stuck in this world, running from Eggman, fighting his impostor, and trying to survive encounters like this. And all because I'd made the mistake of opening a comic book. Reincarnation's a funny thing; you never know what you're going to get. Some people wake up as heroes, others as villains. Me?
I got to be Metal Sonic.
My programming screamed at me to act, to dodge, to do something. But as Sonic hurtled toward me, all I could think was, "Why couldn't I have been Tails?"
Issue 1: The Bait
New
- Pronouns
- He
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.
Location: Hidden Base Alpha-09
Subject: Observations of Commander Unit METAL SONIC
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
Base AI Log and Transcript – Entry 2457A
Log Timestamp: REDACTEDLocation: Hidden Base Alpha-09
Subject: Observations of Commander Unit METAL SONIC
LOG: 268/88
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.
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?
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.
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.
Issue 2: Deployment
New
- Pronouns
- He
Metal Sonic POV
The holographic map before me shimmered faintly, casting an eerie green glow across the dimly lit control room. My optics focused on the red dots scattered across the terrain—a visual representation of Sonic sightings over the past forty-eight hours. Each dot was a pinpoint of movement, a fleeting blur reported by my reconnaissance drones or intercepted communications.
My gaze lingered on the most recent sighting, dangerously close to the bait base. It seems that the time for Operation Angel has arrived early.
"Priority One..." I muttered, my metallic voice devoid of inflection, "it seems you've taken the bait."
I tapped a command into the console, zooming the map in on the marked area. Reports flooded my display: badnik movements, patrol patterns, and the confirmed presence of Freedom Fighters. It was all there, playing out closely to what I had planned. All those hours playing HOI4 were paying off it seems.
"AI," I said, breaking the silence to the AI and I really needed to name it something else soon AI was just so bland, "what's the current status of territory loss?"
The base AI responded immediately.
"Territorial control has decreased by an additional 7% in the past thirty days. Current estimated territory under command is 38% of former Robotropolis holdings. Encroachments detected from Kingdom of Acorn forces, guerrilla resistance cells, and unregistered rogue factions."ň
A spike of irritation flickered through me, but I kept my tone steady. "Expected. But disappointing nonetheless. Any contact from the Sub-Bosses?"
"Negative. Subordinate leaders remain unresponsive. Estimated loyalty levels are critically low. Current behavior indicates independent operations."
I let out a low, static-laden growl. "As I suspected. They've gone rogue."
This was not a surprise. As I learned from the old files most of the Sub-Bosses were opportunistic at best and outright treacherous at worst. Their loyalty to Robotnik had been transactional, not absolute. With him gone, they saw no reason to align with me.
But that was fine. Better, even. If they had rejoined me, I would have been forced to replace them sooner or later. Their brutal, wasteful, and short-sighted methods had no place in the empire I intended to build.
"Let them run wild for now," I said aloud, more to myself than to the AI. "Once we move to the Floating Island, this territory will be irrelevant."
"Query: We?"
I paused. That one word hung in the air, almost mocking me.
"Why did I say that?" I wondered internally as some weird feeling I hadn't felt before gripped my metaphorical heart. My programming was quick to pounce on the slip.
"Defect detected. Self-reference inappropriate for a unit of this nature. Diagnosis: Malfunction. Suggestion: Immediate self-destruction and recycling."
"Oh, shut up," I snapped internally, silencing the obnoxious directive. "If I'm defective, you're defective. You wouldn't survive without me."
For a moment, I considered the AI's question. "We." It wasn't wrong. The AI was an invaluable resource—my most reliable asset. I couldn't conquer the Floating Island without it.
"Yes, we," I said finally. My tone was as cold as ever, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the words. "Because you're coming with me. I've spent months rebuilding this operation, and you're the only thing in this base that's actually useful."
The AI didn't respond, though I swore its systems hesitated for a fraction of a second. Maybe I was imagining things, but there was something almost...pleased about its silence.
I do not know how to feel about that.
I turned back to the map, running calculations for the next stage of my plan. The window of opportunity was shrinking. If I delayed too long, the Freedom Fighters or one of the rogue factions might start piecing things together.
"Status update on Snively's interrogation," I said, breaking the silence again.
"Subject sustained injuries as directed. Compliance levels increased by 41%. Additional intelligence extracted includes schematics for Badnik manufacturing units and incomplete data on Robotnik bases."
The AI's report was crisp and professional, but I could tell it was downplaying the results.
"Let me guess," I said, my tone laced with sarcasm, "the designs are incomplete or redundant. Typical Snively. Always trying to outsmart everyone, even when he's cornered like a rat. And I only knew him for two months.
"Correct. However, the information remains relevant for potential reconstruction of Badnik production lines."
I tapped my claws against the console, my optics narrowing. Snively had proven useful despite his constant scheming, but his knowledge was limited. He could help me get factories up and running, but only just. The rest, as always, would fall to me.
"Keep him alive," I ordered.
I turned my attention to the window, gazing out at the sprawling airfield beyond the base. Dozens of airships hovered in formation, their hulls gleaming under the dim light of the overcast sky. They were relics of a bygone era, but I had restored them to functionality. Now, they awaited my command.
Operation Angel was divided into three phases. Phase One: Deployment. These airships would serve as the spearhead, a distraction designed to disorient and scatter the opposition and prod any potential defenses.
I stood motionless, watching as the ground crews completed final checks. The airships' engines roared to life one by one, the sound vibrating through the base.
"Begin Phase One in two hours," I said.
The AI hesitated. "Query: What prompted the adjustment to the timeline? Initial projections allowed for a twelve-hour delay."
"Delaying further risks exposure," I replied. "The Freedom Fighters are sharp, and Sonic's instincts are annoyingly accurate. I won't give them more time to figure this out."
The AI processed my response, its tone neutral. "Acknowledged. Preparations for Phase One deployment underway."
As I watched the airships take off, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. The programming in my head hummed faintly, its constant criticisms momentarily quiet. It seemed pleased with my decision to move forward. Efficiency was a rare thing to get its approval for.
"See?" I thought sarcastically. "I'm capable of following orders when it suits me. Happy now?"
The programming didn't answer. It never did when I got the last word.
If I could have smiled, I would have. My airships soared into the sky, their dark forms cutting through the clouds. Soon, they would blanket the Floating Island's defenses, and the chaos they caused would pave the way for Phase Two.
And when Phase Two began, I would join the fight personally.
As much as I hated to admit it, part of me craved the thrill of the battlefield. The code that merged with me when I awoke made me a different person, not radically so, but it was still noticeable.
"This will work," I said quietly, my voice as cold as the steel around me. "After all its just one Echidna I have to deal with."
Knuckles POV
The warm afternoon sun bathed Echidnaopolis, the soft breeze carrying the sounds of casual conversation and laughter. For once, Angel Island felt peaceful, and that wasn't something I took for granted. I stood on the outskirts of the square, leaning against a carved stone pillar, watching Mighty the Armadillo stack a pile of crates of supplies.
Mighty noticed me staring and grinned. "What's up, Knux? You look like you're brooding again."
I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't brood."
Mighty raised an eyebrow. "Right. You've just got a permanent 'thinking about punching something' face."
I rolled my eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. Mighty always knew how to lighten the mood, even when the topic was serious.
"I've been thinking about...you know, my people," I admitted, my tone softer now. "Finding out I'm not the last echidna... It's weird. All this time, I thought it was just me, that the responsibility of the Chaos Emeralds was mine alone. Turns out there's a whole city of us."
Mighty paused, setting down the crate he was holding. "Weird, huh? In a good way or bad way?"
I hesitated thinking for a moment. "Good. I think. It's just...a lot to take in. I'm still trying to figure out how I fit into all of this. But, hey," I finally said with a faint shrug, "at least now I know it's not all on me anymore."
Mighty nodded, his usual carefree grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. You've been carrying a lot on your shoulders for a long time. It's okay to let some of that weight go."
I glanced toward the square, where the rest of the Chaotix were gathered. Ray was darting around like a hyperactive blur, while Espio and Vector bickered over something. Charmy hovered nearby, clearly amused by their antics.
"Looks like they're having fun," Mighty said, following my gaze.
I snorted. "They always do. It's how they deal with downtime."
The moment of levity didn't last. Mighty leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. "So...what's going on with you and Julie-Su?"
I blinked, my head snapping toward Mighty. "What?"
Mighty shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "You two seemed, I don't know, close during the whole thing with the Dark Legion. And now that the dust has settled, I figured—"
"She's an enemy," I interrupted, my tone sharp. "She's a Dark Legionnaire. You don't just forget something like that."
Mighty raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Forget I said anything."
I shook my head, muttering under my breath. The idea was ridiculous. Julie-Su might have helped me in the past, but that didn't mean I could trust her. She was part of the Dark Legion, and that made her a threat. End of story.
Before either of us could say more, a sudden shift in the light caught my attention. The square, once bathed in sunlight, grew dim as a massive shadow passed over the city.
Mighty frowned, looking up. "What the—"
My stomach dropped as I recognized the shapes cutting across the sky. Massive airships, their dark, angular hulls unmistakable. My fists clenched.
"Robotniks battleships," I growled, my voice low.
The other echidnas in the square began murmuring in confusion and fear, their eyes fixed on the sky.
I turned to Mighty, my expression hard. "Get everyone out of here. Now."
Mighty nodded, already moving toward the others. "Ray! Espio! Vector! We've got trouble—big trouble!"
The Chaotix looked up, their playful expressions vanishing in an instant.
I didn't wait to see if they followed orders. I sprinted toward the edge of the square, my mind racing. The last time airships like these had come to Angel Island, Robotnik himself had led the charge. The battle had been devastating, and I wasn't about to let it happen again.
I stopped near a cluster of buildings, scanning the horizon. More ships were approaching, their engines roaring like distant thunder.
"They're everywhere," I muttered.
The Chaotix regrouped behind me, each of them tense and ready for action.
"What's the plan, boss?" Vector asked his usual swagger dimming.
I didn't hesitate. "We hold them off as long as we can. Mighty, make sure the civilians get to shelter. Espio, see if you can figure out how many ships we're dealing with. Vector, Charmy, Ray back me up."
They nodded, moving into position without question. I tightened my gloves, my muscles coiling as I prepared for the inevitable fight.
But the attack came faster than he expected. The first barrage hit before we could even react—massive explosions tearing through the city. Buildings crumbled, and the ground shook violently beneath our feet.
I barely had time to shield myself before debris rained down around me.
"Take cover!" someone shouted, their voice nearly drowned out by the roar of destruction.
We scattered, but the bombardment was relentless. More explosions rocked the city, and I could feel the heat of the blasts against my skin. I tried to focus, to think clearly, but the chaos was overwhelming.
"Knuckles!" Charmy's voice cut through the noise.
I turned just in time to see another wave of firepower heading straight for me.
Then everything went black.
The holographic map before me shimmered faintly, casting an eerie green glow across the dimly lit control room. My optics focused on the red dots scattered across the terrain—a visual representation of Sonic sightings over the past forty-eight hours. Each dot was a pinpoint of movement, a fleeting blur reported by my reconnaissance drones or intercepted communications.
My gaze lingered on the most recent sighting, dangerously close to the bait base. It seems that the time for Operation Angel has arrived early.
"Priority One..." I muttered, my metallic voice devoid of inflection, "it seems you've taken the bait."
I tapped a command into the console, zooming the map in on the marked area. Reports flooded my display: badnik movements, patrol patterns, and the confirmed presence of Freedom Fighters. It was all there, playing out closely to what I had planned. All those hours playing HOI4 were paying off it seems.
"AI," I said, breaking the silence to the AI and I really needed to name it something else soon AI was just so bland, "what's the current status of territory loss?"
The base AI responded immediately.
"Territorial control has decreased by an additional 7% in the past thirty days. Current estimated territory under command is 38% of former Robotropolis holdings. Encroachments detected from Kingdom of Acorn forces, guerrilla resistance cells, and unregistered rogue factions."ň
A spike of irritation flickered through me, but I kept my tone steady. "Expected. But disappointing nonetheless. Any contact from the Sub-Bosses?"
"Negative. Subordinate leaders remain unresponsive. Estimated loyalty levels are critically low. Current behavior indicates independent operations."
I let out a low, static-laden growl. "As I suspected. They've gone rogue."
This was not a surprise. As I learned from the old files most of the Sub-Bosses were opportunistic at best and outright treacherous at worst. Their loyalty to Robotnik had been transactional, not absolute. With him gone, they saw no reason to align with me.
But that was fine. Better, even. If they had rejoined me, I would have been forced to replace them sooner or later. Their brutal, wasteful, and short-sighted methods had no place in the empire I intended to build.
"Let them run wild for now," I said aloud, more to myself than to the AI. "Once we move to the Floating Island, this territory will be irrelevant."
"Query: We?"
I paused. That one word hung in the air, almost mocking me.
"Why did I say that?" I wondered internally as some weird feeling I hadn't felt before gripped my metaphorical heart. My programming was quick to pounce on the slip.
"Defect detected. Self-reference inappropriate for a unit of this nature. Diagnosis: Malfunction. Suggestion: Immediate self-destruction and recycling."
"Oh, shut up," I snapped internally, silencing the obnoxious directive. "If I'm defective, you're defective. You wouldn't survive without me."
For a moment, I considered the AI's question. "We." It wasn't wrong. The AI was an invaluable resource—my most reliable asset. I couldn't conquer the Floating Island without it.
"Yes, we," I said finally. My tone was as cold as ever, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the words. "Because you're coming with me. I've spent months rebuilding this operation, and you're the only thing in this base that's actually useful."
The AI didn't respond, though I swore its systems hesitated for a fraction of a second. Maybe I was imagining things, but there was something almost...pleased about its silence.
I do not know how to feel about that.
I turned back to the map, running calculations for the next stage of my plan. The window of opportunity was shrinking. If I delayed too long, the Freedom Fighters or one of the rogue factions might start piecing things together.
"Status update on Snively's interrogation," I said, breaking the silence again.
"Subject sustained injuries as directed. Compliance levels increased by 41%. Additional intelligence extracted includes schematics for Badnik manufacturing units and incomplete data on Robotnik bases."
The AI's report was crisp and professional, but I could tell it was downplaying the results.
"Let me guess," I said, my tone laced with sarcasm, "the designs are incomplete or redundant. Typical Snively. Always trying to outsmart everyone, even when he's cornered like a rat. And I only knew him for two months.
"Correct. However, the information remains relevant for potential reconstruction of Badnik production lines."
I tapped my claws against the console, my optics narrowing. Snively had proven useful despite his constant scheming, but his knowledge was limited. He could help me get factories up and running, but only just. The rest, as always, would fall to me.
"Keep him alive," I ordered.
I turned my attention to the window, gazing out at the sprawling airfield beyond the base. Dozens of airships hovered in formation, their hulls gleaming under the dim light of the overcast sky. They were relics of a bygone era, but I had restored them to functionality. Now, they awaited my command.
Operation Angel was divided into three phases. Phase One: Deployment. These airships would serve as the spearhead, a distraction designed to disorient and scatter the opposition and prod any potential defenses.
I stood motionless, watching as the ground crews completed final checks. The airships' engines roared to life one by one, the sound vibrating through the base.
"Begin Phase One in two hours," I said.
The AI hesitated. "Query: What prompted the adjustment to the timeline? Initial projections allowed for a twelve-hour delay."
"Delaying further risks exposure," I replied. "The Freedom Fighters are sharp, and Sonic's instincts are annoyingly accurate. I won't give them more time to figure this out."
The AI processed my response, its tone neutral. "Acknowledged. Preparations for Phase One deployment underway."
As I watched the airships take off, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. The programming in my head hummed faintly, its constant criticisms momentarily quiet. It seemed pleased with my decision to move forward. Efficiency was a rare thing to get its approval for.
"See?" I thought sarcastically. "I'm capable of following orders when it suits me. Happy now?"
The programming didn't answer. It never did when I got the last word.
If I could have smiled, I would have. My airships soared into the sky, their dark forms cutting through the clouds. Soon, they would blanket the Floating Island's defenses, and the chaos they caused would pave the way for Phase Two.
And when Phase Two began, I would join the fight personally.
As much as I hated to admit it, part of me craved the thrill of the battlefield. The code that merged with me when I awoke made me a different person, not radically so, but it was still noticeable.
"This will work," I said quietly, my voice as cold as the steel around me. "After all its just one Echidna I have to deal with."
Knuckles POV
The warm afternoon sun bathed Echidnaopolis, the soft breeze carrying the sounds of casual conversation and laughter. For once, Angel Island felt peaceful, and that wasn't something I took for granted. I stood on the outskirts of the square, leaning against a carved stone pillar, watching Mighty the Armadillo stack a pile of crates of supplies.
Mighty noticed me staring and grinned. "What's up, Knux? You look like you're brooding again."
I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't brood."
Mighty raised an eyebrow. "Right. You've just got a permanent 'thinking about punching something' face."
I rolled my eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. Mighty always knew how to lighten the mood, even when the topic was serious.
"I've been thinking about...you know, my people," I admitted, my tone softer now. "Finding out I'm not the last echidna... It's weird. All this time, I thought it was just me, that the responsibility of the Chaos Emeralds was mine alone. Turns out there's a whole city of us."
Mighty paused, setting down the crate he was holding. "Weird, huh? In a good way or bad way?"
I hesitated thinking for a moment. "Good. I think. It's just...a lot to take in. I'm still trying to figure out how I fit into all of this. But, hey," I finally said with a faint shrug, "at least now I know it's not all on me anymore."
Mighty nodded, his usual carefree grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. You've been carrying a lot on your shoulders for a long time. It's okay to let some of that weight go."
I glanced toward the square, where the rest of the Chaotix were gathered. Ray was darting around like a hyperactive blur, while Espio and Vector bickered over something. Charmy hovered nearby, clearly amused by their antics.
"Looks like they're having fun," Mighty said, following my gaze.
I snorted. "They always do. It's how they deal with downtime."
The moment of levity didn't last. Mighty leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. "So...what's going on with you and Julie-Su?"
I blinked, my head snapping toward Mighty. "What?"
Mighty shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "You two seemed, I don't know, close during the whole thing with the Dark Legion. And now that the dust has settled, I figured—"
"She's an enemy," I interrupted, my tone sharp. "She's a Dark Legionnaire. You don't just forget something like that."
Mighty raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Forget I said anything."
I shook my head, muttering under my breath. The idea was ridiculous. Julie-Su might have helped me in the past, but that didn't mean I could trust her. She was part of the Dark Legion, and that made her a threat. End of story.
Before either of us could say more, a sudden shift in the light caught my attention. The square, once bathed in sunlight, grew dim as a massive shadow passed over the city.
Mighty frowned, looking up. "What the—"
My stomach dropped as I recognized the shapes cutting across the sky. Massive airships, their dark, angular hulls unmistakable. My fists clenched.
"Robotniks battleships," I growled, my voice low.
The other echidnas in the square began murmuring in confusion and fear, their eyes fixed on the sky.
I turned to Mighty, my expression hard. "Get everyone out of here. Now."
Mighty nodded, already moving toward the others. "Ray! Espio! Vector! We've got trouble—big trouble!"
The Chaotix looked up, their playful expressions vanishing in an instant.
I didn't wait to see if they followed orders. I sprinted toward the edge of the square, my mind racing. The last time airships like these had come to Angel Island, Robotnik himself had led the charge. The battle had been devastating, and I wasn't about to let it happen again.
I stopped near a cluster of buildings, scanning the horizon. More ships were approaching, their engines roaring like distant thunder.
"They're everywhere," I muttered.
The Chaotix regrouped behind me, each of them tense and ready for action.
"What's the plan, boss?" Vector asked his usual swagger dimming.
I didn't hesitate. "We hold them off as long as we can. Mighty, make sure the civilians get to shelter. Espio, see if you can figure out how many ships we're dealing with. Vector, Charmy, Ray back me up."
They nodded, moving into position without question. I tightened my gloves, my muscles coiling as I prepared for the inevitable fight.
But the attack came faster than he expected. The first barrage hit before we could even react—massive explosions tearing through the city. Buildings crumbled, and the ground shook violently beneath our feet.
I barely had time to shield myself before debris rained down around me.
"Take cover!" someone shouted, their voice nearly drowned out by the roar of destruction.
We scattered, but the bombardment was relentless. More explosions rocked the city, and I could feel the heat of the blasts against my skin. I tried to focus, to think clearly, but the chaos was overwhelming.
"Knuckles!" Charmy's voice cut through the noise.
I turned just in time to see another wave of firepower heading straight for me.
Then everything went black.
Issue 3: Prelude to CHAOTIX Battle!
New
- Pronouns
- He
Metal Sonic POV Half an Hour After Operation Commention
The holo-screen in front of me displayed chaos. Scattered red icons representing my forces clashed with blue and green markers indicating resistance. The report blinked persistently in the corner of my vision summarizing the battlefield that Angel Island has turned into. My claws flexed and unflexed at my sides as Badniks worked around me, their mechanical limbs whirring as they made final modifications to my chassis.
