I can do this.

“The ‘bots are running on the same defense protocols all around, but their tasks are another story. The ‘bot guarding a prisoner, for example, will still shoot you on sight if you escape but his job is to make sure you never do it in the first place. The same goes for every one of them in the city. They are assigned for different priority tasks besides blasting anything that doesn’t hail to the chief. The freedom fighters, you guys, have used this to your advantage and mostly attacked nearby stations, power plants, whatnot, so actual city defense ‘bots would have to come in and do the fighting while the rest scrambled for repair.

Dumb and smart aren’t very far apart. Lucky for us, too.

Robotosized citizens of Mobius still have sex organs, but they hang limp and useless because the drive is gone. They don’t need to eat so their stomachs remain dormant; it’s the same with taking a piss and fucking.

Control. Robotosization is about control. The metal shit is more or less for show, and armor, what’s important is what happens to them on the inside. All need, all want, all memory, all instinct is taken from them, rendered useless, so what we have is an empty shell that we can fill with whatever we want. Whatever suits our needs.

In a sense, it’s the way things should be. We use your own people against you; a coincidence. You have to admit that it’s an ideal world we could build. Casting all hatred aside, look at it from an objective point of view. How do men act? They act like each erection, each orgasm could destroy the world. Every man loves his dick, they all see it as the most powerful extension of themselves, that all should bow under it. And the source of these feelings ironically come from the same place. Why do you think there’s a survival instinct?

We eliminate the will to survive and replace it with a purpose, the only purpose they’ll ever need, and it isn’t to fuck and produce more imperfect halfwits bent on using a clever combination of words in order to produce even more. The art of seduction is perverse. I could go on and on.”

“And you have.” I don’t know how much time we have together but most of it is always spent on dodging the subject I want to talk about, purposefully circling around it until it’s near unbearable not to mention it.

“Obsession. There’s the key. I know what we’re obsessed with; fuck, we’ve been entertaining each obsession for years. But what about the rebels? Will the freedom fighters die for freedom? Do they make that decision every day of their lives? They never think about this sort of shit, am I right?” The subtle segue.

“I don’t know,” she says, bored but sitting up and removing the expression on her face, hoping this will lead somewhere else. “It’s hard to tell what they think. Especially now. Although, I can speculate.”

Yes. “And? What do you speculate?”

She smiles, attempting coyness. She’d succeed. “You want to hear?”

Girl isn’t even worried about cutting me off. “Yes.”

She starts in immediately, too quickly, proving it’s no casual topic. “We’re not obsessed with taking you both down, not all the time. We enjoy ourselves, too. Infrequently, but this is the way it’s always been.”

“I don’t think it was an unfair assumption. After all, we try to kill you every hour of every day.”

Her eyes flicker. “Do you really?”

Wrong way, wrong way, alert alert, course correction. “Of course! We won’t stop until we exterminate every creature on Mobius, and that includes Sonic.” My voice falls into a grave tone and I lean closer to her, bridging a gap, lubricating. “Be honest with me about something; he’s a dullard, isn’t he? They all are. In truth, the rebellion would fall apart without you, wouldn’t it? You’re the brains, the blood, and the heart. Without you, they die. You teach them everything.” STOP. Let it hang.

“… If you’re trying to instill apathy-”

“Not at all!”

“-it’s not going to work.”

“I wasn’t… really…” Faking honesty is too easy, but if evil things were hard to do, the world would be a better place. The crops are planted and it’s time to stop, cease, desist; to over-plant now would ruin the harvest. “I have to go. Try to keep yourself busy.” I’m gone quicker than the Princess can protest or sigh in relief.

I’m due at Capital Lair, anyhow, for the count. The walk is a relief, each knotted ball of tension falling out of every footfall. Time to think, consider, step outside the big picture to admire my work. It’s all going so well, thus far. Just the right amount of curiosity, anger, gall... if these walls could talk, they’d be proud to have me inside of them.

The idea is to act like I’m under her control, so enraptured with lust that I’ll do anything she asks if just get a taste, oh just a taste. It’s a shame that she’s right, that if it weren’t me but some other walking prick, she’d have the city back already. No wonder she heads the resistance.

Success is imminent. I might be cocky but hell, I deserve it after waiting for so long. None of the others, not even Room 8 Cell Block 7, will compare to this victory. Sally Acorn, jewel of the lost empire of Mobius. Robotnik got her body, the short end of the deal. I get her mind, her soul; I’ll dance in the remains of them both. Nothing could be sweeter-

“OOF!”

The next instant I’m sprawled on the cold metal floor, into the corner of a bend in the South Tunnel. I look up and realize my mistake. Daydreaming about my victory and I’ve run into the towering form of Robotnik.

