Here’s a story for the kids.

“This kid had acne like someone vexed him with voodoo or something, I ain’t kidding you for shit’s.”

“Shit’s? Mmm.” My psychiatrist leans forward, snoring and taking down notes that are overflowing from his notepad and soaking into the magenta carpet. My headache from yesterday found a female, fucked her, and now a whole family is running around in my head. Causin all kindsa ruckuss.

“I don’t mean to keep coming back to it, I tells ya, but it’s hard. Why that moment, the job interview, is so important, I never want to know.”

“Maybe because it was such a large portion of your life-”

“I said I don’t want to know.”

“Oh.” Poor wanker looks like he’s about to cry. These shrinks, they love to cut you up and show you the pieces.

“Moving on, these robots are getting to be a real drag, right right. I still have five, maybe six left to kill, and they’re getting progressively worse as the numbers dwindle. No remorse for the dead, after all. Robots probably wonder what the hell is the matter with us. And it’s got me to thinking, is reality really something I can trust?”

“It isn’t like you have a choice, lad.”

“Eh, nuts to you, shrink.”

“Is freedom so important to you?”

“Trust is. I want to trust that I’m free or trust that I’m not, none of this half-assed shit I’m dealing with now. You ever see a brain eat itself? That’s so what I’m hoping is going on. I could accept that as an excuse for the delusions. The symptoms are all there, fo’ sho.”

Scribble, scribble, scratch, scratch. “Delusions? Delusions, you say?”

“Mine happen. They happen for real, quack, I just don’t see them until after they’ve happened. It makes no sense, I know. Tails was killed by a robot, I saw it in a flashback. They’re all out to get me.”

“Maybe you just need a girlfriend.”

“Ha! Believe me, that’s the last thing I need. Um. How would a girlfriend help me?”

“Merely an expression, lad.”

“Meaning it would keep me occupied?”

Quack eyes me funny. “I notice you’re a very paranoid person.”

“Believe me, Doc, I hate everybody after I’m done jerking off.”

“Don’t we all-”

“Bullshit! Don’t try and pretend like you can relate!” I know I’m a fiery force to be reckoned, but the shrink doesn’t flinch an inch. In fact, the bastard pulls out a pipe and starts smoking it. Can you believe it! The nonchalant pipe-smoking fuckmook.

“Could we stay on track, please? Sonic?”

“Why? I already know that I’m just writing the same story over and over again.” But I sit back down, moving air out of the way. “You want I should talk about women, Doc?”

Puff. “Yes.”

“Right, then. Well… I like older women, because they’re smart enough to know how much to flirt with a guy. You don’t want sex, you better stop early on. They recognize the power they hold over men, and simultaneously, the power men hold over them. I’ve seen young girls fuck around so much, you have no idea. They think it’s okay to do everything but touch genitalia together; but no, they stop when it gets that far. Of course, men can’t stop once it has passed the point of no return. They can’t cool down.”

“You don’t think there’s love?”

“If love is patience, I love the entire world.”

He sees as well as I do that this is going nowhere. Progress rolls downhill. “Seven more robots, Sonic.”

“More or less.”

“You look cold. Are you cold?

“A little.” I’m about to tell him that I got rid of a very nasty coat, one that caused skin and bones to engage each other in combat, but something tells me I don’t need to.

“A shame. A real shame.”

“Why? Can’t have a moment of clarity like everyone else, Doc?”

“No, I’ll have one, regardless. You think the world is so lacking in structure, Sonic, but you’re still following rules. For example, why do you have to kill the rest of the robots before you can solve the case?”

“… Habit?”

“More than that.” See? There he goes, hacking and cutting away. “Don’t want to talk about women anymore, Sonic?”

“That would be predictable. Why do you care? You ain’t fucking me.”

“Well? I might one day.”

“Pfft. Yeah right, ain’t nobody gonna fuck me.”

“They all come back sooner or later.”

“You kidding? Everyone’s afraid of even touching the eight ball. Hence, no coat.”