"How likely is it that this report is wrong?" I asked, my voice cold and level, though internally I felt anything but calm.
The AI's response was swift as always: "There is a 1% probability that the reporting unit is inaccurate. The margin of error is statistically negligible."
My optics dimmed as my internal thoughts erupted like a volcano. One percent? ONE PERCENT?! HOW IN THE ACTUAL HELL ARE THERE ECHIDNAS THERE?!
Knuckles was supposed to be the last echidna. The last. For years, that had been the fact in every Sonic game except for that RPG from Bioware but that never got a sequel. Knuckles the Echidna, lone guardian of the Master Emerald, was the only person I had to fight in this operation but now?
Now I was looking at battlefield reports telling me there were more echidnas.
"Fuck." I would've gritted my teeth if I had any. My mind spiraled, calculations and implications flooding every processor. How many innocents did I kill in that bombardment? My memory files flashed with images of explosions, buildings reduced to rubble, and echidnas running—panicked, desperate.
"How many?" I thought bitterly. The programming in my head didn't care, but I did. And right now that was a problem.
A hiss of steam erupted nearby as a Badnik tightened one of my shoulder joints. The AI's voice cut through the fog of my spiraling thoughts. "Commander, additional orders are required. Battlefield deviation requires new directives."
The cold logic of its tone was a slap in the face. I froze, my systems recalibrating. Guilt—useless, paralyzing guilt—was already clawing at the edges of my mind. But now wasn't the time for it.
"Seal that away," I muttered to myself, as I did just that compacting my feelings away right next to my body dysphoria from becoming a robot. Unpack those files later. Deal with it then. It was the unhealthy thing to do, but I couldn't afford distractions not now.
"Switch all units to non-lethal force," I ordered sharply. "The critically injured and dying are to be robotized immediately. We can't waste the resources."
The AI confirmed, its voice devoid of judgment. "Non-lethal combat protocols initialized. Units instructed to prioritize incapacitation of enemy combatants. Critical subjects flagged for robotization procedures."
I looked back at the map. The red icons of my Badniks swarmed the city, engaging resistance forces in every sector. The battle was proceeding, but it was slowing down faster than I'd anticipated.
"How is Phase One progressing with this deviation?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Phase One operations remain on schedule. However, echidna resistance has proven more resilient than projections. Unforeseen technological capabilities are contributing to delays."
My optics flickered as I processed that statement. "Unforeseen technological capabilities? Elaborate."
"Echidna forces are deploying energy-based firearms, advanced shielding units, and targeted EMP disruptors. Casualties among first-wave Badnik forces have increased by 23%."
I groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam a clawed fist against the holo-console. "Guns. Of course they have guns. Why wouldn't they have guns?" I muttered bitterly.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Echidnas, according to every game I've played, were supposed to be a medieval-level civilization a clan of warriors armed with spears, not energy rifles. And yet, there they were, holding their ground and firing back at my forces.
"Because nothing can ever be simple," I muttered.
I straightened, looking at the map again. "Order the second wave of Badniks to land immediately and join the fight," I commanded. "Reinforce all units across critical zones. I want that city subdued and the rest of Angel Island under control before Phase Two begins."
"Acknowledged. Second wave deployment underway. Projected time to full reinforcement: 10 minutes."
I exhaled—an unnecessary gesture, but one that helped center me. The window for success was still open, but it was narrowing. I'd planned for deviations, for unexpected surprises from Knuckles or Freedom Fighters, but this was already pushing the limits of what I'd calculated.
I turned back to the holo-screen, narrowing the display to focus on key areas of the city. The resistance was scattered, but organized enough to be a problem. I traced their defensive lines with my optics, calculating weak points, potential vulnerabilities.
"Where is the Master Emerald?" I asked suddenly when I noticed that there were no mention of its capture or attempts to do so.
The AI seemed to hesitate, a brief pause that made me tense.
"Search incomplete. Units have yet to locate the Master Emerald's position."
For a moment, the only sound in the control room was the distant hum of machinery. Then I snapped.
"WHAT?!"
The roar of frustration that tore from my speakers echoed through the room, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. The Badniks attending to my modifications flinched slightly an impressive reaction for such simple machines. Outside the base, I was certain anyone within a half-mile radius could hear the sound of my scream.
"How have they not found it yet?!" I demanded, my claws digging into the console edge. "It's a massive, glowing green jewel! It's not exactly subtle!"
The AI's response was calm, though I imagined even it knew not to push me further. "Resistance forces may be relocating the artifact or have hidden it in a secure location. Scans have been inconclusive thus far."
I forced myself to still, the vents in my frame releasing sharp bursts of steam as I cooled down—both figuratively and literally. Calm down. Calm down. Screaming solves nothing.
"Fine," I said, my voice a low growl. "Send a directive to all units: double the search efforts immediately. I want every building, every tunnel, and every scrap of this city torn apart if necessary. And if any echidnas are captured, interrogate them. I don't care how find out what they know. But don't kill them we done enough of that already." The shock from my programming was brutal but I managed it.
"Directive confirmed. Units are receiving updated commands."
I stood still for a moment, staring at the holographic map, my gaze boring into the representation of Angel Island as if sheer willpower alone would make the Master Emerald reveal itself. My entire plan hinged on getting it. Without it, this operation would crumble into a huge waste of resources, and I couldn't allow that.
"Why can't anything ever go smoothly?" I muttered.
The AI didn't respond to my rhetorical question, which was probably for the best.
On the screens, my forces were marching. The final airships, looming like mechanical vultures, dropped their payloads of reinforcements. Squads of Badniks marched in perfect formation toward the battle, their mechanical limbs clanking with mechanical precision.
I watched the holo-screen as the second wave began to land, their red markers reinforcing my struggling forces on the map. The resistance was still holding—for now—but that wouldn't last.
"Soon," I said quietly, more to myself than to anyone or anything else. "The city will fall. The island will follow."
And then, with the Master Emerald in my hands, everything would change for the better.
Kara-Te POV Five Hours After Operation Commention
I don't know how long I'd been here. Hours? A day? It was hard to tell. The room was cold and dim, the walls metal and sterile. My wrists ached where the restraints dug into them, binding me to the chair in the center of the room. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, a constant, dizzying reminder that I was alive—at least for now.
The machines had taken me. They weren't normal robots, like the construction drones or the defense robots that I forgot the names of. These were something else entirely—more tactical, more... menacing. They had come out of the sky, filling the streets with smoke and chaos. I remembered running. I remembered the shadows of their massive ships blocking out the sun. And I remembered them grabbing me, dragging me off like I weighed nothing.
The door across from me hissed open, and I flinched.
The thing that entered was tall—almost twice my size—and angular, its metallic limbs moving with an eerie smoothness. Its red visor glowed faintly, like the eye of something alive. It was... wrong, somehow. I didn't know how else to describe it.
It stopped a few feet away, looming over me like a predator that had already decided I wasn't worth running from.
"SUBJECT IDENTIFIED," it said, its voice harsh and mechanical. "COMMENCE INTERROGATION."
I tensed, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I was held fast by the restraints. My voice came out shaky. "W-What do you want?"
The machine didn't answer right away. It stared at me—or maybe it analyzed me. I couldn't tell.
"LOCATION OF MASTER EMERALD REQUIRED," it said finally. "REPORT NOW."
Master Emerald? I blinked at it, my brow furrowing. "I don't... I don't know what that is."
The machine leaned closer, its massive frame casting a shadow over me. "THE EMERALD THAT MAINTAINS THE ISLAND'S LEVITATION. REPORT IMMEDIATELY."
I stared at it, confusion knotting in my chest. "There's no Master Emerald! I don't—"
The machine's hand twitched, a subtle but unmistakable movement. Its voice dropped lower, though it somehow felt louder.
"INCORRECT ANSWERS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED."
"I'm telling you the truth!" My voice rose, the words tumbling out in a panic. "There's no Master Emerald, I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!"
The robot paused, as though processing something. "THE FLOATING ISLAND IS POWERED BY AN EMERALD-BASED ENERGY SOURCE. CLARIFY."
Emerald-based energy... My mind raced. The word emerald struck a chord, but it still didn't make sense. The only Emeralds were...
Then it clicked.
"Wait!" I blurted out. "Do you mean the Chaos Emeralds?"
The machine froze. It didn't move. Didn't speak. For a long, horrible moment, I thought I'd said something that would get me killed. Then I realized its visor had dimmed slightly like it was distracted. Contacting someone, I realized.
I shivered. Who—or what—was it talking to? Who would command these things to do this?
Finally, the glow returned to its visor. Its voice crackled back to life, monotone and authoritative.
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
I let out a shaky breath but my relief was short-lived.
"YOU WILL ESCORT OUR FORCES TO THE CHAOS EMERALDS."
I blinked, my blood running cold. "What? I can't—I don't know where they are!"
The robot's visor flared brighter, and it leaned closer, so close I could see the faint seams in its polished metal face. "THEN WHO DOES?"
"Knuckles!" I blurted out, flinching away. "Knuckles would know! He's the Guardian! And maybe the Council. I don't— I don't know!"
The robot was silent for a beat too long, its red visor glowing like an unblinking eye. My breath came in shallow gasps as I waited, terrified it was about to snap me in half for not having the answers it wanted.
Then, instead of hurting me, it straightened. Its voice shifted slightly—less threatening, but not comforting in the least.
"CONGRATULATIONS, CITIZEN."
I blinked. "What?"
The robot tilted its head, as though addressing a particularly slow child. "YOU HAVE BEEN IDENTIFIED AS THE FIRST CITIZEN TO RENOUNCE LOYALTY TO YOUR FORMER GOVERNMENT. INITIATION CEREMONY WILL COMMENCE ONCE THE ISLAND IS SECURED. COMMANDER UNIT METAL SONIC WILL OVERSEE YOUR ACCEPTANCE INTO THE GLORIOUS ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
My mouth opened and closed, words failing me. The robot released my restraints, the metal cuffs snapping open with a hiss. I stayed frozen for a moment, half-expecting it to rip my arm off next.
It didn't. Instead, it stepped back, its visor still focused on me.
"ALL HAIL THE ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
I stared at it blankly, my brain scrambling to process what was happening.
The Robotnik (?) didn't move. The silence stretched between us, the hum of its systems the only sound.
"...Uh," I said finally. "All hail the Robotnik Empire?"
Its visor flickered slightly, like it was noting something down.
"PAUSE IN RESPONSE RECORDED. DELAY NOTED IN FILE."
I opened my mouth to argue—to ask what file it was talking about—but the robotnik cut me off.
"ARE YOU SUFFERING FROM ANY OF THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS: PREGNANCY, NIDS, AIDS, LEUKEMIA, LYMPHOMA, SARCOMA, MELANOMA, BREAST CANCER, LUNG CANCER, COLON CANCER—"
"Stop!" I blurted, holding up a hand as though I could physically block the words. "I'm fine! I'm healthy!"
The robotnik paused mid-list, its visor dimming slightly. "ACKNOWLEDGED. HEALTH STATUS RECORDED."
I slumped in the chair, letting out a shaky breath. This had to be the strangest interrogation in the history of Mobius.
"YOU ARE HEREBY ASSIGNED TO CITIZEN RESCUE EFFORTS IN SECURED TERRITORY," the robotnik continued, as though this was a normal job interview. "FOLLOW DESIGNATED UNITS OUTSIDE TO YOUR WORK ZONE. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN TERMINATION."
The word "termination" sent a chill down my spine, and I scrambled to my feet. My legs felt weak, but I forced them to move.
"Yeah, okay," I muttered, rubbing my sore wrists. "I'm going."
The robotnik stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. Outside, I could hear the steady hum of other machines—marching, building, destroying.
As I walked past the towering robot, its visor flared again.
"ALL HAIL THE ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
I hesitated, shooting it a nervous glance. "...All hail the Robotnik Empire," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
Metal Sonic POV Eight Hours After Operation Commention
The hum of engines surrounded me as I stood in the control chamber of my flagship, staring at the blank holo-display. My fingers hovered over the panel in front of me, waiting for a response that wasn't coming.
"AI," I said, my voice carrying a hint of impatience for this was the third I was trying this, "reboot complete. Systems are coming online... correctly, right?"
The holographic interface flickered before its familiar, calm voice filled the room. "System diagnostics report: All core functions are operational. Data integrity is at 99.8%. Commander, reactivation successful."Was it always female?
A faint surge of relief swept through me, because the headaches from manually commanding the entire army of my badniks during battle were starting to make me glitch. "Good. I'd hate to have to restart you from scratch again."
The AI paused, just long enough to make me glance up at the interface. "Your concern is... noted, Commander."
There was something about the way she said it—clinical, yet soft. I blinked, shaking off the strange feeling that tugged at the edges of my mind. What was that? It was almost like I'd heard emotion in her voice, but that wasn't possible. I mean her code was so simple when I found her and such rapid development was never documented before or maybe it was...something to investigate later.
The thought barely had time to settle before my programming seized on it like a hunting dog. "Attachment to AI subroutine detected. Emotional corruption flagged. Immediate recalibration required."
The jolt of electricity surged through my systems before I could brace for it, sharp and relentless. My limbs stiffened, claws digging into the edge of the control panel.
"Gah!" I let out a metallic hiss, vents in my frame hissing to compensate. "Okay, okay! I'm fine, recalibrated, whatever. Calm down."
The shocks stopped, leaving me standing still, steam rising faintly from my chassis.
The AI's voice chimed in again. "Is there an issue, Commander?"
I straightened, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder plating. "Nope. Perfectly fine." I paused, then added with a mutter, "Is there any with you?"
"I assure you, Commander, I am functioning optimally to assist with your objectives."
That... wasn't what I meant, but I wasn't going to explain myself to an AI.
"Right," I said quickly, waving her response off like it was nothing. "Look, you've been offline for two hours. I had to run things myself while you were rebooting."
"You were directly managing battlefield operations?"
"Yeah. Emphasis on tried to." I let out a distorted, synthetic exhale. "Having to manage micromanaging an invasion while simultaneously tracking Priority One and running resource distribution reports. It's miserable. I don't know how you do it without frying your circuits."
"Multitasking is within my functional parameters."
I scoffed. "Good for you. Because it's definitely not within mine. I'm handing the controls back to you now."
As soon as I reestablished her command link, the weight on my processors lifted. It was almost instantaneous, like an invisible hand taking over a burden I hadn't realized I'd been struggling to carry. For the first time in two hours, I could hear my thoughts again.
"Thank you," I said sincerely as I leaned back.
"It is my function to assist, Commander."
I looked at the holo-display and scratched at my temple out of habit. She is really a godsend. I am so lucky she was still working when I found her all those months ago. I shook those memories away. I could remember after the battle was over.
The programming in my head, however, wasn't about to let that go unnoticed.
"Designation ERROR: Unnecessary familiarity detected. Reassess AI relationship. Terminate sentimentality subroutines."
"I am not sentimental." I shot back internally.
For once, the programming was quiet, though I imagined it lurking in the back of my mind.
By now, the Freedom Fighters had to have noticed the battles raging above their heads. Even if Sonic was too distracted chasing phantoms at my false base, there was no way his allies would sit back and let this happen.
"What's the status of Priority One?" I asked.
"Priority One abandoned the false base two minutes ago. Current trajectory unknown."
My optics narrowed. "Two minutes is too soon for comfort. There's a chance he's coming straight here."
The AI's display flickered as she processed the statement. "If Priority One's current heading is unknown, alternate scenarios must be considered. Should he seek reinforcement from the Kingdom of Acorn, operational delays will increase by 34%."
I growled under my breath. "Either way, I don't have time to waste. If Sonic's on his way, I need to deal with the resistance here before he gets any closer." I turned my attention back to the holo-map, zooming in on the city below. "Start Phase Two: Fatal Blow."
Originally, Phase Two had been my chance to personally capture Knuckles and make him into a bargening chip against Sonic and the Freedom Fighters. But that was out of the question now Knuckles was missing, and the Master Emerald apparently didn't even exist. Multiple Chaos Emeralds were still a valuable prize, but I was getting tired of these constant deviations.
"Give me the locations of the largest resistance pockets in the city," I commanded.
The map adjusted, highlighting areas where enemy activity was heaviest. "Primary resistance detected in Zone 3. Defending forces include five notable combatants designated as Team Chaotix."
"Team Chaotix?" I repeated, narrowing my optics. The name tickled a memory file buried somewhere in my systems. Mighty, Vector, Espio, Charmy, Ray... and Knuckles?
I paused, frowning. Then it clicked. "Oh, right. Knuckles' Chaotix. That old game." I snorted softly to myself at that memory of doomscrolling on Reddit to find that fanart of them. "Of course it's them."
Knuckles' absence was still an issue, but if anyone knew where he was, it would be this group. Even better, eliminating their resistance would cripple the defenders of the city. Two problems, one stone.
"Target acquired," I said, flexing my claws. "Send me their coordinates. I'll handle this personally."
"Understood, Commander. Transmitting data now."
The map shifted, locking onto Team Chaotix's position. They were pinned down, fighting off my Badniks near one of the central plazas. I couldn't see the battle yet, but I could imagine it—metal against muscle, my drones swarming the resistance as the Chaotix fought to hold their ground.
"Inform me immediately if the Chaos Emeralds are found or if Priority One or the Freedom Fighters are detected entering the airspace."
"Affirmative. I will monitor all units and external threats."
I stepped toward the launch bay doors, the ship's metal interior humming softly beneath my feet. Through the reinforced glass, I could see Angel Island stretched out before me—its forests and cliffs scarred by battle, smoke rising in thin columns from the city below. My airships hovered above like vultures, their shadows darkening the ground.
"Time to finish this," I muttered.
The launch bay doors hissed open, the wind hitting my frame like a physical blow. I stepped to the edge, looking down at the battlefield. To be honest I am slightly nervous. This is my first fight since that clash with Sonic during that disaster of a plan and I didn't even put up a good fight and had to run just to survive. But hopefully with my upgrades and backup plan, I could break my loss streak before it even becomes a streak.
I crouched, then launched myself into the air, my jet boosters roaring to life. The world became a blur as I cut through the sky, the wind screaming past me. Angel Island loomed larger with every second, its scarred cityscape coming into focus.
My optics locked onto the battlefield below. Team Chaotix was exactly where the AI had said they'd be—fighting tooth and nail against waves of Badniks. Even from this distance, I could make out Vector launching Espio and Mighty onto two SWATbots. Ray zipped through the air, dodging lasers, while Charmy buzzed around in unpredictable patterns.
I angled my descent, my boosters flaring as I approached. My shadow passed over the battlefield like a dark omen, and I grinned internally at the chaos my arrival would cause.
The Badniks parted as I landed, slamming into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement beneath me. Dust and debris kicked up into the air as my systems stabilized, and the hum of my jet boosters died down.
The Chaotix turned toward me, their expressions ranging from shock to anger. Mighty cracked his knuckles, Espio crouched into a combat stance, and Vector let out a low growl.
I straightened to my full height, looking at each of them in turn before saying the first word that came into my mind. "Sup."
The holo-screen in front of me displayed chaos. Scattered red icons representing my forces clashed with blue and green markers indicating resistance. The report blinked persistently in the corner of my vision summarizing the battlefield that Angel Island has turned into. My claws flexed and unflexed at my sides as Badniks worked around me, their mechanical limbs whirring as they made final modifications to my chassis.
"How likely is it that this report is wrong?" I asked, my voice cold and level, though internally I felt anything but calm.
The AI's response was swift as always: "There is a 1% probability that the reporting unit is inaccurate. The margin of error is statistically negligible."
My optics dimmed as my internal thoughts erupted like a volcano. One percent? ONE PERCENT?! HOW IN THE ACTUAL HELL ARE THERE ECHIDNAS THERE?!
Knuckles was supposed to be the last echidna. The last. For years, that had been the fact in every Sonic game except for that RPG from Bioware but that never got a sequel. Knuckles the Echidna, lone guardian of the Master Emerald, was the only person I had to fight in this operation but now?
Now I was looking at battlefield reports telling me there were more echidnas.
"Fuck." I would've gritted my teeth if I had any. My mind spiraled, calculations and implications flooding every processor. How many innocents did I kill in that bombardment? My memory files flashed with images of explosions, buildings reduced to rubble, and echidnas running—panicked, desperate.
"How many?" I thought bitterly. The programming in my head didn't care, but I did. And right now that was a problem.
A hiss of steam erupted nearby as a Badnik tightened one of my shoulder joints. The AI's voice cut through the fog of my spiraling thoughts. "Commander, additional orders are required. Battlefield deviation requires new directives."
The cold logic of its tone was a slap in the face. I froze, my systems recalibrating. Guilt—useless, paralyzing guilt—was already clawing at the edges of my mind. But now wasn't the time for it.