“Watch where you’re going you little-” His eyes flash rage-red but soften immediately. He watches me get back on my feet. “Snively… where have you been?”

Uh-oh, no, no, could he-?

No! Impossible. He has nothing, just a suspicion. I was hoping I could do this without him guessing I was doing anything other than fucking my own prisoners, but I underestimated his territoriality for the Princess. Probably on his way for seconds, the…

But he’s got shit. Act innocent, and then he’ll put it down to his own stupid testosterone. Faking dishonesty is even easier.

“Uh… no-nowhere, sir.”

“Hmmm… not in the Cell Blocks?”

Good. Thinks what he needs to, although, bringing it out in the open like that… he’s getting bold. “I- I er, I was just doing the c-count, sir,” I stammer, and I back into the wall a little. That usually gets him.

“Sure you were, Snively. Sure you were.” Smug, cackling fucker. “I doubt you’d misbehave, dear nephew. You’ve been unquestionably loyal to me over the years. One does deserve a little… treat, now and again, don’t you agree?”

“Sir?”

“Mmm. Although, some would say that great things are great only… in moderation. Agreed?”

Pompous fuckshit. Intolerable cunt towel. “Agreed, sir.”

“…”

He gets bored and eventually, we part ways without another word, proof if nothing else that this thing that we’re doing, though it might end up being bad for our collective health in the long run, will at least be great while it lasts.

And honestly, I’m having the time of my life.

**********

“Let me see it,” she says the next day. Finally.

My Princess, my low-quality pixilated Goddess of Mobius, my tallest mountain, my deepest, wettest ocean, video imagery doesn’t do you justice. I could love you in person if I didn’t already loathe you.

“Why?” I manage to croak. My dick is pressing against the walls of my slacks, trying to break free of its prison. My brain is crying for the blood that left it behind.

“Curiosity.” Or is this a method of escape? Don’t bullshit me. I wouldn’t touch you to rape you. “Please.” Or would I?

“I…” My cavernous cavern, my wide open outer space. “The camera…”

“Who would be watching?”

“Robotnik could stumble across it.”

“What are the chances? One moment in the midst of millions. He can’t watch all of them.” She meant conquer, I’m sure of it.

“The sods, what about them?”

“I’ve memorized their route. We have ten minutes before the next one walks by.”

Homework. Girl does her homework, but I’ve done mine. In truth, the camera is already off, the recording on pause. In reality, it’s the same ‘bot that walks by every ten minutes, stopping outside of her field of vision, waiting for the time to walk by again. It’s a fair trade; a narrow window for a narrow window. Only, hers can be forced open wider.

“I’ve wondered about you, Snively. What you look like underneath, how you’re put together. You’re… unique. It’s the one quality you share with your uncle.”

Or so you hope. “I don’t know about this…”

“This is the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing one, without having it. Please. I’d owe you…”

But I can smell him on you, dear, oh can I smell it. His sweat turns a person inside out, let me tell you. Funny you should mention him so quickly after the night before last. It’s a good thing that I’m the one who’s manipulating you. Besides, you owe me too much already.

“No joy… no joy in this…”

The part to play comes quick like a predestined ejaculation. Lean forward, don’t blink, purse lips, halfway close eyes, want her, need her, imagine us fifteen years later, broken down by relationships, using sex as a way to remember our youth, think of getting tired of her, fantasize about other women, go through the motions, kid myself, love her… blink in surprise. Get embarrassed. Walk out. Let her smile in victory.

Loss. I have to let her win sometimes.

My lady, you were a flower grown out of a pile of dirt. No one on this planet deserves you. I hope you never find this out. Keep thinking that you can’t do any better and I’ll fight for you. Well, maybe if the circumstances were different.

Back in Capital, my surveillance cave, I turn the monitor back on and watch her. I fix the recording device to record her staring at a blank wall for however long we were together, simple because that’s all the bitch does when I’m not there shaking the lure. All on the slim chance that dear Uncle might get curious.

Fuck…

It would have led to sex this time if I didn’t pull back, I’m sure of it. She’s good at seduction, real good, and she doesn’t use any of the cheap tricks of the trade, if she can help it. No biting the lower lip, no batting eyes, no shrugging shoulders or pressing her breasts together with her arms. Knothole must be a regular round-the-clock orgy if she can make me this… without even…

My Princess of lost causes, beauty of the underground, poster child for castration. This pile of dirt is lucky to have you, and lucky that you don’t know any better. My lovely lady, just don’t kid yourself. I want to fuck you, sure, but I wouldn’t have been able to cum because I wouldn’t have been watching you on the monitors.

