Things before I do this again:
1) Characters copy written their respective owners, some more than others
2) Concept copy written M Griffin. Story copy written Sean Catlett (me!!!) 
and M Griffin. (MC)
3) If you happen to read this story, Review it!!, even if you hate it. We 
enjoy the bad reviews almost as much as the good ones.
4) I really mean #3. Hurt my feelings, don’t be afraid. It’s okay to hurt my 
feelings. I’m not some beautiful model guy you want. I’m actually kind of 
ugly in real life. And I smell. And I have bad teeth. And I live under a 
bridge. The only way I can be happy is if you give honest reviews, even if 
it means chastising me. COME ON!!! Rip me a new one, tear my heart out, 
castrate me, (if that’s the way you really feel, that is). All I ask is that 
you be honest in your review. Brutally honest. Horribly honest. Hurtful 
honest. Pretend you’re breaking up with me, I don’t care. (Ok, I’m starting 
to sound like a masochist. I’m sure you all get the point)



Rated R for Violence and Strong Language




Sonic: Sketchy
Concept by M.C. Griffin
Story written by Sean Catlett (with a big help from M.C.)


Tuesday



	This morning, I found blood in my urine.
	For one straight week I’ve fought, scrambled, and crawled to get out of 
this wretched place, out of this nightmare that I used to call my home. I’ve 
been confronted by enemies the likes of which I can only begin to detest. 
I’ve been shot, punched, and hung, all in the name of science or religion, 
total opposites of which I am on neither side of.
	It started to pick up for me last night. I got to sleep next to the most 
desirable woman in the new Knothole village. We didn’t do anything, mind 
you, just slept next to each other. It made her happy, to have someone that 
didn’t want her in the way the others did. I was glad to oblige, and I still 
am.
	I escaped from my prison cot a week and two days ago.  The ‘bots in 
Robotnik’s fortress can detect lingering heat, so I couldn’t go while I was 
inside the fortress until I got to the outside.
	When your bladder is full and you’re unconscious, your body doesn’t listen 
to the inhibitions stored in the brain. I muse that the field where I passed 
out still had traces of me, soaking into the dirt, watering the fake grassy 
roots.
	Yesterday, after the crabmeats attacked, I was offered water by the 
residents. All the blood from the fight was caking in my mouth, and the 
taste made me want to puke, so I gladly accepted. I watered down the blood 
that was in my stomach to a light pink.
	So, when I woke up this morning, I had the biggest urge to take a piss. A 
streaming, warm one that could echo through the woods and knock the bark off 
a tree. I tried not to wake up Sally as I crawled out of the leafy tent and 
walked give or take 20 feet. Away from the camp, I picked an oak that looked 
so sad and old that it wanted to die, and I went.
	How I know it wasn’t the blood from the fight, is because it was too red. I 
drank too much water for it to be this red. Also, it hurt, and we all know 
the rule about your own blood leaving the body.
	I’m bleeding. Internally. Either from Scratch’s gunshot wounds or from the 
Crabmeat fight that I barely recollect. An unknown wound that I don’t know I 
can fix. Marijuana patches wont help me this time. Those already cover 50% 
of my body.
	There’s blood in my urine . . . . . . . . and I’m somewhat worried about 
it.


**********


	“It’s that f*cking dream again!”
	Snively thought he knew what the trouble was when his communicator rang, 
disturbing his sleep. At first, he thought against reaching for it, but 
finally did so after the fourth or fifth annoying tone.
	“Sir, I was sleeping,” He said into the microphone after he pressed the red 
button on the side.
	“Snively, did you finish what I asked you to do?” came the voice of Dr. 
Robotnik.
	“Yes. It’s 5 in the morning, sir. Did you have the dream again?”
	“Good, so you’re ready to start your new job?”
	“Sir, I can’t say that I’m ready, just that I’m listening to whatever you 
have to say. If it’s cleaning toilets in the Death Egg, I don’t think I’m 
ready for such an important job.”
	“Excellent,” Robotnik said in one of his thoughtful, drawn out tones. The 
speaker on the machine vibrated at the end of the spoken word. “Come down to 
the Casino Nights Zone. I have a surprise for you.”
	‘Sh*te, not that place again,’ Snively thought to himself.
	“Fine, sir. Just . . . . . keep your hands to yourself until I get there.”
	There was some giggling in the background, followed by the Doctor’s reply.
	“Too late for that.”
	Snively groaned and went to get dressed.