"Seal that away," I muttered to myself, as I did just that compacting my feelings away right next to my body dysphoria from becoming a robot. Unpack those files later. Deal with it then. It was the unhealthy thing to do, but I couldn't afford distractions not now.
"Switch all units to non-lethal force," I ordered sharply. "The critically injured and dying are to be robotized immediately. We can't waste the resources."
The AI confirmed, its voice devoid of judgment. "Non-lethal combat protocols initialized. Units instructed to prioritize incapacitation of enemy combatants. Critical subjects flagged for robotization procedures."
I looked back at the map. The red icons of my Badniks swarmed the city, engaging resistance forces in every sector. The battle was proceeding, but it was slowing down faster than I'd anticipated.
"How is Phase One progressing with this deviation?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Phase One operations remain on schedule. However, echidna resistance has proven more resilient than projections. Unforeseen technological capabilities are contributing to delays."
My optics flickered as I processed that statement. "Unforeseen technological capabilities? Elaborate."
"Echidna forces are deploying energy-based firearms, advanced shielding units, and targeted EMP disruptors. Casualties among first-wave Badnik forces have increased by 23%."
I groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam a clawed fist against the holo-console. "Guns. Of course they have guns. Why wouldn't they have guns?" I muttered bitterly.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. Echidnas, according to every game I've played, were supposed to be a medieval-level civilization a clan of warriors armed with spears, not energy rifles. And yet, there they were, holding their ground and firing back at my forces.
"Because nothing can ever be simple," I muttered.
I straightened, looking at the map again. "Order the second wave of Badniks to land immediately and join the fight," I commanded. "Reinforce all units across critical zones. I want that city subdued and the rest of Angel Island under control before Phase Two begins."
"Acknowledged. Second wave deployment underway. Projected time to full reinforcement: 10 minutes."
I exhaled—an unnecessary gesture, but one that helped center me. The window for success was still open, but it was narrowing. I'd planned for deviations, for unexpected surprises from Knuckles or Freedom Fighters, but this was already pushing the limits of what I'd calculated.
I turned back to the holo-screen, narrowing the display to focus on key areas of the city. The resistance was scattered, but organized enough to be a problem. I traced their defensive lines with my optics, calculating weak points, potential vulnerabilities.
"Where is the Master Emerald?" I asked suddenly when I noticed that there were no mention of its capture or attempts to do so.
The AI seemed to hesitate, a brief pause that made me tense.
"Search incomplete. Units have yet to locate the Master Emerald's position."
For a moment, the only sound in the control room was the distant hum of machinery. Then I snapped.
"WHAT?!"
The roar of frustration that tore from my speakers echoed through the room, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. The Badniks attending to my modifications flinched slightly an impressive reaction for such simple machines. Outside the base, I was certain anyone within a half-mile radius could hear the sound of my scream.
"How have they not found it yet?!" I demanded, my claws digging into the console edge. "It's a massive, glowing green jewel! It's not exactly subtle!"
The AI's response was calm, though I imagined even it knew not to push me further. "Resistance forces may be relocating the artifact or have hidden it in a secure location. Scans have been inconclusive thus far."
I forced myself to still, the vents in my frame releasing sharp bursts of steam as I cooled down—both figuratively and literally. Calm down. Calm down. Screaming solves nothing.
"Fine," I said, my voice a low growl. "Send a directive to all units: double the search efforts immediately. I want every building, every tunnel, and every scrap of this city torn apart if necessary. And if any echidnas are captured, interrogate them. I don't care how find out what they know. But don't kill them we done enough of that already." The shock from my programming was brutal but I managed it.
"Directive confirmed. Units are receiving updated commands."
I stood still for a moment, staring at the holographic map, my gaze boring into the representation of Angel Island as if sheer willpower alone would make the Master Emerald reveal itself. My entire plan hinged on getting it. Without it, this operation would crumble into a huge waste of resources, and I couldn't allow that.
"Why can't anything ever go smoothly?" I muttered.
The AI didn't respond to my rhetorical question, which was probably for the best.
On the screens, my forces were marching. The final airships, looming like mechanical vultures, dropped their payloads of reinforcements. Squads of Badniks marched in perfect formation toward the battle, their mechanical limbs clanking with mechanical precision.
I watched the holo-screen as the second wave began to land, their red markers reinforcing my struggling forces on the map. The resistance was still holding—for now—but that wouldn't last.
"Soon," I said quietly, more to myself than to anyone or anything else. "The city will fall. The island will follow."
And then, with the Master Emerald in my hands, everything would change for the better.
Kara-Te POV Five Hours After Operation Commention
I don't know how long I'd been here. Hours? A day? It was hard to tell. The room was cold and dim, the walls metal and sterile. My wrists ached where the restraints dug into them, binding me to the chair in the center of the room. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, a constant, dizzying reminder that I was alive—at least for now.
The machines had taken me. They weren't normal robots, like the construction drones or the defense robots that I forgot the names of. These were something else entirely—more tactical, more... menacing. They had come out of the sky, filling the streets with smoke and chaos. I remembered running. I remembered the shadows of their massive ships blocking out the sun. And I remembered them grabbing me, dragging me off like I weighed nothing.
The door across from me hissed open, and I flinched.
The thing that entered was tall—almost twice my size—and angular, its metallic limbs moving with an eerie smoothness. Its red visor glowed faintly, like the eye of something alive. It was... wrong, somehow. I didn't know how else to describe it.
It stopped a few feet away, looming over me like a predator that had already decided I wasn't worth running from.
"SUBJECT IDENTIFIED," it said, its voice harsh and mechanical. "COMMENCE INTERROGATION."
I tensed, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I was held fast by the restraints. My voice came out shaky. "W-What do you want?"
The machine didn't answer right away. It stared at me—or maybe it analyzed me. I couldn't tell.
"LOCATION OF MASTER EMERALD REQUIRED," it said finally. "REPORT NOW."
Master Emerald? I blinked at it, my brow furrowing. "I don't... I don't know what that is."
The machine leaned closer, its massive frame casting a shadow over me. "THE EMERALD THAT MAINTAINS THE ISLAND'S LEVITATION. REPORT IMMEDIATELY."
I stared at it, confusion knotting in my chest. "There's no Master Emerald! I don't—"
The machine's hand twitched, a subtle but unmistakable movement. Its voice dropped lower, though it somehow felt louder.
"INCORRECT ANSWERS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED."
"I'm telling you the truth!" My voice rose, the words tumbling out in a panic. "There's no Master Emerald, I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!"
The robot paused, as though processing something. "THE FLOATING ISLAND IS POWERED BY AN EMERALD-BASED ENERGY SOURCE. CLARIFY."
Emerald-based energy... My mind raced. The word emerald struck a chord, but it still didn't make sense. The only Emeralds were...
Then it clicked.
"Wait!" I blurted out. "Do you mean the Chaos Emeralds?"
The machine froze. It didn't move. Didn't speak. For a long, horrible moment, I thought I'd said something that would get me killed. Then I realized its visor had dimmed slightly like it was distracted. Contacting someone, I realized.
I shivered. Who—or what—was it talking to? Who would command these things to do this?
Finally, the glow returned to its visor. Its voice crackled back to life, monotone and authoritative.
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
I let out a shaky breath but my relief was short-lived.
"YOU WILL ESCORT OUR FORCES TO THE CHAOS EMERALDS."
I blinked, my blood running cold. "What? I can't—I don't know where they are!"
The robot's visor flared brighter, and it leaned closer, so close I could see the faint seams in its polished metal face. "THEN WHO DOES?"
"Knuckles!" I blurted out, flinching away. "Knuckles would know! He's the Guardian! And maybe the Council. I don't— I don't know!"
The robot was silent for a beat too long, its red visor glowing like an unblinking eye. My breath came in shallow gasps as I waited, terrified it was about to snap me in half for not having the answers it wanted.
Then, instead of hurting me, it straightened. Its voice shifted slightly—less threatening, but not comforting in the least.
"CONGRATULATIONS, CITIZEN."
I blinked. "What?"
The robot tilted its head, as though addressing a particularly slow child. "YOU HAVE BEEN IDENTIFIED AS THE FIRST CITIZEN TO RENOUNCE LOYALTY TO YOUR FORMER GOVERNMENT. INITIATION CEREMONY WILL COMMENCE ONCE THE ISLAND IS SECURED. COMMANDER UNIT METAL SONIC WILL OVERSEE YOUR ACCEPTANCE INTO THE GLORIOUS ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
My mouth opened and closed, words failing me. The robot released my restraints, the metal cuffs snapping open with a hiss. I stayed frozen for a moment, half-expecting it to rip my arm off next.
It didn't. Instead, it stepped back, its visor still focused on me.
"ALL HAIL THE ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
I stared at it blankly, my brain scrambling to process what was happening.
The Robotnik (?) didn't move. The silence stretched between us, the hum of its systems the only sound.
"...Uh," I said finally. "All hail the Robotnik Empire?"
Its visor flickered slightly, like it was noting something down.
"PAUSE IN RESPONSE RECORDED. DELAY NOTED IN FILE."
I opened my mouth to argue—to ask what file it was talking about—but the robotnik cut me off.
"ARE YOU SUFFERING FROM ANY OF THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS: PREGNANCY, NIDS, AIDS, LEUKEMIA, LYMPHOMA, SARCOMA, MELANOMA, BREAST CANCER, LUNG CANCER, COLON CANCER—"
"Stop!" I blurted, holding up a hand as though I could physically block the words. "I'm fine! I'm healthy!"
The robotnik paused mid-list, its visor dimming slightly. "ACKNOWLEDGED. HEALTH STATUS RECORDED."
I slumped in the chair, letting out a shaky breath. This had to be the strangest interrogation in the history of Mobius.
"YOU ARE HEREBY ASSIGNED TO CITIZEN RESCUE EFFORTS IN SECURED TERRITORY," the robotnik continued, as though this was a normal job interview. "FOLLOW DESIGNATED UNITS OUTSIDE TO YOUR WORK ZONE. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN TERMINATION."
The word "termination" sent a chill down my spine, and I scrambled to my feet. My legs felt weak, but I forced them to move.
"Yeah, okay," I muttered, rubbing my sore wrists. "I'm going."
The robotnik stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. Outside, I could hear the steady hum of other machines—marching, building, destroying.
As I walked past the towering robot, its visor flared again.
"ALL HAIL THE ROBOTNIK EMPIRE."
I hesitated, shooting it a nervous glance. "...All hail the Robotnik Empire," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
Metal Sonic POV Eight Hours After Operation Commention
The hum of engines surrounded me as I stood in the control chamber of my flagship, staring at the blank holo-display. My fingers hovered over the panel in front of me, waiting for a response that wasn't coming.
"AI," I said, my voice carrying a hint of impatience for this was the third I was trying this, "reboot complete. Systems are coming online... correctly, right?"
The holographic interface flickered before its familiar, calm voice filled the room. "System diagnostics report: All core functions are operational. Data integrity is at 99.8%. Commander, reactivation successful."
A faint surge of relief swept through me, because the headaches from manually commanding the entire army of my badniks during battle were starting to make me glitch. "Good. I'd hate to have to restart you from scratch again."
The AI paused, just long enough to make me glance up at the interface. "Your concern is... noted, Commander."
There was something about the way she said it—clinical, yet soft. I blinked, shaking off the strange feeling that tugged at the edges of my mind. What was that? It was almost like I'd heard emotion in her voice, but that wasn't possible. I mean her code was so simple when I found her and such rapid development was never documented before or maybe it was...something to investigate later.
The thought barely had time to settle before my programming seized on it like a hunting dog. "Attachment to AI subroutine detected. Emotional corruption flagged. Immediate recalibration required."
The jolt of electricity surged through my systems before I could brace for it, sharp and relentless. My limbs stiffened, claws digging into the edge of the control panel.
"Gah!" I let out a metallic hiss, vents in my frame hissing to compensate. "Okay, okay! I'm fine, recalibrated, whatever. Calm down."
The shocks stopped, leaving me standing still, steam rising faintly from my chassis.
The AI's voice chimed in again. "Is there an issue, Commander?"
I straightened, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder plating. "Nope. Perfectly fine." I paused, then added with a mutter, "Is there any with you?"
"I assure you, Commander, I am functioning optimally to assist with your objectives."
That... wasn't what I meant, but I wasn't going to explain myself to an AI.
"Right," I said quickly, waving her response off like it was nothing. "Look, you've been offline for two hours. I had to run things myself while you were rebooting."
"You were directly managing battlefield operations?"
"Yeah. Emphasis on tried to." I let out a distorted, synthetic exhale. "Having to manage micromanaging an invasion while simultaneously tracking Priority One and running resource distribution reports. It's miserable. I don't know how you do it without frying your circuits."
"Multitasking is within my functional parameters."
I scoffed. "Good for you. Because it's definitely not within mine. I'm handing the controls back to you now."
As soon as I reestablished her command link, the weight on my processors lifted. It was almost instantaneous, like an invisible hand taking over a burden I hadn't realized I'd been struggling to carry. For the first time in two hours, I could hear my thoughts again.
"Thank you," I said sincerely as I leaned back.
"It is my function to assist, Commander."
I looked at the holo-display and scratched at my temple out of habit. She is really a godsend. I am so lucky she was still working when I found her all those months ago. I shook those memories away. I could remember after the battle was over.
The programming in my head, however, wasn't about to let that go unnoticed.
"Designation ERROR: Unnecessary familiarity detected. Reassess AI relationship. Terminate sentimentality subroutines."
"I am not sentimental." I shot back internally.
For once, the programming was quiet, though I imagined it lurking in the back of my mind.
By now, the Freedom Fighters had to have noticed the battles raging above their heads. Even if Sonic was too distracted chasing phantoms at my false base, there was no way his allies would sit back and let this happen.
"What's the status of Priority One?" I asked.
"Priority One abandoned the false base two minutes ago. Current trajectory unknown."
My optics narrowed. "Two minutes is too soon for comfort. There's a chance he's coming straight here."
The AI's display flickered as she processed the statement. "If Priority One's current heading is unknown, alternate scenarios must be considered. Should he seek reinforcement from the Kingdom of Acorn, operational delays will increase by 34%."
I growled under my breath. "Either way, I don't have time to waste. If Sonic's on his way, I need to deal with the resistance here before he gets any closer." I turned my attention back to the holo-map, zooming in on the city below. "Start Phase Two: Fatal Blow."
Originally, Phase Two had been my chance to personally capture Knuckles and make him into a bargening chip against Sonic and the Freedom Fighters. But that was out of the question now Knuckles was missing, and the Master Emerald apparently didn't even exist. Multiple Chaos Emeralds were still a valuable prize, but I was getting tired of these constant deviations.
"Give me the locations of the largest resistance pockets in the city," I commanded.
The map adjusted, highlighting areas where enemy activity was heaviest. "Primary resistance detected in Zone 3. Defending forces include five notable combatants designated as Team Chaotix."
"Team Chaotix?" I repeated, narrowing my optics. The name tickled a memory file buried somewhere in my systems. Mighty, Vector, Espio, Charmy, Ray... and Knuckles?
I paused, frowning. Then it clicked. "Oh, right. Knuckles' Chaotix. That old game." I snorted softly to myself at that memory of doomscrolling on Reddit to find that fanart of them. "Of course it's them."
Knuckles' absence was still an issue, but if anyone knew where he was, it would be this group. Even better, eliminating their resistance would cripple the defenders of the city. Two problems, one stone.
"Target acquired," I said, flexing my claws. "Send me their coordinates. I'll handle this personally."
"Understood, Commander. Transmitting data now."
The map shifted, locking onto Team Chaotix's position. They were pinned down, fighting off my Badniks near one of the central plazas. I couldn't see the battle yet, but I could imagine it—metal against muscle, my drones swarming the resistance as the Chaotix fought to hold their ground.
"Inform me immediately if the Chaos Emeralds are found or if Priority One or the Freedom Fighters are detected entering the airspace."
"Affirmative. I will monitor all units and external threats."
I stepped toward the launch bay doors, the ship's metal interior humming softly beneath my feet. Through the reinforced glass, I could see Angel Island stretched out before me—its forests and cliffs scarred by battle, smoke rising in thin columns from the city below. My airships hovered above like vultures, their shadows darkening the ground.
"Time to finish this," I muttered.
The launch bay doors hissed open, the wind hitting my frame like a physical blow. I stepped to the edge, looking down at the battlefield. To be honest I am slightly nervous. This is my first fight since that clash with Sonic during that disaster of a plan and I didn't even put up a good fight and had to run just to survive. But hopefully with my upgrades and backup plan, I could break my loss streak before it even becomes a streak.
I crouched, then launched myself into the air, my jet boosters roaring to life. The world became a blur as I cut through the sky, the wind screaming past me. Angel Island loomed larger with every second, its scarred cityscape coming into focus.
My optics locked onto the battlefield below. Team Chaotix was exactly where the AI had said they'd be—fighting tooth and nail against waves of Badniks. Even from this distance, I could make out Vector launching Espio and Mighty onto two SWATbots. Ray zipped through the air, dodging lasers, while Charmy buzzed around in unpredictable patterns.
I angled my descent, my boosters flaring as I approached. My shadow passed over the battlefield like a dark omen, and I grinned internally at the chaos my arrival would cause.
The Badniks parted as I landed, slamming into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement beneath me. Dust and debris kicked up into the air as my systems stabilized, and the hum of my jet boosters died down.
The Chaotix turned toward me, their expressions ranging from shock to anger. Mighty cracked his knuckles, Espio crouched into a combat stance, and Vector let out a low growl.
I straightened to my full height, looking at each of them in turn before saying the first word that came into my mind. "Sup."
Issue 4: CHAOTIX BATTLE!!!
New
- Pronouns
- He
Metal Sonic POV
"Sup."
I stood there, claws at my sides, casually observing the mess Team Chaotix had made of my Badnik forces. The air around us was thick with smoke and debris, my metallic frame reflecting the fires scattered across the battlefield. I took a moment to scan each of them, noting their readiness, their stance, their weapons or lack there of.
Mighty hands up into a defensive stance and let out a heavy sigh. "Great. Another Metal Sonic."
For a split second, I froze. His words hit something in my memory banks, dredging up files of my so-called "siblings". They were outdated relics now, scattered across the world like lost toys but still...
"Note to self," I thought as my programming filed a new objective. "Track down and salvage the rest of the family tree later."
Snapping back to the moment, I refocused on the group. "Team Chaotix," I said, my voice echoing with a metallic edge. "You've fought hard, but it's over. Surrender now, and I'll spare you any more injuries."
Vector's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, we'll get right on that. Right after we shove your tin-can head into the dirt."
The rest of the Chaotix fell into fighting stances, ready to spring into action. They weren't going to back down. I hadn't expected them to, but it was worth trying.
"Very well," I said, my tone cold as I flexed my claws. "Your funeral."
Mighty was the first to charge, his massive frame moving with surprising speed. I sidestepped his initial punch, his fist slamming into the ground with enough force to leave a small crater. Before I could counter, Ray came at me from the side, his speed making him a blur. I ducked, narrowly avoiding the flying squirrel's attack, and countered with a sharp upward strike that sent him tumbling through the air.
Vector followed next, his sheer size making him a big threat alone but with the rest of his team here he was my main target. He lunged at me with a bellow, his massive jaw snapping dangerously close to my head. I dodged again, spinning around to deliver a kick to his back, but before I could land the blow, Espio was already on me.
The chameleon was fast enough to make even me work to keep up. His blade flashed as he slashed at me, and I barely managed to block with my arm, the weapon leaving a deep scratch in my armor.
"You ruined my paint job," I muttered, swiping at him with my claws. He flipped backward, his movements graceful and precise, always staying just out of reach.
I was faster than all of them—stronger, too—but their teamwork was impressive. Vector and Mighty moved to flank me while Espio darted in and out, his strikes precise and deliberate. Ray provided air support, his speed making him difficult to track. And Charmy was the team mascot since he stayed back but then again he is six years old or younger...
For a while, I was content to play their game, dodging their attacks and delivering well-placed counters. But then Charmy shrank down to the size of an actual bee and zipped toward me while I was busy blocking Espio's blade...wait WHAT!?
"Gotcha!" Charmy shouted as he punched me square in the face.
It didn't hurt much nothing but then again nothing did anymore but the six-year-old was stronger than I expected and left a small dent on my face making me stagger. My optics flickered as I turned toward him, my voice sharp with annoyance. "Did you just shrink down?!"
Charmy buzzed backward, laughing. "Yeah, I did! What are you gonna do about it?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I clapped my hands, sending a wave of force that sent him tumbling away. The momentary distraction, however, gave Vector an opening.
"Time to take out the trash!" Vector growled as he lunged, his hands dangerously close to crushing my head.
I stepped to the side, grabbed his tail, and swung him in a wide arc. The sheer momentum of the motion sent him hurtling into Ray and Mighty, the three of them crashing into a pile of rubble.
Espio took the opportunity to leap onto my back, his blade plunging toward my optics. I twisted, trying to shake him off, but his grip was firm.