We’re all mad down here. “Being unpredictable isn’t always a good thing. Isn’t that why all of your friends are dead? Why you couldn’t solve the case?”

“Detective work was never really my thing, quack. But as long as we’re talking about the boss at the end of the game, we’ll talk. Robotnik has it all wrong. Government. Control. You a control a populace using their own free will against them. You set up the economy as an easy buy-sell market exchange and, while it flourishes, you gain control of all natural resources and communication. You name the price of the raw materials, as small or as large as you want, and the businesses, completely unaware, will most assuredly jack the price up even higher. The money all comes back to you in the end, anyhow. And you keep the masses distracted with entertainment, news atrocities, advances in technology. You control the exchange of information, so no one knows too much, or learns the wrong thing, like say, how to build a bomb. As long as this system has time to gel and stick, it would take a worldwide riot to reform. By then, you’ve got them.”

Scribb- “Thanks. I’ll be sure to write that one down.”

“… Beg pardon?”

The doctor slowly takes off his glasses, setting them down next to his name plate. “I’m surprised you made it this far, really. I didn’t think you’d have the guts or the will power.”

setting them down next to his name plate.

“After all, this started out as fun and games. You didn’t think about the consequences, however. You didn’t think about how to end it.”

next to his name plate.

“Sound familiar?”

Name plate.

“Sonic.”

Dr. Ivo Robotnik. My psychiatrist. A legend, Mr. Wayne. “I get it. In front of me the entire time but I was too busy to look at it.” I manage a smile. “Not really very clever.”

I’m sure he doesn’t see it coming, but he doesn’t flinch when my fist sails towards the left side of his head. It stops inches before contact.

My breath sticks to the side of my throat. My voice comes out in a whisper. “Tell me why.”

“Boredom, son. That’s all.” Seasons don’t fear the reaper.

Ha. Boredom.

Boredom.

It’s that simple. I could have ended this long ago. I probably should have.

On the desk is the Doc’s notepad. I pick it up, to see what he was writing. It’s not going to stop until you wise up. Directions. To a warehouse by the docks. Of course.

“Have you kidnapped Amy yet?”

“Not yet, no.” The world turns and I’m to the door when he says: “Are you sure you’re ready? The way these things normally work is that you can’t get to the level without all of the skills you learned from killing the other bosses.”

“I have everything I need, don’t you worry.”

“You won’t be popular for this.”

“Who cares.” Drink up, baby doll. Gotta go to K-Mart, gotta get boxer shorts. Let’s play some Tetris, mother fucker. “Fuck the three act process, this shit is ending now.”

Well, not now, but he knew what I meant.

Streets are harmless when I’m outside again, forced to actually take the trip. No editor for my life. I know, I know I’ve let you down. I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter what I say, as long as I sound confident, whatever it is. That’s how people get laid, that’s how they land jobs at tough places, that’s how they survive. Me, I was never one for confidence. It feels like lying half the time. I just made you up to hurt myself. In the end, they’ll thank me.

Buildings, people. A true adventure more erotic than any fantasy. It’s so farfetched. Others can’t exist. It’s easier to believe that I’m the only one alive and the rest are figments of my warped reality. Maybe I’m God and I created these uninteresting bastards, chose to forgot that I had done so, then made myself mortal in order to walk amongst them. And no one will ever know. I want a bean feast.

Robotnik. Robotnik. At the warehouse. Robotnik. Same shit, different day. Al Capone with a badge.

I’m there with the salty breeze and the supposed atmosphere, so cliché that I can’t breathe. The good doctor is waiting for me at the main entrance.

And everywhere I am, there you’ll be.

“You’re early.”

“Thanks to you.”

We don’t do anything at first. Eventually, he slumps his shoulders. Suicide is painless. “Get it over with, then.”

I will burn your life. “Affirmative.”

But soon comes Mr. Night, creepin over, now his hand is on your shoulder, never mind, I’ll remember you this way.

Killing him is predictable, walking away is predictable, everything has been done already, starting this was a mistake, and I’m out of ideas, so let’s just say that I’m tired of writing this shit. The end.