**********


	Game Plan.
	The Knothole village survivors are re-building the town deep within the 
forest. They all awoke from their slumbers ten minutes after I did. They 
went to work immediately on building huts and whatnot. Sally walked through 
the crowds, doing what she could to help out, cutting down trees and 
wrapping vines around trunks. My job was mostly running back and forth with 
supplies . . . . man, does that sound familiar.
	The person I would give the things to would thank me, at great lengths, 
whether I wanted them to or not. They would tell me how they thought I 
shouldn’t be working with how hurt I was. I’ll eventually get sick of all 
their praise.
	Tails’ job was airlifting vines to tie on tree trunks and wrap them around. 
Orders to her were given with a fake politeness that could decay stone. I’ll 
eventually get sick of all their sh*t.
	After two hours, the town was rebuilt, and the entire surviving village was 
sent into the main hut for a meeting as to what to do next. Mammals of all 
kinds, ages of all kinds. I see about ten children and five pregnant women 
without husbands. The massacre left many without companionship, as did the 
suicides from the attempted training operation.
	The group was set in a circle, and I was in the middle, explaining the plan 
to the onlookers. Sally and Antoine were on opposite sides of each other, 
and Tails stood close to me in the center. The morning sun shone through the 
trees and windows and made patterns on the dirt floor.
	This is the scene from yesterday, set inside of a hut instead. I’m yet 
again explaining to a reluctant crowd of onlookers. This time, there are no 
hostile intentions, only quieted numbness, where you aren’t fully awake yet, 
where you still believe it’s all a made up scenario gone bad.
	“This is real, I assure you.”
	I went into great detail about the anatomy of this place. “You can’t go 
into Robotnik’s world; the Labarynth Zone overflows when night falls and 
anyone inside will drown.” Religion can be explained with science. Moses’ 
river parted because of a seasonal tide. The plague was just animals 
migrating. The ten commandments were the product of an insane man’s mind. 
Priests are robots.
	“There is an exit for every two holding pens next to each other. About 
twenty miles away, there is the Marble Zone. It is very much like this 
place, the Green Hill Zone, only with lava . . . . . and marble. Lava covers 
the exit to the outside world.”
	Hands went up, questions were asked. ‘What is ‘lava?’’ and so on. When they 
understood, I continued.
	“Strategy. It’s what we need in order to survive.” Sacrilege. “The lava 
flows can be shut off by turning valves.” Blasphemy. “There is another zone, 
about fifty miles away, which controls the pressure of oil and water. The 
Oil Ocean Zone.” Heretic. “If we can shut these valves off, we can leave.” 
Savior. “We’ll all be free.” Messiah. “Freedom, for the first time.” God. 
“But it’s not as simple as it seems.” F*ck.
	“Exits and valves are miles apart. Group one holds off the entrance while 
group two hurries their asses back from the valves. Both groups leave this 
world at the same time, so they’re ready for whatever’s on the other side. 
As a group.”
	I didn’t tell them that I wouldn’t be going with them just at that moment.
	More hands went up.  Questions like, “What are valves?” and “Oil?” and 
“What’s gonna happen to us on the outside?” . . . . . . . . . . . . I don’t 
know.
	How can I really say that the world outside is better than the one in here? 
Is there even a difference? This could be a facility within a facility 
within a facility, on and on. One can go crazy thinking about where the fake 
world ends and the real one begins. We could all still be in a prison even 
when we’re free. Dementia through dimensions.
	Everyone needs a common goal. When ours is reached a new one will be 
created almost instantly, another thing to think about as your life ends by 
the second. Your job, whatever that may be, keeps you occupied. That‘s why 
it‘s called an occupation. It’s anti-suicide drugs, injected through the 
skull into the moral section of the brain. The drug is called conflict.
	There is never peace while you’re living, and yet I am striving for these 
people’s freedoms. Striving for peace; serenity. I know it’s futile.
	Common goal. Game plan. Sally stands up.
	“Everyone, we have a long ways to walk today. Sonic is going to show us all 
the facilities, so we can be ready to shut it down. We are pressed for time, 
I’m told, so get everything together, and we’ll head out in ten minutes.”
	I explain. “We need to keep moving, so Robotnik can’t get a constant fix on 
us. If we stay off the beaten path, out of sight, we may be able to pull 
this off.”
	The group is led outside. Antoine walked closer to me.
	“Remember,” I say to close the discussion, “if you see a ‘bot in the area, 
alert the group. We stand a better chance if we all fight it, and we can 
re-locate. Alone, you stand little chance.”
	The group, the Knothole villagers, all fighting for freedom, gathered their 
wits, and we head out two minutes behind schedule.