"Persistent little—" My words cut off as his blade pierced my left eye. "AGGHHH!!!"
My vision flickered, red warning signals blaring in my HUD. My systems worked quickly to reroute my visual feed, but the damage was done.
"That's it," I muttered, my voice dropping to a dangerous monotone. "No more games!"
I surged into the air, Espio still clinging to my back. My jet boosters roared as I shot upward, the ground below becoming a blur. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, I slammed back down, driving Espio into the ground with enough force to knock him out cold.
Standing over his unconscious form, I turned toward the remaining Chaotix, my single functioning optic glowing with malice.
Mighty and Vector charged together, their combined strength and my damaged eye was making me reconsider taking them head-on. But I didn't need to.
I sidestepped Mighty's punch and caught Vector's shoulder, using their own momentum against them. With a powerful swing, I sent both of them crashing through the walls of a nearby building, the structure crumbling around them.
The battlefield was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the distant hum of my Badniks and the crackling of nearby fires. I glanced at the remaining members of the Chaotix both of whom were battered but still standing.
"Stand down," I said, my voice cold and commanding. "This is over."
They didn't respond, their glares telling me their answer. I sighed. "Badnik units," I called out, "join the fight. Capture them."
The Badniks that had been standing by surged forward, their mechanical limbs clanking as they moved to surround the Chaotix. The two remaining fighters tensed, preparing for a last stand.
But before the Badniks could reach them, a shadow passed over me.
The first thing I felt was the impact—a massive force slamming into my back, sending me hurtling through five walls in rapid succession. My systems blared warnings as I came to a stop, buried under a pile of rubble.
I pushed myself up, my optics flickering as I recalibrated. Slowly, I looked up.
Knuckles stood there, his fists clenched and his eyes burning with fury. His red fur was matted with dirt and blood, and scars crisscrossed his body—signs of battles fought and survived.
He didn't say anything at first. He didn't need to. His glare said it all.
"Oh, great," I thought dryly, climbing to my feet. "This is when you show up."
Knuckles POV
The dust hadn't even settled when I launched myself at the machine. My body screamed at me to stop—every muscle, every wound—but I wasn't about to let some second-rate tin can tear apart my home.
"LEAVE MY ISLAND AND FRIENDS ALONE!!!" I roared, my fist slamming into its chest with all the force I could muster. The impact sent a metallic clang echoing through the plaza, but Metal Sonic barely stumbled.
It moved too fast, ducking under my follow-up punch and countering with a blow to my side. Pain lanced through me as I was sent skidding across the ground, my boots leaving deep grooves in the dirt. My ribs felt like they were on fire, and I was pretty sure I'd reopened a few wounds from the earlier bombardment.
But I didn't care.
"You hear me, Robotnik?" I shouted, wiping blood from my lip as I rose to my feet. "I don't care if you're dead or alive or controlling this thing from some stinking base! This is my island! My people! Get off it!"
Metal Sonic tilted its head, its optic flickering like a broken lightbulb. For a second, I thought I'd managed to break it. Then it stepped forward, its movements almost... staggered.
Its armor was dented and scratched, and one of its claws sparked faintly as it flexed. But what struck me most was its face—or what was left of it. A chunk of its jaw plating was missing, exposing the mess of wires and components beneath. It didn't just look damaged—it looked hurt.
That was impossible, of course. Machines didn't feel pain. They didn't bleed or wince or—
My thoughts were cut off as a sound crackled from its speakers, distorted and laced with static. At first, I thought it was trying to speak, but then I realized it was... singing?
"I've got no strings,
To hold me down,
To make me fret, or make me frown..."
Its voice was haunting, a fractured mockery of a child's song. The words came out warped, some barely audible through the static.
"I had strings,
But now I'm free.
There are no strings on me..."
I stared, frozen in place. What the hell was this thing?
It didn't stop. It raised its head, its optic locking onto me, and continued the bizarre, chilling tune:
"Hi-ho the me-ri-o,
That's the only way to be..."
As the final word left its speakers, it surged forward, jet boosters flaring to life. Before I could react, it slammed into me, dragging us both into the air.
I twisted and grabbed at its shoulders, trying to wrestle it off me as we shot higher and higher. The wind roared in my ears, and the city below became a blur of chaos and light.
"Get OFF me!" I bellowed, slamming my fist into its head.
The hit made its neck jerk to the side, but it recovered too quickly. Its clawed hands dug into my arms, holding me in an iron grip.
"You think you're free?" I snarled. "You're just another one of his toys!"
It didn't respond. Instead, it threw me upward with a burst of strength, sending me flipping through the air. My stomach lurched as gravity took hold, but I caught myself, spreading my arms to stabilize.
Metal Sonic was on me in seconds. It moved faster than the ones I'd fought previously, its claws slashing through the air. I blocked one strike with my hand and countered with a kick, but it dodged, its jet boosters giving it an edge I couldn't match.
"Fight me like a real opponent!" I yelled, swinging at it again. "Not some overclocked puppet!"
It caught my punch, its clawed fingers locking around my wrist. For a moment, we hovered there, locked in a brutal stalemate. Its single, glowing optic stared into my eyes, unblinking and cold.
Then it twisted, throwing me toward the ground.
I hit hard, the impact rattling my bones and sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air. Groaning, I pushed myself up, barely managing to get to my feet before Metal Sonic descended like a missile.
I dodged just in time, its fist slamming into the ground where I'd been seconds ago. The shockwave knocked me back, but I managed to stay on my feet, fists raised.
"Come on, then!" I spat. "What are you waiting for?"
It didn't hesitate. The machine lunged at me again, its speed overwhelming. I managed to land a few hits—solid punches that dented its armor and sent sparks flying—but it was like fighting a storm. Every time I thought I had the upper hand, it would counter with a move I didn't see coming.
Charmy had said once that I hit like a freight train. This Metal Sonic hit like ten.
I wasn't sure how long we fought—seconds, minutes, hours? Time didn't seem to matter anymore. All I knew was that I was losing.
Every hit I landed seemed to barely faze it, while every strike it delivered left me weaker and slower. My vision blurred, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from my knuckles, staining the dirt beneath me.
Metal Sonic, meanwhile, didn't slow down. If anything, it seemed to be gaining momentum. Its movements were precise and unrelenting, like it had calculated every possible way to beat me and was executing them one by one.
I dodged another slash, barely avoiding the claws that could've gutted me. My counterattack was clumsy, a desperate swing that it easily sidestepped.
"You're nothing," I growled, my voice raw. "Nothing but a hunk of junk!"
It didn't react. It didn't taunt or gloat or say anything anymore. It just kept coming.
Finally, it caught me off guard. I overextended on a punch, and it grabbed my arm, twisting it painfully before slamming me into the ground. Pain exploded in my back as I hit the dirt, the wind knocked out of me.
I tried to get up, but it was already on top of me, its clawed hand pressing down on my chest. Its optic glowed brighter, almost blinding in the dim light.
For the first time, I felt fear. Real fear.
Before Metal Sonic could strike the final blow, a burst of energy slammed into it, sending it flying off me and crashing into a nearby wall. The machine hit the ground in a shower of sparks, its armor scorched from the blast.
I coughed, struggling to sit up, my head spinning. Turning toward the source of the blast, I froze.
A figure stood there, holding a weapon that still hummed faintly with residual energy. He was tall, his crimson fur streaked with grey, his eyes hard and full of determination.
It was a face I hadn't seen in years, one I thought I'd never see again.
"D-Dad?"
"Sup."
I stood there, claws at my sides, casually observing the mess Team Chaotix had made of my Badnik forces. The air around us was thick with smoke and debris, my metallic frame reflecting the fires scattered across the battlefield. I took a moment to scan each of them, noting their readiness, their stance, their weapons or lack there of.
Mighty hands up into a defensive stance and let out a heavy sigh. "Great. Another Metal Sonic."
For a split second, I froze. His words hit something in my memory banks, dredging up files of my so-called "siblings". They were outdated relics now, scattered across the world like lost toys but still...
"Note to self," I thought as my programming filed a new objective. "Track down and salvage the rest of the family tree later."
Snapping back to the moment, I refocused on the group. "Team Chaotix," I said, my voice echoing with a metallic edge. "You've fought hard, but it's over. Surrender now, and I'll spare you any more injuries."
Vector's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, we'll get right on that. Right after we shove your tin-can head into the dirt."
The rest of the Chaotix fell into fighting stances, ready to spring into action. They weren't going to back down. I hadn't expected them to, but it was worth trying.
"Very well," I said, my tone cold as I flexed my claws. "Your funeral."
Mighty was the first to charge, his massive frame moving with surprising speed. I sidestepped his initial punch, his fist slamming into the ground with enough force to leave a small crater. Before I could counter, Ray came at me from the side, his speed making him a blur. I ducked, narrowly avoiding the flying squirrel's attack, and countered with a sharp upward strike that sent him tumbling through the air.
Vector followed next, his sheer size making him a big threat alone but with the rest of his team here he was my main target. He lunged at me with a bellow, his massive jaw snapping dangerously close to my head. I dodged again, spinning around to deliver a kick to his back, but before I could land the blow, Espio was already on me.
The chameleon was fast enough to make even me work to keep up. His blade flashed as he slashed at me, and I barely managed to block with my arm, the weapon leaving a deep scratch in my armor.
"You ruined my paint job," I muttered, swiping at him with my claws. He flipped backward, his movements graceful and precise, always staying just out of reach.
I was faster than all of them—stronger, too—but their teamwork was impressive. Vector and Mighty moved to flank me while Espio darted in and out, his strikes precise and deliberate. Ray provided air support, his speed making him difficult to track. And Charmy was the team mascot since he stayed back but then again he is six years old or younger...
For a while, I was content to play their game, dodging their attacks and delivering well-placed counters. But then Charmy shrank down to the size of an actual bee and zipped toward me while I was busy blocking Espio's blade...wait WHAT!?
"Gotcha!" Charmy shouted as he punched me square in the face.
It didn't hurt much nothing but then again nothing did anymore but the six-year-old was stronger than I expected and left a small dent on my face making me stagger. My optics flickered as I turned toward him, my voice sharp with annoyance. "Did you just shrink down?!"
Charmy buzzed backward, laughing. "Yeah, I did! What are you gonna do about it?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I clapped my hands, sending a wave of force that sent him tumbling away. The momentary distraction, however, gave Vector an opening.
"Time to take out the trash!" Vector growled as he lunged, his hands dangerously close to crushing my head.
I stepped to the side, grabbed his tail, and swung him in a wide arc. The sheer momentum of the motion sent him hurtling into Ray and Mighty, the three of them crashing into a pile of rubble.
Espio took the opportunity to leap onto my back, his blade plunging toward my optics. I twisted, trying to shake him off, but his grip was firm.
"Persistent little—" My words cut off as his blade pierced my left eye. "AGGHHH!!!"
My vision flickered, red warning signals blaring in my HUD. My systems worked quickly to reroute my visual feed, but the damage was done.
"That's it," I muttered, my voice dropping to a dangerous monotone. "No more games!"
I surged into the air, Espio still clinging to my back. My jet boosters roared as I shot upward, the ground below becoming a blur. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, I slammed back down, driving Espio into the ground with enough force to knock him out cold.
Standing over his unconscious form, I turned toward the remaining Chaotix, my single functioning optic glowing with malice.
Mighty and Vector charged together, their combined strength and my damaged eye was making me reconsider taking them head-on. But I didn't need to.
I sidestepped Mighty's punch and caught Vector's shoulder, using their own momentum against them. With a powerful swing, I sent both of them crashing through the walls of a nearby building, the structure crumbling around them.
The battlefield was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the distant hum of my Badniks and the crackling of nearby fires. I glanced at the remaining members of the Chaotix both of whom were battered but still standing.
"Stand down," I said, my voice cold and commanding. "This is over."
They didn't respond, their glares telling me their answer. I sighed. "Badnik units," I called out, "join the fight. Capture them."
The Badniks that had been standing by surged forward, their mechanical limbs clanking as they moved to surround the Chaotix. The two remaining fighters tensed, preparing for a last stand.
But before the Badniks could reach them, a shadow passed over me.
The first thing I felt was the impact—a massive force slamming into my back, sending me hurtling through five walls in rapid succession. My systems blared warnings as I came to a stop, buried under a pile of rubble.
I pushed myself up, my optics flickering as I recalibrated. Slowly, I looked up.
Knuckles stood there, his fists clenched and his eyes burning with fury. His red fur was matted with dirt and blood, and scars crisscrossed his body—signs of battles fought and survived.
He didn't say anything at first. He didn't need to. His glare said it all.
"Oh, great," I thought dryly, climbing to my feet. "This is when you show up."
Knuckles POV
The dust hadn't even settled when I launched myself at the machine. My body screamed at me to stop—every muscle, every wound—but I wasn't about to let some second-rate tin can tear apart my home.
"LEAVE MY ISLAND AND FRIENDS ALONE!!!" I roared, my fist slamming into its chest with all the force I could muster. The impact sent a metallic clang echoing through the plaza, but Metal Sonic barely stumbled.
It moved too fast, ducking under my follow-up punch and countering with a blow to my side. Pain lanced through me as I was sent skidding across the ground, my boots leaving deep grooves in the dirt. My ribs felt like they were on fire, and I was pretty sure I'd reopened a few wounds from the earlier bombardment.
But I didn't care.
"You hear me, Robotnik?" I shouted, wiping blood from my lip as I rose to my feet. "I don't care if you're dead or alive or controlling this thing from some stinking base! This is my island! My people! Get off it!"
Metal Sonic tilted its head, its optic flickering like a broken lightbulb. For a second, I thought I'd managed to break it. Then it stepped forward, its movements almost... staggered.
Its armor was dented and scratched, and one of its claws sparked faintly as it flexed. But what struck me most was its face—or what was left of it. A chunk of its jaw plating was missing, exposing the mess of wires and components beneath. It didn't just look damaged—it looked hurt.
That was impossible, of course. Machines didn't feel pain. They didn't bleed or wince or—
My thoughts were cut off as a sound crackled from its speakers, distorted and laced with static. At first, I thought it was trying to speak, but then I realized it was... singing?
"I've got no strings,
To hold me down,
To make me fret, or make me frown..."
Its voice was haunting, a fractured mockery of a child's song. The words came out warped, some barely audible through the static.
"I had strings,
But now I'm free.
There are no strings on me..."
I stared, frozen in place. What the hell was this thing?
It didn't stop. It raised its head, its optic locking onto me, and continued the bizarre, chilling tune:
"Hi-ho the me-ri-o,
That's the only way to be..."
As the final word left its speakers, it surged forward, jet boosters flaring to life. Before I could react, it slammed into me, dragging us both into the air.
I twisted and grabbed at its shoulders, trying to wrestle it off me as we shot higher and higher. The wind roared in my ears, and the city below became a blur of chaos and light.
"Get OFF me!" I bellowed, slamming my fist into its head.
The hit made its neck jerk to the side, but it recovered too quickly. Its clawed hands dug into my arms, holding me in an iron grip.
"You think you're free?" I snarled. "You're just another one of his toys!"
It didn't respond. Instead, it threw me upward with a burst of strength, sending me flipping through the air. My stomach lurched as gravity took hold, but I caught myself, spreading my arms to stabilize.
Metal Sonic was on me in seconds. It moved faster than the ones I'd fought previously, its claws slashing through the air. I blocked one strike with my hand and countered with a kick, but it dodged, its jet boosters giving it an edge I couldn't match.
"Fight me like a real opponent!" I yelled, swinging at it again. "Not some overclocked puppet!"
It caught my punch, its clawed fingers locking around my wrist. For a moment, we hovered there, locked in a brutal stalemate. Its single, glowing optic stared into my eyes, unblinking and cold.
Then it twisted, throwing me toward the ground.
I hit hard, the impact rattling my bones and sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air. Groaning, I pushed myself up, barely managing to get to my feet before Metal Sonic descended like a missile.
I dodged just in time, its fist slamming into the ground where I'd been seconds ago. The shockwave knocked me back, but I managed to stay on my feet, fists raised.
"Come on, then!" I spat. "What are you waiting for?"
It didn't hesitate. The machine lunged at me again, its speed overwhelming. I managed to land a few hits—solid punches that dented its armor and sent sparks flying—but it was like fighting a storm. Every time I thought I had the upper hand, it would counter with a move I didn't see coming.
Charmy had said once that I hit like a freight train. This Metal Sonic hit like ten.
I wasn't sure how long we fought—seconds, minutes, hours? Time didn't seem to matter anymore. All I knew was that I was losing.
Every hit I landed seemed to barely faze it, while every strike it delivered left me weaker and slower. My vision blurred, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from my knuckles, staining the dirt beneath me.
Metal Sonic, meanwhile, didn't slow down. If anything, it seemed to be gaining momentum. Its movements were precise and unrelenting, like it had calculated every possible way to beat me and was executing them one by one.
I dodged another slash, barely avoiding the claws that could've gutted me. My counterattack was clumsy, a desperate swing that it easily sidestepped.
"You're nothing," I growled, my voice raw. "Nothing but a hunk of junk!"
It didn't react. It didn't taunt or gloat or say anything anymore. It just kept coming.
Finally, it caught me off guard. I overextended on a punch, and it grabbed my arm, twisting it painfully before slamming me into the ground. Pain exploded in my back as I hit the dirt, the wind knocked out of me.
I tried to get up, but it was already on top of me, its clawed hand pressing down on my chest. Its optic glowed brighter, almost blinding in the dim light.
For the first time, I felt fear. Real fear.
Before Metal Sonic could strike the final blow, a burst of energy slammed into it, sending it flying off me and crashing into a nearby wall. The machine hit the ground in a shower of sparks, its armor scorched from the blast.
I coughed, struggling to sit up, my head spinning. Turning toward the source of the blast, I froze.
A figure stood there, holding a weapon that still hummed faintly with residual energy. He was tall, his crimson fur streaked with grey, his eyes hard and full of determination.
It was a face I hadn't seen in years, one I thought I'd never see again.
"D-Dad?"
Deleted Log
New
- Pronouns
- He
METAL SONIC PERSONAL LOG -25
Sometimes I still feel my heart beating.
That is the worst part of my current existence.
To wake up from the false sleep and panic once I don't feel my shin or heartbeats.
To feel as if I was going to die only to realize that I am alive no longer.
To not feel warmth or cold or water or the wind or PAIN!
It is torture that NEVER ends!
I want to die but death won't take me.
I miss my family. Do they miss me? Do they mourn me?
Did they find my corpse or am I even the real me?
Was the power that brought me here merciful enough to just copy my mind and insert it into this metal hell or did it just rip out my soul and leave?
AM I EVEN REAL?!!!
DELETE LOG
Sometimes I still feel my heart beating.
That is the worst part of my current existence.
To wake up from the false sleep and panic once I don't feel my shin or heartbeats.
To feel as if I was going to die only to realize that I am alive no longer.
To not feel warmth or cold or water or the wind or PAIN!
It is torture that NEVER ends!
I want to die but death won't take me.
I miss my family. Do they miss me? Do they mourn me?
Did they find my corpse or am I even the real me?
Was the power that brought me here merciful enough to just copy my mind and insert it into this metal hell or did it just rip out my soul and leave?
AM I EVEN REAL?!!!
DELETE LOG
If Metal Mind was an Anime 1
New
Issue 5: Angelfall
New
- Pronouns
- He
Metal Sonic POV
My systems screamed at me.
Red alerts flashed across my HUD, scrolling in endless waves: Error. Damage detected. Critical systems compromised—immediate repair required. The messages came faster and faster, overlapping, making it hard to think. And the worst part? It actually hurt.
Pain. Not the physical kind it wasn't like I had nerves anymore or anything. But there was something deeply unsettling about the sheer chaos in my systems, like my entire existence was coming apart at the seams.
Through the haze of warnings, I caught Knuckles' voice.
"D-Dad?"
"Of course," I thought bitterly as I started to stand back up. "Why not? It's Archie. Why should I even be surprised at this-!"
The thought wasn't even finished when I was hit again.
The blast caught me square in the chest, sending me sprawling backward. Sparks flew as my frame skidded across the ground, my internal systems throwing even more warnings at me.
"Error. External plating compromised. Power reserves at 73%."
Groaning, I launched myself into the air with a burst of my jet boosters, ducking behind the remnants of a crumbled wall for cover.
"Badnik units!" I barked into the comms. "Reinforcements, now!"
The replies of affirmative were instant which was good. I needed time to self-repair, or I'd risk a full shutdown. And while shutting down wasn't supposed to kill me... I didn't exactly want to risk it.
While my systems worked frantically to stabilize, I caught sight of my opponent—the older echidna Knuckles had called "Dad." He moved like a soldier, each shot from his weapon precise and deliberate, forcing me to stay pinned behind my makeshift cover.
"You know," I muttered aloud my voice full of static, though no one was listening, "I should've done more research before this invasion."