**********

The hands move quicker going around the top of the clock, but it isn’t fast enough.

It’s work week, and it’s back to business as usual for a bit to see if Sally can sweat it on her own. Back to the cold metal walls and the long hours of staring at far off explosions, at motionless computer monitors, back to masturbating and starving my prisoners. Pfft.

The rebels aren’t stepping up their activity. Nothing new to report or repair. No attempts at rescuing the Princess; odd, but it’s them trying to be clever. If that’s all they could think of not doing, then no wonder we have control of the planet.

Lunch service is the same boring shit. We Robotosized a Mobian long ago, solely for the task of randomizing ten thousand different choices of exotic cuisine and cooking it for lunch. Today, it’s Southern Region Meat Loaf with a side of fried whatever fish. Ten thousand choices and I’m still not surprised.

Two bites and I push it away, disgusted. The cook smiles its razor sharp smile and cleans up the mess, bowing with every other step. I try to read a book on sexual psychology but I can’t concentrate.

A half hour walk later and I’m surveying the damage left by the rebels’ latest cry for attention. Some irreplaceable parts were lost but we didn’t need them anyway. They didn’t get any useful information, of course. They’re still off target, way, way off, couldn’t find the G-Spot with a road map and a GPS.

Next, keeping our appearances up for Knothole to “pick up” transmission. All faked, of course. Scripted. Shots of me and Robotnik complaining about progress, maybe he beats me around a bit; by now, all of the feeling is gone. The blows don’t even hurt anymore. You can’t bruise a bruise.

We record our perspectives separately, more or less, because I can’t face the bastard straight-faced anymore. I can’t talk to him without grinding my teeth and cracking my knuckles, wanting the fat son of a bitch dead.

Finally, an allocation of resources. Figures from across the planet indicate that we’ll have exhausted our resources long ahead of schedule. A game this far in stops being fun, and it becomes more of an obligation to finish it, to see how many points we can get, how high we can score, how much of the planet we can make ours. It chokes me up every time I think about it, how much of a burden it is to complete the game and how much of a coward I am to end it early. Before I know it, my right hand is moving up and down my dick and I’m pretending it’s her that’s doing it.

Damn.

I saw it coming from miles away. Eons.

UpdownupdownupdownI’m pretending it’s pussy, a woman, tits, ass, whatever it is I think about, I can never remember. And I’m right in front of her. This part is real. I’m doing it right in front of her, thinking that if I can’t fuck her, this is close enough, and then I’ll be able to concentrate for ten minutes. Up down up down, in front of her, and the bitch has the widest goddamn grin on her face.

I want to talk about how hard women are to read. I want to tell her that the ambiguity that they all think is so fucking interesting is really sickening, disgusting, and painful. I want to tell her that all women are cuter with their clothes on and their mouths shut. They can only get by on their looks and how nice they are, how good they make us, men, feel.

All that’s coming out is how much I like her. How pretty she is. She’s dangerously close, staring right down the barrel of the gun, and sooner than later, she’s going to get a face-full. Won’t that be interesting. It’s easy to fantasize this close to her scent, her breath. All I can say is that she’s great.

“I like you, ya know.”

“A… bit of a crush…”

“Six… I think… Six… is just about right.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re the only girl I can imagine having kids with.”

“You’re the one you’re the one you’re the one.”

“Even when it hurts, I’ll be with you forever.”

All she says is that “It happens.” It fucking happens. Wonderful.

Great timing, just before the explosion of baby Snivelys, I jerk my hips to the left and shoot all over her legs, her thighs. All thoughts of loving her pour out with it, leaving the anti-love, the destrado, a big fat urge to kill in the twisted folds of my head, now that I’ve tried to pass it on. I squirt, squirt, squirt; white petroleum jelly smacks into her knees, and she doesn’t flinch, not once. She keeps staring into me, waits for me to finally finish.

Fin.

And what is there to say afterwards? She doesn’t need to say a goddamn thing. I can see it all in her eyes: weak. She thinks I’m weak. The power she exerts, making me crazy, driving me to the point where I have to do this to her in order to function. That clenched fist between her legs that frightens and intimidates so many, controls and conquers all the rest, and mothers the world entire. She thinks she has me under thumb and clit.

Good.

**********

“Snively, status update on security grid.”

“All quiet… sir.”

Thursday.

“… Double check for me, will you?”

“Fucking hell… Yes sir…”

Evening.

“Calm as dust, sir. Recall all patrols?”