**********


	Casino Nights Zone, morning. The night shift ‘bots switch jobs and the 
prostitutes on shift check out and get some rest, and the day shifters come 
in waves, steadfastly ready for the time Robotnik comes by for relaxation.
	There is a very good reason for the worker’s efficiency. Before it was 
reformed, the logic of the workers used to be this: since the animals lined 
up for Robotosization are on a waiting list, there is plenty of time to 
escape if you are ever caught. The animals in the holding pens didn’t know 
this, but the prostitutes and cleaners did. Knowing that they could only 
show up to work if they felt like it reduced the Casino to minimal 
efficiency.
	But the Doctor invented the assembly thing, as well as designed the Casino. 
He can do whatever the f*ck he wants. He is God in this world.
	Five years back he finally hit the breaking point with all that had been 
going on with Manic and the newly completed Ashura. When the good Doctor 
tried to relieve his frustration in his getaway and found the women 
unresponsive and the floors dirty, his mind broke. The girls he decided to 
punish couldn’t be Robotosized because of the loss of blood, but had them 
moved to the front of the assembly line anyway. “Priority subjects,” he 
called them. They were the worst ‘bots ever produced, and were put in the 
Casino as poker and blackjack dealers. It serves as a constant reminder to 
all who reside there that God can f*ck with science, but you can never f*ck 
with God.
	Now, everyone is on their toes, including the citizens living outside the 
Casino itself with no jobs, that just come to work, get paid, buy food, and 
gamble, with buying prostitutes on the side.
	It’s the part of Robotropolis that is the most free, even if there are 
strict rules to follow. It has it’s own little economy, that is derived from 
the Casino, of course, and from money coming in from outside sources. There 
is a school, a cemetery, and a crematorium.
	Nack, the pimp, who also happens to be the mayor of the zone, is very 
nervous now as he sits at the bar in the Casino, watching Robotnik play 
blackjack with an obsolete version of an opponent. Nack’s head turns 
occasionally to the raucous laughter coming from the food court section, 
those voices of Manic and Ashura. Nack had never questioned the Doctor’s 
intentions for putting those two here, but he wished it never happened all 
the same. They were the only ones that could freeload around and not get in 
any trouble. The Doctor didn’t expect miracles from those two, so it was 
okay if they acted like idiots. Mistakes almost never amount to much.
	Almost.
	It pissed Nack off. It was HIS head on the line if the Doctor got fed up or 
angry. It didn’t matter if the Casino was raking in the dough. Money is no 
object to Robotnik, but entertainment is. If it isn’t up to par, heads will 
roll. Nack thought many times that he needed a new way to impress the Dr, 
and trying to get Manic and Ashura to behave was a pain in the ass he didn’t 
need.
	They were both assholes to whoever came in, and their favorite pet to pick 
on was Snively. They made fun of his long nose, his missing hair, and the 
sickening way he talks. Nack figured it was a good thing Snively was above 
complaining to the Doctor about this, or he would have been made a 
Buzzbomber long ago.
	The news of the insubordination of the newest version of Sonic had finally 
reached the ears of Nack, and he was very worried about it. So worried, he 
doubled the prostitutes hourly shifts, much to the dismay of Rouge, who said 
she wanted to spend more time with her daughter.
	“Hey, tell someone who cares, bitch,” He had told her. She gave him one of 
her ‘I’m gonna kill you one day,’ looks and stormed off.
	Sera was another annoyance. Nack had constantly made it abundantly clear to 
her that she was too young to be a whore, and yet she flirted with every 
Dick, Tom, and Harry in the place, immediately jump on the guy’s jock, as he 
put it to her mother. The customer then wants the girl to take for an hour, 
or ten minutes, or whatever, and Nack would always have to disappoint the 
poor guy.
	This nameless animal, any breed, who most likely had a significant other at 
home tending his two pre-school kids, would always walk up to Nack with the 
bat/human half breed and shouts just loud enough for his friends sitting at 
the bar to hear, “This one.”
	“Sorry, man, this ain’t Taxi Driver, she’s too young,” Nack always had to 
say, “but try the mother.
	The guy says, “I’ve had the mother enough times already. I want to see if 
it’s genetic, if it runs in the family.”
	Then Nack would look down and see Sera’s arm around the guy‘s waist.
	“200 dollars.” Nack knew by now how to get out of this situation, whenever 
it arose.
	“F*ck you, man. That’s too much for ten minutes.”
	“ . . . F*ck me?!! F*CK YOU!!!”
	The poor guy would always hold his squirting nose in pain and hurry back to 
his friends. They would be laughing at him. Nack’s knuckles were rock hard.
	Then angry Nack would always grab Sera, the overly flirtatious for an 11 
year old girl, and shove it back to her mother, who was always in the middle 
of something important.
	“Keep a f*cking eye on this little sh*t, or I can’t be responsible for what 
happens to her!!”
	Rouge’s eyes would always flash angrily at Nack.
	“Watch my daughter, or I tell Dr. Robotnik.”
	Threat.
	“I’m sure he would LOVE to hear how you neglected her in a room full of 
drunk males just itchin’ to get off. You even offered money past the 
original price, since she’s such a unique piece of ass.” Sera would always 
start crying, batting her stupid, underdeveloped pink bat eyes at Nack, 
secretly saying ‘Ha, you f*cking idiot! I’ve won again!!’ Mistakes almost 
never amount to anything.
	This always happened. Never failed. Nack gets blamed for everything. Being 
a pimp doesn’t help your credibility as a person.
	“There’s something wrong with that f*cking broad,” Nack thinks out loud to 
Rouge on one occasion. “Chemical imbalance, or some sh*t.” Rouge insisted 
then that it was because of the mixed DNA of human and bat, but that 
explanation was too stupid for Nack. “No, I think she’s hangin’ around you 
too much, Rouge honey.”
	Nack has all of this to consider, plus running the Casino and the zone 
efficiently so he isn’t sent to Robotosization, and now there is news of the 
escapee.
	So, as you can imagine, he had a lot on his mind when he got up from his 
bar stool and approached Robotnik, still wearing the black lab coat that 
always covers his arms and the bottom half of his face, winning very easily 
at the blackjack table.
	“Yo Doc, what’s happenin?”
	“Nothing much, Nack.” The Doctor gets twenty one again. “Something on your 
mind?”
	“Naw, man, just chillin, you know. How you doin’? Anything I can getcha? 
Water? Lovely lady?”
	“Tempting . . . . . but Snively keeps insisting I spend too much time with 
the ladies. I think I’ll keep playing until he arrives.”
	“Whatever you want, but if you want anything else, give me a holla,” Nack 
waited for the Doctor’s reply.
	“Thank you, Nack. I appreciate your help, but I am rather busy right now. 
Maybe later I’ll pay you and your ladies a visit.”
	Nack nodded, said his goodbyes, and left the table. He made a note to 
himself to mention the runaway next visit. It may turn to be a golden 
opportunity.