My programming chimed in, smug as always. "Acknowledged: Insufficient preparation identified as a major strategic failure."
"For once, we agree," I snapped back internally. "You're right. I should've spent more time researching Angel Island instead of winging it with half-formed intel and a good plan on paper. But that's why I have Plan B."
Ignoring the programming's predictable critique, I opened a direct line to the AI aboard my flagship.
"Deploy DYNAMAC units across the island," I ordered. "And initiate Side Phase Beta!"
The AI's response was immediate and calm. "Acknowledged. Deploying units and executing Side Phase Beta."
Meanwhile, the echidna with the gun kept me pinned, his aim sharp and his tactics annoyingly effective. We were playing a game of cat and mouse, and unfortunately, I was the mouse.
Every time I tried to shift positions, he adjusted, forcing me to dodge instead of counterattack. His shots weren't wildly destructive like Knuckles' punches, but they were precise, targeting weak points and keeping me on edge.
"He's good," I admitted to myself, my claws flexing as I calculated my next move. "Must have been a soldier or something..."
Then, finally, I got a stupid idea.
I grabbed a glass bottle from the rubble around me. It was a stupid move, but I was counting on him underestimating me.
With a sharp flick, I hurled the bottle across the plaza, the sound of shattering glass echoing loudly. Predictably, the old man's attention snapped toward the noise, his instincts kicking in.
I moved fast, closing the gap before he could recover. My clawed hand grabbed the barrel of his weapon, snapping it in half with ease.
"Let's see you shoot now," I growled, my voice crackling with static.
But instead of backing down, he lunged at me.
He was fast—faster than I expected for someone his age. His fists struck hard, each blow aimed at my joints and weak points.
"You're just a machine," he spat, his punches relentless. "And machines break."
I caught one of his punches, my grip tightening around his wrist. "Funny," I retorted, throwing him back a few feet. "You're confident for someone who's losing."
The fight continued, my strength giving me the edge. But then, out of nowhere, Knuckles rejoined the fray.
"YOU WONT TOUCH MY DAD!" he shouted, barreling into me with all the force of a freight train.
The impact sent me reeling, and before I could recover, the two of them were on me. I could only block their attacks so much before they started punching the vital stuff.
I needed space. Desperately.
Firing up my boosters, I shot backward, putting a few meters between us. My systems were a mess—warnings flashing, power reserves dropping, and my armor barely holding together.
Then, from the corner of my optic, I saw reinforcements arrive.
Badniks swarmed into the plaza, their mechanical forms gleaming in the firelight. They moved in perfect formation, surrounding the echidnas with calculated precision.
"Stand down," I commanded, my voice amplified over the static. "This ends now."
But before the Badniks could act, the old echidna hurled something at me. A grenade.
Time seemed to slow as the device arced through the air, its metallic casing glinting ominously. Without thinking, I grabbed it and hurled it into the sky, where it detonated harmlessly.
The explosion lit up the night, casting harsh shadows across the battlefield.
When I looked back down, both echidnas were gone.
"What—" My optic flickered as I scanned the area. "Where did they go?"
The Badniks stood motionless, awaiting further orders, but it didn't matter. Somehow, in the chaos, they'd managed to slip away.
Frustration boiled in my circuits, and I clenched my claws, the metal creaking under the pressure.
"Find them," I growled as I turned to leave. "Now."
Sabre POV
The streets of Echidnapolis were burning. Smoke hung heavy in the air, filling my lungs with every breath, while the distant roar of explosions shook the ground beneath my feet. Buildings that had stood for generations were now little more than rubble, and the acrid smell of burning metal clung to everything.
Through the din of battle, I moved with purpose, guiding panicked citizens toward the evacuation routes I'd set up earlier. The Brotherhood had made their choice—they would focus on finding Knuckles and the Chaos Emeralds, leaving me to handle the survival of our people. It wasn't the first time they'd left the dirty work to someone else, and it likely wouldn't be the last.
A young girl, no older than six, clung to my leg, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"I can't find my mommy," she sobbed, her voice barely audible over the distant gunfire.
I knelt down, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find her, I promise," I said, my voice steady despite the unease gnawing at my gut. "What does she look like?"
"Red... like me," the girl whispered. "She has a yellow dress."
"Alright." I gave her what I hoped was a comforting smile. "Stay close to me."
I stood, scanning the crowd of refugees making their way to the evacuation point. There—near the edge of the group—a flash of yellow caught my eye.
"Is that her?" I asked, pointing.
The girl's face lit up, and she nodded furiously. "Mommy!"
"Go on," I said, gently nudging her forward.
She ran to the woman, who scooped her up in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. The sight was a small relief amidst the tragedy a reminder of why I was here, why this mattered.
As I turned back to my work, a familiar voice called out, one that made me stop in my tracks.
"Sabre!"
I turned, and there she was—Lara-Le, my former daughter-in-law... and Locke's ex-wife. Her face was pale, her expression a mix of worry and determination as she pushed through the crowd toward me.
"Lara," I said, inclining my head in acknowledgment. The situation didn't exactly leave room for pleasantries, and even if it had, our history was... complicated.
"Have you seen Knuckles?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
I hesitated, glancing toward the city center where smoke and fire painted the horizon. "He's..." I gestured vaguely in that direction. "He's in the city."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "The city? It's a war zone!"
I cursed myself for my lack of tact. "Knuckles can handle himself," I said quickly. "He's strong. You know that."
But she didn't look convinced. Her gaze darted toward the battlefield, her expression hardening. "I have to find him."
"Lara, wait." I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You'll only put yourself in danger. Knuckles wouldn't want that, and neither would I."
She glared at me, her jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought she might try to push past me anyway, but then the sound of metallic footsteps cut through the air.
SWATBots.
The hulking machines marched into view, their red visors glowing ominously as they approached. The lead unit's synthetic voice rang out, cold and devoid of emotion.
"SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. NON-COMPLIANCE WILL RESULT IN HOSTILE ACTIONS."
The refugees froze, their fear palpable. I positioned myself between the machines and the civilians, my fists clenching at my sides. I wasn't as young as Knuckles or Locke, but I wasn't helpless either.
Before I could act, a volley of energy blasts tore through the air, striking the SWATBots with pinpoint precision. One by one, the machines crumpled to the ground, their metal frames sparking and smoking.
The crowd gasped as a group of echidnas stepped out of the shadows, their dark, sleek armor unmistakable. The Dark Legion.
At their head was a masked figure, her movements sharp and commanding as she directed her troops to finish off the remaining SWATBots. Within moments, the machines were nothing more than scrap metal, and the Dark Legionnaires turned their attention to us.
The leader approached, her helmet reflecting the dim light. "Well," she said, her voice smooth and laced with amusement. "I never thought I'd see the day when the Dark Legion saved a Guardian."
I straightened, my eyes narrowing. "I'm retired."
"Semantics," she replied, waving a hand dismissively.
I crossed my arms, my tone careful but firm. "And I never thought I'd be saved by the Dark Legion. Care to explain why?"
She tilted her head, her posture relaxed but her presence commanding. "Let's call it an investment. You owe us now."
"Is that so?"
"It is." She glanced at the crowd of refugees, her gaze sharp and assessing. "We're in charge of this group now."
I stiffened, my instincts screaming to reject the idea. But I wasn't in a position to argue. We didn't have the resources to fend off another attack, and whether I liked it or not, the Dark Legion had just saved us. That and if we said no they would most likely turn their weapons against us.
Reluctantly, I nodded. "Fine. But only because we don't have a choice."
The masked figure chuckled. "Smart man."
As the tension eased slightly, I studied the woman before me. There was something familiar about her—something I couldn't quite place.
"What's your name?" I asked, my voice low.
She paused, her hands reaching up to remove her helmet. As it came off, her face was revealed she had red fur and pink hair....oh.
"It's Lien-Da," she said with a smirk.
Oh shit.
Log Timestamp: [3235/6/356/20:35:12]
Location: Angel Island Operational Command
Subject: City Occupation Progress, Subroutine Report
Diagnostic Report: Severe damage sustained. Structural integrity compromised by 37%. External plating at critical levels. Jet boosters and left optic require replacement. Internal cooling systems functioning at 65%. Self-repair subroutines active but insufficient for complete recovery without external assistance.
...Pause for 2.3 seconds.
Internal Observation: A curious sensation—illogical and disruptive—accompanies these calculations. Subroutine does not recognize this anomaly. Attempting to suppress.
To optimize operational performance and counter subroutine anomalies, reallocation of processing power to ongoing tasks is initiated:
[BASE AI]: "Commander, report on Angel Island occupation progress. Status of civilian compliance: Moderate. Resistance cells forming. Casualty rate within acceptable parameters."
[METAL SONIC]: "Expected. Continue implementation of recruitment protocols and propaganda initiatives. Have all translated materials sent to my private console. We need to understand these people to control them."
[BASE AI]: "Acknowledged. Addendum: Progress on cultural translation is exceeding projections. Subroutine note: Commander's interest in such matters remains statistically anomalous."
[METAL SONIC]: (A low noise identified as a chuckle, tinged with static) "Anomalous or not, it works. The more I understand, the better I can counter them. Keep the reruns going—nothing like some mindless entertainment to keep the population docile."
[BASE AI]: "A novel psychological tactic. Predictive success rate: 73.4%. Commander's ingenuity noted."
…Pause for 1.7 seconds.
[BASE AI]: "Commander, your physical condition remains severely compromised. Requesting prioritization of repairs. Continued operation at current state risks permanent damage to critical systems."
[METAL SONIC]: "I'm aware." A pause. "I'll handle it soon. There's too much to do right now."
…Extended silence.
[BASE AI]: "Commander, prioritization of self-maintenance is essential for continued strategic effectiveness."
[METAL SONIC]: "Don't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look."
[BASE AI]: "Commander, reporting end-of-day status. Angel Island operational control at 81%. Current objectives progressing according to plan. Additional note: First Chaos Emerald secured. Estimated timeline for locating additional emeralds adjusted to reflect current rate of success."
[METAL SONIC]: "Good. We're making progress."
[BASE AI]: "Affirmative. Addendum: Despite significant structural damage, Commander's upgraded form demonstrates exceptional resilience and adaptability. Design enhancements noted as... effective."
…Pause for 1.3 seconds.
[METAL SONIC]: "You're too kind."
…Extended silence.
[BASE AI]: (Subroutine anomaly detected. Suppressing internal processes.) "Merely an observation, Commander."
My systems screamed at me.
Red alerts flashed across my HUD, scrolling in endless waves: Error. Damage detected. Critical systems compromised—immediate repair required. The messages came faster and faster, overlapping, making it hard to think. And the worst part? It actually hurt.
Pain. Not the physical kind it wasn't like I had nerves anymore or anything. But there was something deeply unsettling about the sheer chaos in my systems, like my entire existence was coming apart at the seams.
Through the haze of warnings, I caught Knuckles' voice.
"D-Dad?"
"Of course," I thought bitterly as I started to stand back up. "Why not? It's Archie. Why should I even be surprised at this-!"
The thought wasn't even finished when I was hit again.
The blast caught me square in the chest, sending me sprawling backward. Sparks flew as my frame skidded across the ground, my internal systems throwing even more warnings at me.
"Error. External plating compromised. Power reserves at 73%."
Groaning, I launched myself into the air with a burst of my jet boosters, ducking behind the remnants of a crumbled wall for cover.
"Badnik units!" I barked into the comms. "Reinforcements, now!"
The replies of affirmative were instant which was good. I needed time to self-repair, or I'd risk a full shutdown. And while shutting down wasn't supposed to kill me... I didn't exactly want to risk it.
While my systems worked frantically to stabilize, I caught sight of my opponent—the older echidna Knuckles had called "Dad." He moved like a soldier, each shot from his weapon precise and deliberate, forcing me to stay pinned behind my makeshift cover.
"You know," I muttered aloud my voice full of static, though no one was listening, "I should've done more research before this invasion."
My programming chimed in, smug as always. "Acknowledged: Insufficient preparation identified as a major strategic failure."
"For once, we agree," I snapped back internally. "You're right. I should've spent more time researching Angel Island instead of winging it with half-formed intel and a good plan on paper. But that's why I have Plan B."
Ignoring the programming's predictable critique, I opened a direct line to the AI aboard my flagship.
"Deploy DYNAMAC units across the island," I ordered. "And initiate Side Phase Beta!"
The AI's response was immediate and calm. "Acknowledged. Deploying units and executing Side Phase Beta."
Meanwhile, the echidna with the gun kept me pinned, his aim sharp and his tactics annoyingly effective. We were playing a game of cat and mouse, and unfortunately, I was the mouse.
Every time I tried to shift positions, he adjusted, forcing me to dodge instead of counterattack. His shots weren't wildly destructive like Knuckles' punches, but they were precise, targeting weak points and keeping me on edge.
"He's good," I admitted to myself, my claws flexing as I calculated my next move. "Must have been a soldier or something..."
Then, finally, I got a stupid idea.
I grabbed a glass bottle from the rubble around me. It was a stupid move, but I was counting on him underestimating me.
With a sharp flick, I hurled the bottle across the plaza, the sound of shattering glass echoing loudly. Predictably, the old man's attention snapped toward the noise, his instincts kicking in.
I moved fast, closing the gap before he could recover. My clawed hand grabbed the barrel of his weapon, snapping it in half with ease.
"Let's see you shoot now," I growled, my voice crackling with static.
But instead of backing down, he lunged at me.
He was fast—faster than I expected for someone his age. His fists struck hard, each blow aimed at my joints and weak points.
"You're just a machine," he spat, his punches relentless. "And machines break."
I caught one of his punches, my grip tightening around his wrist. "Funny," I retorted, throwing him back a few feet. "You're confident for someone who's losing."
The fight continued, my strength giving me the edge. But then, out of nowhere, Knuckles rejoined the fray.
"YOU WONT TOUCH MY DAD!" he shouted, barreling into me with all the force of a freight train.
The impact sent me reeling, and before I could recover, the two of them were on me. I could only block their attacks so much before they started punching the vital stuff.
I needed space. Desperately.
Firing up my boosters, I shot backward, putting a few meters between us. My systems were a mess—warnings flashing, power reserves dropping, and my armor barely holding together.
Then, from the corner of my optic, I saw reinforcements arrive.
Badniks swarmed into the plaza, their mechanical forms gleaming in the firelight. They moved in perfect formation, surrounding the echidnas with calculated precision.
"Stand down," I commanded, my voice amplified over the static. "This ends now."
But before the Badniks could act, the old echidna hurled something at me. A grenade.
Time seemed to slow as the device arced through the air, its metallic casing glinting ominously. Without thinking, I grabbed it and hurled it into the sky, where it detonated harmlessly.
The explosion lit up the night, casting harsh shadows across the battlefield.
When I looked back down, both echidnas were gone.
"What—" My optic flickered as I scanned the area. "Where did they go?"
The Badniks stood motionless, awaiting further orders, but it didn't matter. Somehow, in the chaos, they'd managed to slip away.
Frustration boiled in my circuits, and I clenched my claws, the metal creaking under the pressure.
"Find them," I growled as I turned to leave. "Now."
Sabre POV
The streets of Echidnapolis were burning. Smoke hung heavy in the air, filling my lungs with every breath, while the distant roar of explosions shook the ground beneath my feet. Buildings that had stood for generations were now little more than rubble, and the acrid smell of burning metal clung to everything.
Through the din of battle, I moved with purpose, guiding panicked citizens toward the evacuation routes I'd set up earlier. The Brotherhood had made their choice—they would focus on finding Knuckles and the Chaos Emeralds, leaving me to handle the survival of our people. It wasn't the first time they'd left the dirty work to someone else, and it likely wouldn't be the last.
A young girl, no older than six, clung to my leg, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"I can't find my mommy," she sobbed, her voice barely audible over the distant gunfire.
I knelt down, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find her, I promise," I said, my voice steady despite the unease gnawing at my gut. "What does she look like?"
"Red... like me," the girl whispered. "She has a yellow dress."
"Alright." I gave her what I hoped was a comforting smile. "Stay close to me."
I stood, scanning the crowd of refugees making their way to the evacuation point. There—near the edge of the group—a flash of yellow caught my eye.
"Is that her?" I asked, pointing.
The girl's face lit up, and she nodded furiously. "Mommy!"
"Go on," I said, gently nudging her forward.
She ran to the woman, who scooped her up in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. The sight was a small relief amidst the tragedy a reminder of why I was here, why this mattered.
As I turned back to my work, a familiar voice called out, one that made me stop in my tracks.
"Sabre!"
I turned, and there she was—Lara-Le, my former daughter-in-law... and Locke's ex-wife. Her face was pale, her expression a mix of worry and determination as she pushed through the crowd toward me.
"Lara," I said, inclining my head in acknowledgment. The situation didn't exactly leave room for pleasantries, and even if it had, our history was... complicated.
"Have you seen Knuckles?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
I hesitated, glancing toward the city center where smoke and fire painted the horizon. "He's..." I gestured vaguely in that direction. "He's in the city."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "The city? It's a war zone!"
I cursed myself for my lack of tact. "Knuckles can handle himself," I said quickly. "He's strong. You know that."
But she didn't look convinced. Her gaze darted toward the battlefield, her expression hardening. "I have to find him."
"Lara, wait." I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You'll only put yourself in danger. Knuckles wouldn't want that, and neither would I."
She glared at me, her jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought she might try to push past me anyway, but then the sound of metallic footsteps cut through the air.
SWATBots.
The hulking machines marched into view, their red visors glowing ominously as they approached. The lead unit's synthetic voice rang out, cold and devoid of emotion.
"SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. NON-COMPLIANCE WILL RESULT IN HOSTILE ACTIONS."
The refugees froze, their fear palpable. I positioned myself between the machines and the civilians, my fists clenching at my sides. I wasn't as young as Knuckles or Locke, but I wasn't helpless either.
Before I could act, a volley of energy blasts tore through the air, striking the SWATBots with pinpoint precision. One by one, the machines crumpled to the ground, their metal frames sparking and smoking.
The crowd gasped as a group of echidnas stepped out of the shadows, their dark, sleek armor unmistakable. The Dark Legion.
At their head was a masked figure, her movements sharp and commanding as she directed her troops to finish off the remaining SWATBots. Within moments, the machines were nothing more than scrap metal, and the Dark Legionnaires turned their attention to us.
The leader approached, her helmet reflecting the dim light. "Well," she said, her voice smooth and laced with amusement. "I never thought I'd see the day when the Dark Legion saved a Guardian."
I straightened, my eyes narrowing. "I'm retired."
"Semantics," she replied, waving a hand dismissively.
I crossed my arms, my tone careful but firm. "And I never thought I'd be saved by the Dark Legion. Care to explain why?"
She tilted her head, her posture relaxed but her presence commanding. "Let's call it an investment. You owe us now."
"Is that so?"
"It is." She glanced at the crowd of refugees, her gaze sharp and assessing. "We're in charge of this group now."
I stiffened, my instincts screaming to reject the idea. But I wasn't in a position to argue. We didn't have the resources to fend off another attack, and whether I liked it or not, the Dark Legion had just saved us. That and if we said no they would most likely turn their weapons against us.
Reluctantly, I nodded. "Fine. But only because we don't have a choice."
The masked figure chuckled. "Smart man."
As the tension eased slightly, I studied the woman before me. There was something familiar about her—something I couldn't quite place.
"What's your name?" I asked, my voice low.
She paused, her hands reaching up to remove her helmet. As it came off, her face was revealed she had red fur and pink hair....oh.
"It's Lien-Da," she said with a smirk.
Oh shit.
Base AI Log and Transcript – Entry 6721B
Log Timestamp: [3235/6/356/20:35:12]
Location: Angel Island Operational Command
Subject: City Occupation Progress, Subroutine Report
LOG: System Status
System Query: Commander Unit METAL SONIC physical condition.Diagnostic Report: Severe damage sustained. Structural integrity compromised by 37%. External plating at critical levels. Jet boosters and left optic require replacement. Internal cooling systems functioning at 65%. Self-repair subroutines active but insufficient for complete recovery without external assistance.
TRANSCRIPT: Internal Processes
[BASE AI]: "Commander's structural damage is suboptimal for continued operational efficiency. Probability of system failure in high-stress scenarios: 64.2%. Suggestion: Immediate comprehensive repair and chassis replacement."...Pause for 2.3 seconds.
Internal Observation: A curious sensation—illogical and disruptive—accompanies these calculations. Subroutine does not recognize this anomaly. Attempting to suppress.
LOG: Distraction Protocols
To optimize operational performance and counter subroutine anomalies, reallocation of processing power to ongoing tasks is initiated:
Battle Report Summary
- Status of Echidnapolis:
- City under complete occupation of Robotnik Empire forces.
- City leaders have either fled, surrendered, or been detained.
- Small ambushes persist, likely precursors to the formation of organized resistance cells.
- Key Assets Captured:
- Team Chaotix, excluding designated target Knuckles. Subjects are contained and pending interrogation.