“…”

Confusion comes from uncertainty comes from paranoia. Something like that. It’s night on the planet. In the darkness of my room, free of external stimuli, this is where I can finally think. I press the replay button over and over again, focusing in on Robotnik’s face from earlier that afternoon, trying to figure out…

Does he suspect something?

Does he know that I know about Sally?

Has she sold me out to him?

How angry is he?

His face, that sloping forehead, those red eyes, those jiggly jowls, they didn’t gel like usual, did they? I don’t know about angry, though, Snively. Definitely preoccupied, for sure. For sure. He didn’t make eye contact. He didn’t give any final orders. Just walked right out of the room, didn’t he? Yes he did.

You don’t have any evidence. Only suspicion, conjecture. Pussy is changing you, friend.

It isn’t. Honestly. And I have more to lose if I ignore this. So, let us assume that Robotnik knows everything, and his reaction is what we witnessed this afternoon. With me so far, brain?

Following.

Now, let us assume that Robotnik knows more than me, that he’s been manipulating me from the beginning. I was supposed to find out about Sally and eventually get jealous and territorial-

Would she be in on it?

… We’ll see. Robotnik is in complete control, and we’re barreling unknowingly into our own demise.

Motive?

Unconscious jealousy. Consciously attempting to spice up life a bit. He sees me as useless.

I don’t know… it sounds thin.

Eh, what the fuck do you know, anyway.

**********

One crank and they’re all gone. All of them, one by one, Robotosized. Destruction is a very satisfying thing. I feels good, starting over.

I didn’t need them, anyway. No one was coming to rescue them. I wasn’t going to be their savior. I was tired of looking after them, anyhow.

One. By. One. All gone.

Poof.

Room 8, Cell Block 7, still starving, skin hanging off her bones like taffy, is the last to go. She tries to say something but is whisked into the machine before she has a chance. Her skin tightens up, her mouth closes, her hair solidifies into one solid style. She’s beautiful again, and she can’t even thank me.

This doesn’t hurt to do, not like I thought it would. In the reflection of one of the new bots, I look as robotic as ever. “Only apparently real.” How sad. A tear would have been a nice touch.

**********

And just like that… she’s gone.

Next day. I didn’t bother looking at the monitors in my cave first. I’ll admit, I was being careless when I shouldn’t have been. Most people get it backwards, and fuck it up; they should grow more cautious as time goes on, as the plan nears completion. Oh well, I can’t talk, I’m no exception.

Empty. Her cell is empty.

The RSOD, the only one on duty, walks behind me twice before I stop and ask him, but I already know the answer. Why else would he still be standing? Not if she were rescued.

“… Who?”

“ROBOTNIK, SIR.”

Robotnik. Sir.

All panic rises in my chest, but stays there. My muscles clench up so tight that I can only move at normal speed, when I should be running to the nearest Robotosization chamber, to rescue her, keep her alive for a little longer, just a little bit longer, please. There has to be a reason why I’m not tearing across the city to save her from that monster. Why? Why, Snively? Why the hesitation?

…

That’s not where she is, brain.

Then where? I ask. If not Robotosization… Where would Robotnik take a pretty young thing like the Princess, to somewhere to keep her away far, far, far away? From me?

No. Not that. Not unless he killed her. He’d sooner kill me.

… He wanted to be alone with her, then-

Ah… hah…

Solitary.

The trip is quick and painful, and a rainbow of images, fantasies, routines of what Robotnik is doing to her while I’m taking my sweet time in finding them. I’m afraid of catching him before he does anything to her.

I want to catch him in the act, right in the middle of it. I want to see his huge bulk over her, slamming deeper and deeper inside, copping feels on her notes, hear his voice miming the symphony. I want to hear her screaming nostopnononononostoppleasestop.

Turn. Hang left. Make a right. Pass the fragile construction of our wasted life, again and again and again. After I… after this, I’ll… I’ll…

No Don’t Stop Please

Straight. Go straight. Straight to the door, the large slab of metal that doesn’t look like it can be opened. It blocks out all artificial light. Nightmare obelisk. You can’t miss it. Run, Snively. You can run now, Snively. Please, just hurry. Try. Try.

My footsteps don’t make a sound. My key slides into the lock and the door opens with a loud, rusty creak. Light spills into the barest of cells, the emptiest of minds. Princess Sally Acorn is huddled in the corner. She is the only one in the room.

I breathe a sigh of relief, not bothering to hide it.

“Princess-”

The relief catches in my throat when she turns around. Her eyes are dark, sunken bruises. Dried blood is caked around her misshapen mouth. There’s a swollen cut above her left eye still pouring blood, mixing with the remains of tears. Her fur is torn off of her chest. She’s holding herself like she knows it’s the end.

“…”

Not yet.