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Metal Mind [Archie Metal Sonic SI]

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Deleted Log
  • Sidestory
    • 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
     
  • Sidestory
    • Love the 'No strings on me' song there, wonder what the Sonic crew will make of that once they get time to actually slow down and ponder this development? That one of Robotnik's AI transcended its programming and has gained sentience?

    Just the fact that one of his robots would sing at all, has to be a huge warning sign. Much less do so in such a creepy way, and show so much emotion during the fight. Honestly they might try to help him, or at the very least, will be MUCH more hesitant to actually kill him.
     
    Last edited:
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    Issue 5: Angelfall
  • Threadmarks
    • 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.

    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."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Next issue will be the final one of Arc 1 Operation Angel. Then we will have our first look at what Sonic and the Freedom Fighters are doing before the next Arc begins proper
     
    While it's possible that Metal Sonic's actions may result in the destruction of Angel Island, the most probable outcome at this time would be it falling into the ocean once too many Chaos Emeralds are removed from the mystic mechanisms that keep the island floating in the sky.

    Metal has claimed the civilian population in the name of Dr. Robotnik, meaning that he's likely to have them evacuated and relocated elsewhere ostensibly so as to not waste the Empire's resources by letting its citizens die needlessly. However new and/or reluctant those citizens might be.

    That being said, if the Dark Legion makes too much of a nuisance of itself, Metal Sonic is very likely to deliberately destroy Angel Island as a form of asset denial and psychological warfare, as reclaiming Floating Island for themselves has been their ultimate goal for generations, so its destruction is highly likely to break their spirits.
     
    Issue 6: Occupation
  • Threadmarks
    • 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.
     
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