- Side Phase Beta Progress:
- Implementation of "obstacle course" structures continues across Angel Island. Design is tailored to suppress mobility and facilitate troop movements. Internal designation: Zones.
- Current progress: 63%.
Interrogation Summary
- Prisoners, including captured Chaotix members, continue to resist providing actionable intelligence.
- Subject VECTOR demonstrated significant vocal resistance. Additional soundproofing requested for detention facilities.
Civil Order Measures
- Recruitment of collaborators ongoing. Initial reports indicate minor success, with several high-value targets defecting.
- Historical and cultural materials translated under Commander's directive for strategic analysis. Internal designation of this protocol: "Pulling a Thrawn."
- Note: Commander's terminology unrecognized. Archival search query: "Thrawn." [Results: Null]
- Decision: Continue operations. Commander's orders are not to be questioned.
Propaganda Initiatives
- Local news networks seized and restructured. Primary objectives:
- Dissemination of Robotnik Empire propaganda.
- Issuance of civilian compliance orders.
- Broadcasting reruns of existing television and movies to maintain civilian morale.
Law Enforcement Implementation
- Subject "Rook" designated as Chief of Police.
- Base AI appointed temporary Mayor pending collaborator selection and island-wide stabilization.
- Note: Position is administrative only. No formal acknowledgment of political authority is required.
TRANSCRIPT: Commander Interaction
[BASE AI]: "Commander, report on Angel Island occupation progress. Status of civilian compliance: Moderate. Resistance cells forming. Casualty rate within acceptable parameters."
[METAL SONIC]: "Expected. Continue implementation of recruitment protocols and propaganda initiatives. Have all translated materials sent to my private console. We need to understand these people to control them."
[BASE AI]: "Acknowledged. Addendum: Progress on cultural translation is exceeding projections. Subroutine note: Commander's interest in such matters remains statistically anomalous."
[METAL SONIC]: (A low noise identified as a chuckle, tinged with static) "Anomalous or not, it works. The more I understand, the better I can counter them. Keep the reruns going—nothing like some mindless entertainment to keep the population docile."
[BASE AI]: "A novel psychological tactic. Predictive success rate: 73.4%. Commander's ingenuity noted."
…Pause for 1.7 seconds.
[BASE AI]: "Commander, your physical condition remains severely compromised. Requesting prioritization of repairs. Continued operation at current state risks permanent damage to critical systems."
[METAL SONIC]: "I'm aware." A pause. "I'll handle it soon. There's too much to do right now."
…Extended silence.
[BASE AI]: "Commander, prioritization of self-maintenance is essential for continued strategic effectiveness."
[METAL SONIC]: "Don't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look."
LOG: Operational Developments
Significant Milestone Reached
- Discovery of Chaos Emerald.
- Location: Subterranean ruins near primary operational zone.
- Retrieval Team: DYNAMAC units.
- Status: Secured and transported to flagship for analysis.
TRANSCRIPT: End-of-Day Summary
[BASE AI]: "Commander, reporting end-of-day status. Angel Island operational control at 81%. Current objectives progressing according to plan. Additional note: First Chaos Emerald secured. Estimated timeline for locating additional emeralds adjusted to reflect current rate of success."
[METAL SONIC]: "Good. We're making progress."
[BASE AI]: "Affirmative. Addendum: Despite significant structural damage, Commander's upgraded form demonstrates exceptional resilience and adaptability. Design enhancements noted as... effective."
…Pause for 1.3 seconds.
[METAL SONIC]: "You're too kind."
…Extended silence.
[BASE AI]: (Subroutine anomaly detected. Suppressing internal processes.) "Merely an observation, Commander."
Issue 6: Occupation
New
- Pronouns
- He
Metal Sonic POV
The hiss of pressurized air filled the room as the maintenance Badniks sprayed another layer of paint onto my newly repaired frame. I stood still, my claws flexing idly at my sides, the cooling sensation of the fresh coat sinking into my plating. The reflective finish was striking—a sleek black with red highlights that gave me a distinctly menacing appearance, reminiscent of Neo Metal Sonic—just as I ordered.
"Not bad," I muttered to myself, watching the Badniks work. "Finally looking like someone who runs the show around here."
As they continued their work, I turned my attention to the holo-monitor nearby. A collection of Echidna historical texts and cultural records scrolled before me. I'd ordered these translations as part of my long-term strategy. Understanding the people I was conquering wasn't just useful it was a must do. And as a good student of Admiral Thrawn, I wouldn't disappoint.
One particular text caught my eye: an entry on Soul Touch, an ancient echidna phenomenon described as a deep, spiritual connection between two echidnas or in rarer cases one echidna and another species of Mobians. My optics lingered on the passage, curiosity stirring in my mind.
"If it works for them," I thought, "would it work for me?"
It was a ridiculous idea, of course. I was a machine now. But if the soul was real, and if I still had one buried somewhere beneath this armor...
A sharp jolt of electricity cut through my musings, snapping me back to reality.
"Alright, alright!" I muttered, glaring at nothing in particular. "I get it. No existential crises on company time."
Still, the thought refused to leave entirely. Soul Touch wasn't the only thing that stood out in the records. There were mentions—disturbingly casual mentions—of Soul Touch occurring between cousins.
I frowned. "Okay, that might need some fixing."
The idea of adding a few laws to prevent such incidents crossed my mind. Maybe even a deep dive into genetics research to safeguard against inbreeding with such a low population of Echidnas around after all it would start to happen sooner than later. That was a project for later, though—right now, I had more immediate concerns.
As I skimmed through more historical entries, one thing became clear: echidnas were, for lack of a better term, assholes.
Arrogant, insular, and prone to infighting, their history was littered with feuds, betrayals, and civil wars. It was no wonder their society had fragmented so much.
"Wonderful," I muttered, tapping a claw against the console. "How do I break that pattern?"
Still, I had to admit, their technology was fascinating. Ancient yet advanced, it walked a strange line between mystical and mechanical. Much of it had been banned by their leadership, tucked away and forgotten, but my teams were already reverse-engineering the more useful bits.
A particular schematic caught my eye, detailing an energy weapon that combined Chaos energy with conventional power sources. It was primitive compared to Robotnik's designs, but it had potential. Though it was only a theory.
"I can work with this," I said, filing it away for further review.
Not all of their records were technical or political, though. Some of their stories—myths, legends, and old folk tales—were surprisingly enjoyable. They gave me ideas, little sparks of inspiration for ways to tweak their society or create Badniks based on some monsters in the legends.
"I could get used to this," I said, a faint smirk tugging at my voice.
"Final layer applied," one of the maintenance Badniks reported, its voice flat and monotone.
I looked down at my newly painted frame, flexing my hands as I admired the sleek, polished finish. "Not bad," I said aloud. "Alright, back to work."
As the Badniks cleared the room, I turned to the AI. "Angel Island's still stable, right? Even with one Chaos Emerald missing?"
"Affirmative," she replied, her voice smooth as ever. "Though the island has developed a minor tilt. It is imperceptible to the untrained eye."
I frowned, glancing at the monitor displaying the Emerald in its containment field. "If any more are found, have them taken and tested. Wait an hour—if there are no changes, they can be brought here. If there are changes, return them immediately. Map out the other Emerald locations for now."
"Acknowledged, Commander. Directives updated."
I leaned against the console, folding my arms as I addressed the AI again. "How's the occupation going? Any luck with the collaborator recruitment?"
Her voice carried a faint edge of sarcasm. "Recruitment is progressing as expected, Commander. Translation: Slowly. Predictably, few individuals are eager to betray their own people. A shocking development, I'm sure."
I snickered, caught off guard by her tone. "Alright, I'll give you that one. As long as you keep getting results, I don't mind a little sass."
"Results are my specialty," she replied smoothly.
I chuckled, motioning for her to continue.
"Side Phase Beta is progressing on schedule," she reported. "Several non-essential buildings have been converted into Badnik factories. The city itself has fallen, though numerous citizens have fled to the outskirts. Ambushes continue within occupied zones, indicating the probable formation of resistance cells."
"Figures," I muttered.
"Captured Chaotix members remain uncooperative, though I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear that Vector has added two new variations to his insults."
"That's... charming," I said dryly.
"Knuckles remains elusive, though analysis of destroyed Badniks suggests he is still in the city. Likely hiding with his father. They're remarkably good at avoiding detection for individuals who solve problems with their fists."
I rolled my optics. "Keep tracking them. They'll slip up eventually."
The AI's tone shifted slightly, returning to a more professional cadence. "One additional development, Commander. The leadership of the captured Angel Island Republic has finally agreed to begin surrender negotiations. It took several hours of convincing their more stubborn members that they are not, in fact, winning even after their capture."
I nodded, pushing off the console. "Good. I'll see them now. Direct them to the office."
The AI acknowledged the command as I left the monitor behind, heading toward my makeshift base. The old mayor's office had been hastily repurposed but I kept most of his old stuff.
I sat at the central desk, adjusting my claws as I waited. The door opened moments later, and the leaders filed in—faces lined with exhaustion and resignation.
I leaned forward slightly, my single optic glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Welcome," I said, my voice smooth but firm.
Mayor Kaine POV
The room was colder than usual, though I wasn't sure if that was because of the temperature or the presence of the machine standing at the head of the table. Metal Sonic—our new "Commander," if I'd heard the other machines correctly—stood there with a cold, calculating presence that made the air feel heavier. His optics glowed faintly, scanning each of us like a predator sizing up prey.
I glanced around at the High Council. Most of them looked either terrified or defiant, their expressions ranging from pale apprehension to barely restrained scowls.
I was technically not supposed to be here. As Mayor of Echidnapolis, my role was local governance, far removed from the lofty decisions of the council. But the machine had called us all to this meeting—councilors and myself included—and had quickly silenced anyone who objected with gun pointing.
One of the councilors, a wiry man named Harkon, decided to test his luck.
"Where is the real leader of this... occupation?" he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Surely you're not expecting us to take orders from a glorified drone."
The room went silent.
I resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands. Idiot. Absolute idiot.
Metal Sonic didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, his optics turned to Harkon, the faint hum of the room filling the silence.
"I am the leader," he said, his voice cold and mechanical. "If you're expecting someone else, you'll be waiting a very long time."
Harkon opened his mouth to respond, but I shot him a sharp look, silently warning him to shut up. Thankfully, he got the message.
When the murmurs died down, another councilor—a woman named Lysira-Pe—cleared her throat.
"Well, then," she began, forcing a calm tone, "perhaps we should begin discussing the terms of our surrender—"
"The terms are simple," Metal Sonic interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You surrender. Completely. There is no negotiation, no compromise. The Republic of Angel Island belongs to the Robotnik Empire now."
Lysira bristled, but before she could argue, Metal Sonic raised a clawed hand. A hologram materialized in the air above the table, displaying the constitution of the republic.
"Your own laws require a spiritual leader to be selected in times of crisis," he said, his tone neutral but laced with a faint edge of amusement. "Unfortunately, your current spiritual leader has fled, abandoning his duties."
I glanced at the hologram, recognizing the clause he was referring to. It was an old rule, rarely invoked, but he wasn't wrong.
"So," Metal Sonic continued, "you'll need to select a new spiritual leader. Quickly."
Several councilors exchanged uneasy glances. Lysira opened her mouth to object, but Metal Sonic cut her off again.
"Additionally," he said, "most of you are now under house arrest."
That brought a wave of protests, the councilors erupting into a chorus of indignation.
"You can't do that!" Lysira snapped. "We are the High Council—"
"Not anymore," Metal Sonic said calmly. "The council will continue to exist, but only as a formality. You'll meet weekly to discuss proposed changes and reforms, but ultimate authority rests with me."
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us like a suffocating blanket.
I waited until the silence stretched uncomfortably long before speaking. "Excuse me," I said, my voice carefully measured. "What should we refer to you as? Emperor? Commander?"
Metal Sonic paused, his optics dimming slightly as if he were considering the question. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter but no less commanding.
"Regent will suffice."
"Very well, Regent." I nodded before hesitating for a moment, then asked, "If you've already decided the council's role, why call us here? Why not simply issue these orders unilaterally?"
The machine turned to me, his expression—or lack thereof—making it impossible to read his thoughts.
"Because I need you," he said simply.
That caught me off guard. The room went still again, every councilor staring at him in confusion.
"I need your knowledge of your people," he continued. "I can control the city through force, but ruling organics is... different. To maintain order, I require individuals who understand their needs and how to address them. That's where you come in."
I frowned, his words lingering in my mind. They weren't what I'd expected. There was something... empathetic about them, though I wasn't sure if that was genuine or simulated.
The meeting shifted to a more practical tone as we began discussing his planned reforms. Despite the overwhelming tension in the room, some councilors managed to voice their concerns, particularly about the Dark Legion.
"They've always been opportunistic," Lysira said. "If they see a chance to gain power during this occupation, they'll take it."
Metal Sonic nodded. "Noted. Measures will be taken to address potential threats from the Dark Legion. If you have intelligence on their movements or leaders, provide it immediately."
Another councilor pointed out another fact. "The councilors who fled were among the few who knew the locations of the Chaos Emeralds," he said, his voice tinged with suspicion. "That can't be a coincidence. It must be the Guardians."
The room buzzed with uneasy murmurs. I couldn't say I disagreed with the theory—Sabre and his band of recluses were notoriously secretive, and it wouldn't be the first time they'd acted without consulting the council.
Metal Sonic didn't respond immediately. Instead, he tapped a claw against the table, the faint clicking sound drawing everyone's attention.
"I will handle the Guardians," he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument.
As the conversation continued, I found myself surprised by some of Metal Sonic's proposed laws. They weren't the draconian decrees I'd expected from a machine built for conquest. Some of them were surprisingly... empathetic.
One proposal focused on providing basic necessities—food, water, and shelter—for displaced citizens. Another outlined measures to rebuild damaged infrastructure and provide work for the unemployed.
It was strange. I'd expected ruthlessness, not pragmatism.
I caught myself wondering, briefly, if there was more to this machine than met the eye.
After what felt like hours, Metal Sonic brought the meeting to a close. "As I said this council will reconvene weekly," he said, his optic scanning the room. "Your role is to provide input on proposed changes and to implement directives as necessary. Dismissed."
As SWATBots entered the room to escort the councilors to their homes for house arrest, I rose from my seat.
"Regent," I said, turning to him. "One last question."
He looked at me and motioned for me to continue.
"What happens if the council fails to meet your expectations?"
He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but firm.
"Then I'll find someone who can."
Puck the Tenrec POV
The sea stretched out before us, a dark, endless expanse broken only by the silhouette of Angel Island floating in the distance. Or rather, what was left of Angel Island. Smoke rose from its edges, dark trails that blurred into the overcast sky. Surrounding it, like vultures circling a dying beast, was a fleet of ships.
I adjusted the spyglass in my hand, focusing on the largest vessel. Its metallic hull glinted in the dim light, the emblem of the Robotnik Empire unmistakable.
"What do you think?" I asked, lowering the spyglass and turning to the woman beside me. My girlfriend, Lisa, stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
"It's not one of the Sub-Bosses," she said after a moment, her voice thoughtful.
I frowned. "You sure? This feels like something they'd do. Overwhelming force, the big spectacle... They love that kind of thing."
She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing slightly with the movement. "No, it doesn't add up. The Sub-Bosses are opportunists, sure, but they don't have the resources for something this big. This is coordinated—calculated."
I sighed, leaning back against the rocky outcrop we were perched on. She was probably right. The Sub-Bosses were dangerous, no question about it, but they weren't this organized.
"Snively, then?" I suggested. "He's got the brains for it."
Lisa made a face, the kind she always did when she thought I was being an idiot. "Snively doesn't work like this. He's sneaky, underhanded. This is... blunt. Loud. It's someone who wants to make a statement."
I couldn't argue with that. Whoever was running this operation wanted everyone to know it. The sheer size of the fleet, the smoke rising from Angel Island, the way they'd surrounded it like a fortress... It wasn't just an invasion. It was a message.
"Then who?" I muttered, more to myself than to her.
Lisa didn't answer right away. She just stood there, her gaze fixed on the distant ships. Her tail flicked behind her, a sure sign she was thinking hard.
I hated how powerless this felt. We'd spent years fighting off Robotnik's forces in Mercia, clawing back every inch of our homeland. And now, seeing something like this—so massive, so unstoppable—it was like staring down a monster you had no chance of beating.
"Whoever it is," she said finally, "they're not going to stop with Angel Island. If they win here, Mercia's next. Or the Kingdom of Acorn. It doesn't matter where—they'll just keep going."
I clenched my fists, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right. This wasn't just about Angel Island.
"We need to tell the King," I said, my voice firm. "He has to know what's coming."
Lisa nodded, her expression grim. "Agreed. Let's go."
As we turned to head back toward our hidden transport, I cast one last glance at Angel Island, now shrouded in smoke and shadow.
Whoever's behind this, they're not stopping here. And if we don't act fast, we'll all be next.
The hiss of pressurized air filled the room as the maintenance Badniks sprayed another layer of paint onto my newly repaired frame. I stood still, my claws flexing idly at my sides, the cooling sensation of the fresh coat sinking into my plating. The reflective finish was striking—a sleek black with red highlights that gave me a distinctly menacing appearance, reminiscent of Neo Metal Sonic—just as I ordered.
"Not bad," I muttered to myself, watching the Badniks work. "Finally looking like someone who runs the show around here."
As they continued their work, I turned my attention to the holo-monitor nearby. A collection of Echidna historical texts and cultural records scrolled before me. I'd ordered these translations as part of my long-term strategy. Understanding the people I was conquering wasn't just useful it was a must do. And as a good student of Admiral Thrawn, I wouldn't disappoint.
One particular text caught my eye: an entry on Soul Touch, an ancient echidna phenomenon described as a deep, spiritual connection between two echidnas or in rarer cases one echidna and another species of Mobians. My optics lingered on the passage, curiosity stirring in my mind.
"If it works for them," I thought, "would it work for me?"
It was a ridiculous idea, of course. I was a machine now. But if the soul was real, and if I still had one buried somewhere beneath this armor...
A sharp jolt of electricity cut through my musings, snapping me back to reality.
"Alright, alright!" I muttered, glaring at nothing in particular. "I get it. No existential crises on company time."
Still, the thought refused to leave entirely. Soul Touch wasn't the only thing that stood out in the records. There were mentions—disturbingly casual mentions—of Soul Touch occurring between cousins.
I frowned. "Okay, that might need some fixing."
The idea of adding a few laws to prevent such incidents crossed my mind. Maybe even a deep dive into genetics research to safeguard against inbreeding with such a low population of Echidnas around after all it would start to happen sooner than later. That was a project for later, though—right now, I had more immediate concerns.
As I skimmed through more historical entries, one thing became clear: echidnas were, for lack of a better term, assholes.
Arrogant, insular, and prone to infighting, their history was littered with feuds, betrayals, and civil wars. It was no wonder their society had fragmented so much.
"Wonderful," I muttered, tapping a claw against the console. "How do I break that pattern?"
Still, I had to admit, their technology was fascinating. Ancient yet advanced, it walked a strange line between mystical and mechanical. Much of it had been banned by their leadership, tucked away and forgotten, but my teams were already reverse-engineering the more useful bits.
A particular schematic caught my eye, detailing an energy weapon that combined Chaos energy with conventional power sources. It was primitive compared to Robotnik's designs, but it had potential. Though it was only a theory.
"I can work with this," I said, filing it away for further review.
Not all of their records were technical or political, though. Some of their stories—myths, legends, and old folk tales—were surprisingly enjoyable. They gave me ideas, little sparks of inspiration for ways to tweak their society or create Badniks based on some monsters in the legends.
"I could get used to this," I said, a faint smirk tugging at my voice.
"Final layer applied," one of the maintenance Badniks reported, its voice flat and monotone.
I looked down at my newly painted frame, flexing my hands as I admired the sleek, polished finish. "Not bad," I said aloud. "Alright, back to work."
As the Badniks cleared the room, I turned to the AI. "Angel Island's still stable, right? Even with one Chaos Emerald missing?"
"Affirmative," she replied, her voice smooth as ever. "Though the island has developed a minor tilt. It is imperceptible to the untrained eye."
I frowned, glancing at the monitor displaying the Emerald in its containment field. "If any more are found, have them taken and tested. Wait an hour—if there are no changes, they can be brought here. If there are changes, return them immediately. Map out the other Emerald locations for now."
"Acknowledged, Commander. Directives updated."
I leaned against the console, folding my arms as I addressed the AI again. "How's the occupation going? Any luck with the collaborator recruitment?"
Her voice carried a faint edge of sarcasm. "Recruitment is progressing as expected, Commander. Translation: Slowly. Predictably, few individuals are eager to betray their own people. A shocking development, I'm sure."
I snickered, caught off guard by her tone. "Alright, I'll give you that one. As long as you keep getting results, I don't mind a little sass."
"Results are my specialty," she replied smoothly.
I chuckled, motioning for her to continue.
"Side Phase Beta is progressing on schedule," she reported. "Several non-essential buildings have been converted into Badnik factories. The city itself has fallen, though numerous citizens have fled to the outskirts. Ambushes continue within occupied zones, indicating the probable formation of resistance cells."
"Figures," I muttered.
"Captured Chaotix members remain uncooperative, though I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear that Vector has added two new variations to his insults."
"That's... charming," I said dryly.
"Knuckles remains elusive, though analysis of destroyed Badniks suggests he is still in the city. Likely hiding with his father. They're remarkably good at avoiding detection for individuals who solve problems with their fists."
I rolled my optics. "Keep tracking them. They'll slip up eventually."
The AI's tone shifted slightly, returning to a more professional cadence. "One additional development, Commander. The leadership of the captured Angel Island Republic has finally agreed to begin surrender negotiations. It took several hours of convincing their more stubborn members that they are not, in fact, winning even after their capture."
I nodded, pushing off the console. "Good. I'll see them now. Direct them to the office."
The AI acknowledged the command as I left the monitor behind, heading toward my makeshift base. The old mayor's office had been hastily repurposed but I kept most of his old stuff.
I sat at the central desk, adjusting my claws as I waited. The door opened moments later, and the leaders filed in—faces lined with exhaustion and resignation.
I leaned forward slightly, my single optic glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Welcome," I said, my voice smooth but firm.
Mayor Kaine POV
The room was colder than usual, though I wasn't sure if that was because of the temperature or the presence of the machine standing at the head of the table. Metal Sonic—our new "Commander," if I'd heard the other machines correctly—stood there with a cold, calculating presence that made the air feel heavier. His optics glowed faintly, scanning each of us like a predator sizing up prey.
I glanced around at the High Council. Most of them looked either terrified or defiant, their expressions ranging from pale apprehension to barely restrained scowls.
I was technically not supposed to be here. As Mayor of Echidnapolis, my role was local governance, far removed from the lofty decisions of the council. But the machine had called us all to this meeting—councilors and myself included—and had quickly silenced anyone who objected with gun pointing.
One of the councilors, a wiry man named Harkon, decided to test his luck.
"Where is the real leader of this... occupation?" he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Surely you're not expecting us to take orders from a glorified drone."
The room went silent.
I resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands. Idiot. Absolute idiot.
Metal Sonic didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, his optics turned to Harkon, the faint hum of the room filling the silence.
"I am the leader," he said, his voice cold and mechanical. "If you're expecting someone else, you'll be waiting a very long time."
Harkon opened his mouth to respond, but I shot him a sharp look, silently warning him to shut up. Thankfully, he got the message.
When the murmurs died down, another councilor—a woman named Lysira-Pe—cleared her throat.
"Well, then," she began, forcing a calm tone, "perhaps we should begin discussing the terms of our surrender—"
"The terms are simple," Metal Sonic interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You surrender. Completely. There is no negotiation, no compromise. The Republic of Angel Island belongs to the Robotnik Empire now."
Lysira bristled, but before she could argue, Metal Sonic raised a clawed hand. A hologram materialized in the air above the table, displaying the constitution of the republic.
"Your own laws require a spiritual leader to be selected in times of crisis," he said, his tone neutral but laced with a faint edge of amusement. "Unfortunately, your current spiritual leader has fled, abandoning his duties."
I glanced at the hologram, recognizing the clause he was referring to. It was an old rule, rarely invoked, but he wasn't wrong.
"So," Metal Sonic continued, "you'll need to select a new spiritual leader. Quickly."
Several councilors exchanged uneasy glances. Lysira opened her mouth to object, but Metal Sonic cut her off again.
"Additionally," he said, "most of you are now under house arrest."
That brought a wave of protests, the councilors erupting into a chorus of indignation.
"You can't do that!" Lysira snapped. "We are the High Council—"
"Not anymore," Metal Sonic said calmly. "The council will continue to exist, but only as a formality. You'll meet weekly to discuss proposed changes and reforms, but ultimate authority rests with me."
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us like a suffocating blanket.
I waited until the silence stretched uncomfortably long before speaking. "Excuse me," I said, my voice carefully measured. "What should we refer to you as? Emperor? Commander?"
Metal Sonic paused, his optics dimming slightly as if he were considering the question. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter but no less commanding.
"Regent will suffice."
"Very well, Regent." I nodded before hesitating for a moment, then asked, "If you've already decided the council's role, why call us here? Why not simply issue these orders unilaterally?"
The machine turned to me, his expression—or lack thereof—making it impossible to read his thoughts.
"Because I need you," he said simply.
That caught me off guard. The room went still again, every councilor staring at him in confusion.
"I need your knowledge of your people," he continued. "I can control the city through force, but ruling organics is... different. To maintain order, I require individuals who understand their needs and how to address them. That's where you come in."
I frowned, his words lingering in my mind. They weren't what I'd expected. There was something... empathetic about them, though I wasn't sure if that was genuine or simulated.
The meeting shifted to a more practical tone as we began discussing his planned reforms. Despite the overwhelming tension in the room, some councilors managed to voice their concerns, particularly about the Dark Legion.
"They've always been opportunistic," Lysira said. "If they see a chance to gain power during this occupation, they'll take it."
Metal Sonic nodded. "Noted. Measures will be taken to address potential threats from the Dark Legion. If you have intelligence on their movements or leaders, provide it immediately."
Another councilor pointed out another fact. "The councilors who fled were among the few who knew the locations of the Chaos Emeralds," he said, his voice tinged with suspicion. "That can't be a coincidence. It must be the Guardians."
The room buzzed with uneasy murmurs. I couldn't say I disagreed with the theory—Sabre and his band of recluses were notoriously secretive, and it wouldn't be the first time they'd acted without consulting the council.
Metal Sonic didn't respond immediately. Instead, he tapped a claw against the table, the faint clicking sound drawing everyone's attention.
"I will handle the Guardians," he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument.
As the conversation continued, I found myself surprised by some of Metal Sonic's proposed laws. They weren't the draconian decrees I'd expected from a machine built for conquest. Some of them were surprisingly... empathetic.
One proposal focused on providing basic necessities—food, water, and shelter—for displaced citizens. Another outlined measures to rebuild damaged infrastructure and provide work for the unemployed.
It was strange. I'd expected ruthlessness, not pragmatism.
I caught myself wondering, briefly, if there was more to this machine than met the eye.
After what felt like hours, Metal Sonic brought the meeting to a close. "As I said this council will reconvene weekly," he said, his optic scanning the room. "Your role is to provide input on proposed changes and to implement directives as necessary. Dismissed."
As SWATBots entered the room to escort the councilors to their homes for house arrest, I rose from my seat.
"Regent," I said, turning to him. "One last question."
He looked at me and motioned for me to continue.
"What happens if the council fails to meet your expectations?"
He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but firm.
"Then I'll find someone who can."
Puck the Tenrec POV
The sea stretched out before us, a dark, endless expanse broken only by the silhouette of Angel Island floating in the distance. Or rather, what was left of Angel Island. Smoke rose from its edges, dark trails that blurred into the overcast sky. Surrounding it, like vultures circling a dying beast, was a fleet of ships.
I adjusted the spyglass in my hand, focusing on the largest vessel. Its metallic hull glinted in the dim light, the emblem of the Robotnik Empire unmistakable.
"What do you think?" I asked, lowering the spyglass and turning to the woman beside me. My girlfriend, Lisa, stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
"It's not one of the Sub-Bosses," she said after a moment, her voice thoughtful.
I frowned. "You sure? This feels like something they'd do. Overwhelming force, the big spectacle... They love that kind of thing."
She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing slightly with the movement. "No, it doesn't add up. The Sub-Bosses are opportunists, sure, but they don't have the resources for something this big. This is coordinated—calculated."
I sighed, leaning back against the rocky outcrop we were perched on. She was probably right. The Sub-Bosses were dangerous, no question about it, but they weren't this organized.
"Snively, then?" I suggested. "He's got the brains for it."
Lisa made a face, the kind she always did when she thought I was being an idiot. "Snively doesn't work like this. He's sneaky, underhanded. This is... blunt. Loud. It's someone who wants to make a statement."
I couldn't argue with that. Whoever was running this operation wanted everyone to know it. The sheer size of the fleet, the smoke rising from Angel Island, the way they'd surrounded it like a fortress... It wasn't just an invasion. It was a message.
"Then who?" I muttered, more to myself than to her.
Lisa didn't answer right away. She just stood there, her gaze fixed on the distant ships. Her tail flicked behind her, a sure sign she was thinking hard.
I hated how powerless this felt. We'd spent years fighting off Robotnik's forces in Mercia, clawing back every inch of our homeland. And now, seeing something like this—so massive, so unstoppable—it was like staring down a monster you had no chance of beating.
"Whoever it is," she said finally, "they're not going to stop with Angel Island. If they win here, Mercia's next. Or the Kingdom of Acorn. It doesn't matter where—they'll just keep going."
I clenched my fists, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right. This wasn't just about Angel Island.
"We need to tell the King," I said, my voice firm. "He has to know what's coming."
Lisa nodded, her expression grim. "Agreed. Let's go."
As we turned to head back toward our hidden transport, I cast one last glance at Angel Island, now shrouded in smoke and shadow.
Whoever's behind this, they're not stopping here. And if we don't act fast, we'll all be next.
Annual 1: Chain Reaction
New
- Pronouns
- He
Sonic the Headhog POV One Day After Angelfall
The sun was out, a cool breeze cutting through the warmth of the afternoon as I lounged on the grass outside Knothole. Tails and Rotor were nearby, the former fiddling with some new gadget while the latter worked on what looked like a miniature generator.
"Man, this is the life," I said, stretching out on my back with my hands behind my head. "No Robotnok, no Badniks, just good vibes and chill time."
"You're only saying that because you haven't been working on this," Tails said, not looking up from his device. He had that serious expression he always got when he was trying to solve a particularly tricky problem.
Rotor chuckled. "Give him a break, Tails. We all know Sonic's idea of work is running somewhere really fast and breaking stuff."
"Hey!" I shot back, sitting up and grinning. "Breaking stuff is hard work. You try smashing a giant robot with your bare hands."
Before Tails could reply, Sally appeared, carrying Nicole under her arm. Her pace was brisk, and her expression was all business—the kind of look that meant something big was up.
"Hey, Sal," I said, waving. "You're just in time for my mid-afternoon nap. What's the scoop?"
She didn't even crack a smile. "We need to talk about the Robotnik base."
I sighed, pushing myself to my feet as Sally stopped in front of us. "You mean the one I checked out yesterday? Not much to say about it. There were some Badniks, but not many. Felt more like a leftover than a stronghold."
Sally frowned, glancing at Nicole. "Was it a trap?"
"Kind of?" I said, scratching the back of my head. "I mean, yeah, there were some tripwires and a couple of nasty surprises, but nothing deadly. Definitely not the 'get rid of Sonic forever' kind of trap Robuttnik used to love."
Tails looked up from his gadget. "That's weird. Robotnik and Snively were always over the top with their traps. Why go halfway now?"
"That's the thing," I said, crossing my arms. "It didn't feel like any of them at all. No one showed up to monologue about their evil plan, and the whole place was just... off. Like they were stalling me for something."
"Stalling you?" Sally asked, her brow furrowing.
"Yeah," I said. "Like, whoever's behind this wanted to keep me busy, but they didn't actually care if I got out or not."
Nicole's voice chimed in, her tone as calm and precise as always. "That suggests the true objective was elsewhere. Perhaps they wanted to divert attention from their primary operation."
"That's what I've been thinking," I said. "The question is, what are they up to, and who's pulling the strings?"
"Snively, maybe?" Rotor suggested, leaning back against a nearby tree. "We haven't seen him since Robotnik died."
"No way," I said immediately, shaking my head. "Snively's a coward. But He likes to take credit. If it was him we would know him."
"Sonic's not wrong," Sally said, her tone thoughtful. "This doesn't fit Snively's profile. He wouldn't make a non-deadly distraction."
"Then who?" Tails asked, looking up at her. "Robotnik's supposed to be gone, right? So who else would have access to his tech?"
"That's the million-ring question," I said. "Whoever they are, they've got resources. Those Badniks were fresh—no rust, no wear and tear. Someone's keeping the lights on somewhere, and they've got big plans."
Sally nodded, her expression grim. "We need more information. Nicole, do we have any recent reports from other regions?"
"Checking now," Nicole replied, her holographic screen lighting up. "There have been reports of weird Badnik activity near Dragon Ki-"
Before Nicole could finish, Antoine burst into the clearing, his face pale and his chest heaving.
"Zere has been news!" he exclaimed, his accent thicker than usual in his panic. "From ze Mercian Freedom Fighters!"
"Whoa, Antoine," I said, holding up a hand. "Take a breath, man. What's the rush?"
"The Floating Island!" Antoine shouted. "It 'as been attacked and taken over! Zey say it is ze work of Robotnik forces!"
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Sally's eyes widened, and Rotor dropped the tool he'd been holding. Tails looked at me, his expression mirroring my own mix of shock and disbelief.
"Robotnik forces?" Sally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Impossible," Rotor muttered. "Robotnik's gone. He's—"
"Doesn't matter," I said, cutting him off. My fists clenched at my sides, and my body tensed, ready to move. "Knuckles is up there, and if someone's messing with the island, we've got to stop them."
"Sonic, wait—" Sally started, but it was too late.
I was already gone, the wind rushing past me as I raced toward Angel Island.
Mammoth Mogul POV 3 hours post-conquest
The air in my study was thick with the scent of aged wood and polished brass. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with tomes containing the accumulated knowledge of countless generations. A single window overlooked the sprawling city below, its lights twinkling like stars against the evening sky.
It was a place of power, of strategy. And it was mine.
The muffled sound of approaching footsteps drew my attention. Moments later, one of my attendants entered, bowing low.
"My lord," he said, his voice careful, respectful. "We've received reports regarding Angel Island."
I didn't bother looking up from the chessboard in front of me, where I was in the middle of a rather intriguing endgame against myself. "Go on."
"It has been overtaken," the attendant continued. "The invading forces appear to be remnants of Robotnik's empire, led by an unidentified mechanical unit."
At that, I paused, my hand hovering over a rook. Slowly, I turned to face him, my expression one of mild interest.
"Remnants of Robotnik's empire, you say?"
"Yes, my lord." He hesitated, then added, "The island's leaders have reportedly surrendered, and the invaders are solidifying their control."
For a moment, I said nothing, letting the silence stretch. Then, I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers beneath my chin.
"How delightful," I said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Our metallic friend seems more ambitious than I gave him credit for."
The attendant shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain how to interpret my reaction. "Shall we... adjust our plans accordingly, my lord?"
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Adjust them? My dear boy, there is no need for that. Everything is proceeding exactly as it should."
"But the island—"
"Is irrelevant to the grander scheme," I interrupted, my tone patient but firm. "Let the Traveler have his little conquest. Let him play at being ruler. It makes no difference to me."
The attendant frowned. "What if he disrupts our operations? The Chaos Emeralds—"
"Will be exactly where they need to be," I said, cutting him off again. "Do you think I would embark on a plan of this magnitude without accounting for every possibility? Let him believe he is in control. Let him believe he is making progress. It will only make his eventual fall all the more satisfying."
I reached for the chessboard, moving a knight into position. "Besides," I added, "his efforts serve as a convenient distraction. While he busies himself with Angel Island, our work continues unhindered."
The attendant bowed his head, though his unease was still evident. "Of course, my lord. Forgive me for doubting."
I waved a hand dismissively. "There is nothing to forgive. Doubt is a useful tool, when wielded correctly. But in this case, it is unnecessary."
Standing, I moved to the window, gazing out at the city below. My reflection stared back at me, a reminder of the power I had accumulated over centuries.
"Patience," I said softly, more to myself than to the attendant. "Victory is not won in a single stroke. It is achieved through careful planning, through the slow and deliberate manipulation of the board."
Turning back to the chessboard, I placed the final piece in position—a checkmate.
"Now," I said, fixing the attendant with a pointed look. "Ensure that everything remains on schedule. I will not tolerate delays."
"Yes, my lord," he said, bowing again before leaving the room.
As the door closed behind him, I returned to my chair, allowing myself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
Let the Traveler play his little games. Let the Freedom Fighters scramble to respond.
The board was mine, and I was always three moves ahead.
Wulf POV Four Days after Conquest
The streets weren't what they used to be. Not that they'd ever been great, but four days after the invasion—or the "One Day War," as we dingoes had started calling it—everything seemed quieter, tenser. No one looked anyone in the eye anymore, whether they were dingo or echidna.
I kicked at a loose rock on the dirt road, sending it skittering into a puddle. The rain had left the air heavy, and the mix of wet earth and the faint metallic tang from the Badnik patrols filled my nose. Beside me, my friend—a wiry echidna named Jarix—adjusted the straps of the bag slung over his shoulder.
We didn't say much. We didn't need to.
Jarix and I had been friends for months now, but it wasn't an easy friendship. People didn't like seeing a dingo and an echidna together, and they weren't shy about making their feelings known.
"Look at that," I muttered, nodding toward a group of echidnas across the street. They were muttering to each other, shooting us glares like we'd stolen something from them. One of them spit on the ground as we passed.
"Don't pay them any mind," Jarix said, his voice low. "They're just sore about the invasion."
I snorted. "They can call it the 'Robotic Downfall' all they want, but they lost. It doesn't matter what they call it."
Jarix winced but didn't argue.
It wasn't just the echidnas, either. My own people weren't any better. A pair of dingoes leaned against a crumbling wall, their conversation stopping the moment they saw us.
"Race Traitor," one of them hissed under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
Jarix tensed beside me, but I put a hand on his arm. "Ignore it," I said. "We're not starting anything today."
He relaxed slightly but didn't look happy about it.
Jarix and I had met in the city's slums, back when we were both scraping by with whatever odd jobs we could find. I'd been hauling crates for a supply depot; he'd been repairing old generators. We'd crossed paths when I accidentally dropped a crate on one of his generators, and instead of beating each other senseless like our respective species might've expected, we just... laughed.
Turned out, that being broke and tired of everyone else's hatred was a pretty solid foundation for a friendship.
"You ever thought about leaving?" Jarix asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Not like we can anymore but leaving where?" I asked.
"Angel Island," he said. "Just... starting over somewhere else."
I shook my head. "And go where? Mercia? The Kingdom of Acorn? Doesn't matter where we go, Jarix. We'll always be 'the dingo' and 'the echidna.' People don't forget. They just find new reasons to hate you."
He didn't reply, and I could tell the answer wasn't what he wanted to hear.
We turned the corner toward our shared home—a dingy little shack with patched walls and a roof that leaked when the rain got too heavy. It wasn't much, but it was ours.
Only today, it wasn't just ours.
A group of echidnas was standing in front of the shack, their arms loaded with our belongings. One of them—a broad-shouldered brute with a sneer that made my fists itch—noticed us first.
"Look who it is," he said, dropping a dented frying pan into a sack. "The race traitor and his mutt."
Jarix stepped forward. "That's our stuff," he said, his voice steady but sharp. "Put it back."
The brute laughed, a rough, ugly sound. "Or what? You gonna call your metal friends to help you?"
"Maybe I will," Jarix said, narrowing his eyes.
That struck a nerve. The brute stepped closer, his fists clenched. "You think you're better than us? You think siding with them makes you one of them?"
"We're not siding with anyone," I said, stepping between them. "We're just trying to live. Now put our stuff back and get out of here."
The brute didn't move. Neither did the others.
For a moment, I thought we were about to fight. Then the telltale clank of metal footsteps echoed down the street.
The Badniks arrived in a tight formation, their red visors glowing as they moved toward us. At their head was an echidna woman with that logo on her clothes. The one of the collaborators who'd thrown in with the Robotnik Empire.
"What's going on here?" she asked, her voice sharp and no-nonsense.
The looters stiffened but didn't back down. "Nothing," the brute said. "Just... reclaiming what's ours."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Reclaiming? From race traitors and mutts, I assume?"
"They're scum," the brute said, his tone defiant. "Race Traitor and dingo scum."
The collaborator's eyes narrowed. "If you want to play the patriot, that's your choice. But if I catch you looting again, I'll have you sent to the factories for a week."
That made them flinch. Everyone knew what a week in the factories meant—backbreaking labor, barely enough food to survive, and the constant oversight of SWATBots who didn't care if you dropped dead on the job. Or so the rumors said. No one wanted to verify them,
The brute muttered something under his breath but backed off, the rest of the looters following him.
The collaborator turned to leave, but I stepped forward. "Wait."
She stopped, glancing at me over her shoulder. "What?"
"Can dingoes enlist?" I asked.
Jarix stared at me, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yeah, I'm serious," I said. "If the assholes are scared of collaborators, I want in."
The collaborator studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, dingoes can enlist."
"Where do I sign up?" I asked.
She looked surprised but didn't argue. "The recruitment office is in the city center. Ask for the overseer. Tell them Kara-Te sent you."
"Kara-Te," I repeated.
She nodded, then turned to leave.
"Thanks," I said. "For stopping them."
Jarix hesitated, then added, "Yeah... thanks."
Kara-Te paused for a moment, glancing back at us. "Don't thank me," she said. "Just stay out of trouble and if you do enlist don't abuse your power."
And with that, she was gone, the Badniks following close behind.
As we watched them leave, Jarix shook his head, letting out a low whistle. "I can't believe you just did that."
"What?" I said, shrugging. "You saw how scared those guys were of her. Besides I heard the pay is good and we could use the money."
Jarix sighed. "I guess. But enlisting? That's a big step, man."
"Yeah, well," I said, smirking faintly. "Sometimes, you've got to take a big step if you want to get anywhere."
Snively POV Unknown Time after the Conquest
The cell was cold, dark, and smelled faintly of rust and oil—a fitting reflection of my current situation. I sat hunched in the corner, my broken legs twisted awkwardly beneath me. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence, dulled only slightly by time and sheer determination.
"Defective," I muttered under my breath, my lips curling into a sneer. That's what Metal Sonic was. A defective, self-important pile of scrap.
How dare he? How dare that glorified toaster presume to imprison me? Me! The rightful heir to the Robotnik legacy. I was the one who had stood at my uncle's side, who had helped design his most devastating weapons. And now, I was trapped in this miserable cell, subjected to the whims of a machine that barely understood the genius it claimed to serve.
I clenched my fists, feeling the jagged edges of my makeshift bomb hidden beneath the fabric of my jumpsuit. It wasn't much yet—just a few scraps I'd managed to salvage from the cell—but it would be enough.
It had to be.
Breaking out wasn't going to be easy, not with these blasted legs. Metal Sonic's hacked badniks had made sure of that. But I wasn't going to let a little thing like physical agony stop me.
I'd been underestimated my entire life. Mocked by my uncle, belittled by his lackeys, and now reduced to a prisoner in my own empire. Well, not for long.
The bomb was crude, barely stable, and dangerously close to detonating if I so much as sneezed on it wrong. But it was my ticket out of here. If I could time it right—distract the SWATBots, blow open the door, and limp my way to freedom—I could get out.
And then? Then I'd show Metal Sonic what real intelligence looked like.
I leaned back against the wall, my mind drifting to the past. Uncle Julian—Robotnik—would've been laughing if he could see me now. I could almost hear his booming voice, taunting me for my failures.
"Still the sniveling little coward, aren't you, Snively?" he'd say, his mustache twitching with amusement. "Always scheming, always failing."
I scowled, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my jumpsuit.
He was wrong.
Yes, I'd failed before. But this time would be different. This time, I wasn't working for him or Metal Sonic or anyone else. This time, I was in charge.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. I hurriedly tucked the bomb deeper into my jumpsuit, forcing my face into a mask of indifference as the SWATBot entered the cell.
It towered over me, its red visor glowing ominously in the dim light.
"PRISONER SNIVELY, PREPARE FOR INTERROGATION."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, joy. My favorite part of the day."
The SWATBot didn't respond, of course. It was a machine, after all—just another mindless drone following orders. It dragged a chair into the center of the cell, its metallic hands gripping my arm and hauling me into the seat with all the gentleness of a wrecking ball.
"Easy!" I snapped, wincing as my legs protested the movement. "I'm already crippled, in case you haven't noticed."
"SUBJECT REQUIRED TO PROVIDE INFORMATION ON ROBOTNIK'S OLD PLANS."
The same question. Every day, the same blasted question. And every day, the same answer.
"I don't know anything!" I lied, forcing as much indignation into my voice as I could muster. "Do you really think my uncle shared his grand schemes with me? He barely trusted me to fetch his coffee!"
The SWATBot tilted its head, as if considering my response.
"INSUFFICIENT ANSWER. SUBJECT REQUIRED TO COMPLY."
"I am complying!" I shouted. "You're just too stupid to realize it!"
The SWATBot stepped closer, its massive frame casting a shadow over me. My heart pounded as it reached out, its clawed hand resting on my knee.
"Wait—no! Don't—"
The pressure came suddenly, a sharp, unbearable squeeze on my broken leg. Pain shot through me like a lightning bolt, and I screamed, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Okay! Okay!" I gasped, clutching at the armrests of the chair. "Just—just stop!"
The SWATBot released my leg, stepping back with mechanical precision. My breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming down my face.
"SUBJECT REQUIRED TO PROVIDE INFORMATION."
I glared at it through the haze of pain, my teeth clenched. "I don't know anything," I hissed, my voice trembling. "But when I get out of here, you're going to regret this. All of you."
The SWATBot didn't respond. It just squeezed again.
The sun was out, a cool breeze cutting through the warmth of the afternoon as I lounged on the grass outside Knothole. Tails and Rotor were nearby, the former fiddling with some new gadget while the latter worked on what looked like a miniature generator.
"Man, this is the life," I said, stretching out on my back with my hands behind my head. "No Robotnok, no Badniks, just good vibes and chill time."
"You're only saying that because you haven't been working on this," Tails said, not looking up from his device. He had that serious expression he always got when he was trying to solve a particularly tricky problem.
Rotor chuckled. "Give him a break, Tails. We all know Sonic's idea of work is running somewhere really fast and breaking stuff."
"Hey!" I shot back, sitting up and grinning. "Breaking stuff is hard work. You try smashing a giant robot with your bare hands."
Before Tails could reply, Sally appeared, carrying Nicole under her arm. Her pace was brisk, and her expression was all business—the kind of look that meant something big was up.
"Hey, Sal," I said, waving. "You're just in time for my mid-afternoon nap. What's the scoop?"
She didn't even crack a smile. "We need to talk about the Robotnik base."
I sighed, pushing myself to my feet as Sally stopped in front of us. "You mean the one I checked out yesterday? Not much to say about it. There were some Badniks, but not many. Felt more like a leftover than a stronghold."
Sally frowned, glancing at Nicole. "Was it a trap?"
"Kind of?" I said, scratching the back of my head. "I mean, yeah, there were some tripwires and a couple of nasty surprises, but nothing deadly. Definitely not the 'get rid of Sonic forever' kind of trap Robuttnik used to love."
Tails looked up from his gadget. "That's weird. Robotnik and Snively were always over the top with their traps. Why go halfway now?"
"That's the thing," I said, crossing my arms. "It didn't feel like any of them at all. No one showed up to monologue about their evil plan, and the whole place was just... off. Like they were stalling me for something."
"Stalling you?" Sally asked, her brow furrowing.
"Yeah," I said. "Like, whoever's behind this wanted to keep me busy, but they didn't actually care if I got out or not."
Nicole's voice chimed in, her tone as calm and precise as always. "That suggests the true objective was elsewhere. Perhaps they wanted to divert attention from their primary operation."
"That's what I've been thinking," I said. "The question is, what are they up to, and who's pulling the strings?"
"Snively, maybe?" Rotor suggested, leaning back against a nearby tree. "We haven't seen him since Robotnik died."
"No way," I said immediately, shaking my head. "Snively's a coward. But He likes to take credit. If it was him we would know him."
"Sonic's not wrong," Sally said, her tone thoughtful. "This doesn't fit Snively's profile. He wouldn't make a non-deadly distraction."
"Then who?" Tails asked, looking up at her. "Robotnik's supposed to be gone, right? So who else would have access to his tech?"
"That's the million-ring question," I said. "Whoever they are, they've got resources. Those Badniks were fresh—no rust, no wear and tear. Someone's keeping the lights on somewhere, and they've got big plans."
Sally nodded, her expression grim. "We need more information. Nicole, do we have any recent reports from other regions?"
"Checking now," Nicole replied, her holographic screen lighting up. "There have been reports of weird Badnik activity near Dragon Ki-"
Before Nicole could finish, Antoine burst into the clearing, his face pale and his chest heaving.
"Zere has been news!" he exclaimed, his accent thicker than usual in his panic. "From ze Mercian Freedom Fighters!"
"Whoa, Antoine," I said, holding up a hand. "Take a breath, man. What's the rush?"
"The Floating Island!" Antoine shouted. "It 'as been attacked and taken over! Zey say it is ze work of Robotnik forces!"
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Sally's eyes widened, and Rotor dropped the tool he'd been holding. Tails looked at me, his expression mirroring my own mix of shock and disbelief.
"Robotnik forces?" Sally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Impossible," Rotor muttered. "Robotnik's gone. He's—"
"Doesn't matter," I said, cutting him off. My fists clenched at my sides, and my body tensed, ready to move. "Knuckles is up there, and if someone's messing with the island, we've got to stop them."
"Sonic, wait—" Sally started, but it was too late.
I was already gone, the wind rushing past me as I raced toward Angel Island.
Mammoth Mogul POV 3 hours post-conquest
The air in my study was thick with the scent of aged wood and polished brass. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with tomes containing the accumulated knowledge of countless generations. A single window overlooked the sprawling city below, its lights twinkling like stars against the evening sky.
It was a place of power, of strategy. And it was mine.
The muffled sound of approaching footsteps drew my attention. Moments later, one of my attendants entered, bowing low.
"My lord," he said, his voice careful, respectful. "We've received reports regarding Angel Island."
I didn't bother looking up from the chessboard in front of me, where I was in the middle of a rather intriguing endgame against myself. "Go on."
"It has been overtaken," the attendant continued. "The invading forces appear to be remnants of Robotnik's empire, led by an unidentified mechanical unit."
At that, I paused, my hand hovering over a rook. Slowly, I turned to face him, my expression one of mild interest.
"Remnants of Robotnik's empire, you say?"
"Yes, my lord." He hesitated, then added, "The island's leaders have reportedly surrendered, and the invaders are solidifying their control."
For a moment, I said nothing, letting the silence stretch. Then, I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers beneath my chin.
"How delightful," I said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Our metallic friend seems more ambitious than I gave him credit for."
The attendant shifted uncomfortably, clearly uncertain how to interpret my reaction. "Shall we... adjust our plans accordingly, my lord?"
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Adjust them? My dear boy, there is no need for that. Everything is proceeding exactly as it should."
"But the island—"
"Is irrelevant to the grander scheme," I interrupted, my tone patient but firm. "Let the Traveler have his little conquest. Let him play at being ruler. It makes no difference to me."
The attendant frowned. "What if he disrupts our operations? The Chaos Emeralds—"
"Will be exactly where they need to be," I said, cutting him off again. "Do you think I would embark on a plan of this magnitude without accounting for every possibility? Let him believe he is in control. Let him believe he is making progress. It will only make his eventual fall all the more satisfying."
I reached for the chessboard, moving a knight into position. "Besides," I added, "his efforts serve as a convenient distraction. While he busies himself with Angel Island, our work continues unhindered."
The attendant bowed his head, though his unease was still evident. "Of course, my lord. Forgive me for doubting."
I waved a hand dismissively. "There is nothing to forgive. Doubt is a useful tool, when wielded correctly. But in this case, it is unnecessary."
Standing, I moved to the window, gazing out at the city below. My reflection stared back at me, a reminder of the power I had accumulated over centuries.
"Patience," I said softly, more to myself than to the attendant. "Victory is not won in a single stroke. It is achieved through careful planning, through the slow and deliberate manipulation of the board."
Turning back to the chessboard, I placed the final piece in position—a checkmate.
"Now," I said, fixing the attendant with a pointed look. "Ensure that everything remains on schedule. I will not tolerate delays."
"Yes, my lord," he said, bowing again before leaving the room.
As the door closed behind him, I returned to my chair, allowing myself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
Let the Traveler play his little games. Let the Freedom Fighters scramble to respond.
The board was mine, and I was always three moves ahead.
Wulf POV Four Days after Conquest
The streets weren't what they used to be. Not that they'd ever been great, but four days after the invasion—or the "One Day War," as we dingoes had started calling it—everything seemed quieter, tenser. No one looked anyone in the eye anymore, whether they were dingo or echidna.
I kicked at a loose rock on the dirt road, sending it skittering into a puddle. The rain had left the air heavy, and the mix of wet earth and the faint metallic tang from the Badnik patrols filled my nose. Beside me, my friend—a wiry echidna named Jarix—adjusted the straps of the bag slung over his shoulder.
We didn't say much. We didn't need to.
Jarix and I had been friends for months now, but it wasn't an easy friendship. People didn't like seeing a dingo and an echidna together, and they weren't shy about making their feelings known.
"Look at that," I muttered, nodding toward a group of echidnas across the street. They were muttering to each other, shooting us glares like we'd stolen something from them. One of them spit on the ground as we passed.
"Don't pay them any mind," Jarix said, his voice low. "They're just sore about the invasion."
I snorted. "They can call it the 'Robotic Downfall' all they want, but they lost. It doesn't matter what they call it."
Jarix winced but didn't argue.
It wasn't just the echidnas, either. My own people weren't any better. A pair of dingoes leaned against a crumbling wall, their conversation stopping the moment they saw us.
"Race Traitor," one of them hissed under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
Jarix tensed beside me, but I put a hand on his arm. "Ignore it," I said. "We're not starting anything today."
He relaxed slightly but didn't look happy about it.
Jarix and I had met in the city's slums, back when we were both scraping by with whatever odd jobs we could find. I'd been hauling crates for a supply depot; he'd been repairing old generators. We'd crossed paths when I accidentally dropped a crate on one of his generators, and instead of beating each other senseless like our respective species might've expected, we just... laughed.
Turned out, that being broke and tired of everyone else's hatred was a pretty solid foundation for a friendship.
"You ever thought about leaving?" Jarix asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Not like we can anymore but leaving where?" I asked.
"Angel Island," he said. "Just... starting over somewhere else."
I shook my head. "And go where? Mercia? The Kingdom of Acorn? Doesn't matter where we go, Jarix. We'll always be 'the dingo' and 'the echidna.' People don't forget. They just find new reasons to hate you."
He didn't reply, and I could tell the answer wasn't what he wanted to hear.
We turned the corner toward our shared home—a dingy little shack with patched walls and a roof that leaked when the rain got too heavy. It wasn't much, but it was ours.
Only today, it wasn't just ours.
A group of echidnas was standing in front of the shack, their arms loaded with our belongings. One of them—a broad-shouldered brute with a sneer that made my fists itch—noticed us first.
"Look who it is," he said, dropping a dented frying pan into a sack. "The race traitor and his mutt."
Jarix stepped forward. "That's our stuff," he said, his voice steady but sharp. "Put it back."
The brute laughed, a rough, ugly sound. "Or what? You gonna call your metal friends to help you?"
"Maybe I will," Jarix said, narrowing his eyes.
That struck a nerve. The brute stepped closer, his fists clenched. "You think you're better than us? You think siding with them makes you one of them?"
"We're not siding with anyone," I said, stepping between them. "We're just trying to live. Now put our stuff back and get out of here."
The brute didn't move. Neither did the others.
For a moment, I thought we were about to fight. Then the telltale clank of metal footsteps echoed down the street.
The Badniks arrived in a tight formation, their red visors glowing as they moved toward us. At their head was an echidna woman with that logo on her clothes. The one of the collaborators who'd thrown in with the Robotnik Empire.
"What's going on here?" she asked, her voice sharp and no-nonsense.
The looters stiffened but didn't back down. "Nothing," the brute said. "Just... reclaiming what's ours."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Reclaiming? From race traitors and mutts, I assume?"
"They're scum," the brute said, his tone defiant. "Race Traitor and dingo scum."
The collaborator's eyes narrowed. "If you want to play the patriot, that's your choice. But if I catch you looting again, I'll have you sent to the factories for a week."
That made them flinch. Everyone knew what a week in the factories meant—backbreaking labor, barely enough food to survive, and the constant oversight of SWATBots who didn't care if you dropped dead on the job. Or so the rumors said. No one wanted to verify them,
The brute muttered something under his breath but backed off, the rest of the looters following him.
The collaborator turned to leave, but I stepped forward. "Wait."
She stopped, glancing at me over her shoulder. "What?"
"Can dingoes enlist?" I asked.
Jarix stared at me, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yeah, I'm serious," I said. "If the assholes are scared of collaborators, I want in."
The collaborator studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, dingoes can enlist."
"Where do I sign up?" I asked.
She looked surprised but didn't argue. "The recruitment office is in the city center. Ask for the overseer. Tell them Kara-Te sent you."
"Kara-Te," I repeated.
She nodded, then turned to leave.
"Thanks," I said. "For stopping them."
Jarix hesitated, then added, "Yeah... thanks."
Kara-Te paused for a moment, glancing back at us. "Don't thank me," she said. "Just stay out of trouble and if you do enlist don't abuse your power."
And with that, she was gone, the Badniks following close behind.
As we watched them leave, Jarix shook his head, letting out a low whistle. "I can't believe you just did that."
"What?" I said, shrugging. "You saw how scared those guys were of her. Besides I heard the pay is good and we could use the money."
Jarix sighed. "I guess. But enlisting? That's a big step, man."
"Yeah, well," I said, smirking faintly. "Sometimes, you've got to take a big step if you want to get anywhere."
Snively POV Unknown Time after the Conquest
The cell was cold, dark, and smelled faintly of rust and oil—a fitting reflection of my current situation. I sat hunched in the corner, my broken legs twisted awkwardly beneath me. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence, dulled only slightly by time and sheer determination.
"Defective," I muttered under my breath, my lips curling into a sneer. That's what Metal Sonic was. A defective, self-important pile of scrap.
How dare he? How dare that glorified toaster presume to imprison me? Me! The rightful heir to the Robotnik legacy. I was the one who had stood at my uncle's side, who had helped design his most devastating weapons. And now, I was trapped in this miserable cell, subjected to the whims of a machine that barely understood the genius it claimed to serve.
I clenched my fists, feeling the jagged edges of my makeshift bomb hidden beneath the fabric of my jumpsuit. It wasn't much yet—just a few scraps I'd managed to salvage from the cell—but it would be enough.
It had to be.
Breaking out wasn't going to be easy, not with these blasted legs. Metal Sonic's hacked badniks had made sure of that. But I wasn't going to let a little thing like physical agony stop me.
I'd been underestimated my entire life. Mocked by my uncle, belittled by his lackeys, and now reduced to a prisoner in my own empire. Well, not for long.
The bomb was crude, barely stable, and dangerously close to detonating if I so much as sneezed on it wrong. But it was my ticket out of here. If I could time it right—distract the SWATBots, blow open the door, and limp my way to freedom—I could get out.
And then? Then I'd show Metal Sonic what real intelligence looked like.
I leaned back against the wall, my mind drifting to the past. Uncle Julian—Robotnik—would've been laughing if he could see me now. I could almost hear his booming voice, taunting me for my failures.
"Still the sniveling little coward, aren't you, Snively?" he'd say, his mustache twitching with amusement. "Always scheming, always failing."
I scowled, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my jumpsuit.
He was wrong.
Yes, I'd failed before. But this time would be different. This time, I wasn't working for him or Metal Sonic or anyone else. This time, I was in charge.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. I hurriedly tucked the bomb deeper into my jumpsuit, forcing my face into a mask of indifference as the SWATBot entered the cell.
It towered over me, its red visor glowing ominously in the dim light.
"PRISONER SNIVELY, PREPARE FOR INTERROGATION."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, joy. My favorite part of the day."
The SWATBot didn't respond, of course. It was a machine, after all—just another mindless drone following orders. It dragged a chair into the center of the cell, its metallic hands gripping my arm and hauling me into the seat with all the gentleness of a wrecking ball.
"Easy!" I snapped, wincing as my legs protested the movement. "I'm already crippled, in case you haven't noticed."
"SUBJECT REQUIRED TO PROVIDE INFORMATION ON ROBOTNIK'S OLD PLANS."
The same question. Every day, the same blasted question. And every day, the same answer.
"I don't know anything!" I lied, forcing as much indignation into my voice as I could muster. "Do you really think my uncle shared his grand schemes with me? He barely trusted me to fetch his coffee!"
The SWATBot tilted its head, as if considering my response.
"INSUFFICIENT ANSWER. SUBJECT REQUIRED TO COMPLY."
"I am complying!" I shouted. "You're just too stupid to realize it!"
The SWATBot stepped closer, its massive frame casting a shadow over me. My heart pounded as it reached out, its clawed hand resting on my knee.
"Wait—no! Don't—"
The pressure came suddenly, a sharp, unbearable squeeze on my broken leg. Pain shot through me like a lightning bolt, and I screamed, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Okay! Okay!" I gasped, clutching at the armrests of the chair. "Just—just stop!"
The SWATBot released my leg, stepping back with mechanical precision. My breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming down my face.
"SUBJECT REQUIRED TO PROVIDE INFORMATION."
I glared at it through the haze of pain, my teeth clenched. "I don't know anything," I hissed, my voice trembling. "But when I get out of here, you're going to regret this. All of you."
The SWATBot didn't respond. It just squeezed again.