**********


	It was about ten minutes out before I noticed that all the women were 
staring at me.
	And not just in the curious way, either. Their eyes moved over me lustily, 
pausing on certain parts of my body, thinking what it would be like to have 
me pressed against them, breathing heavily.
	It used to be, before Robotnik came along, that it was procreation, the 
spreading of the genes that drove most mammals. It used to be only humans 
and dolphins that had actually did it for fun, with protection, calling it 
‘sex’. Now, sex drives all mammals. Well, in Robotropolis anyway.
	Although I am a creation, made to be almost mammal, sex doesn’t drive me. I 
am indifferent to the pleasures of what could be called the physical act of 
love, and indifferent to the possibility of having little version of me 
running around (the prospect of the last one is almost frightening).
	No, I am driven by something else entirely . . . . . .
	Tails, Sally, and I are at the front of the line, checking for any signs 
that something unfavorable may happen. In the back of my mind, the computer 
data files still remain fresh. There are things that need to be considered, 
like the traps.
	I promised I will never make myself another victim to one of the traps in 
this place, this living creature. The one that led me to E-102 could’ve 
ended my journey right there, but that’s not what bothered me. What was 
screwing with me was the fact that I was stupid enough to think I would be 
okay.
	As an extra, traps were built along the outskirts of the villages and 
forests. When an animal is caught in one of these traps, a transmitter emits 
a short burst that alerts the nearest ‘bot on patrol. The animal is then 
carried off for it’s eternal encasement inside an infernal machine.
	These transmitters rely on their own power source that can last for ten 
years, but the ‘bots in the area rely on a constant signal from a nearby 
antennae, which is connected to the Scrap Brain Zone‘s power. In this case, 
the antennae belonged to Grounder. The Scrap Brain Zone power was routed 
through Grounder and then branched out to other ‘bots in the area, so the 
power from the animal’s brains was well used.
	Grounder is now dead. His antennae is destroyed. The ‘bots in the area 
would be in disarray, relying on their weak source of power that is well 
faded by the time it reaches them. But, they will also waiting for any 
signal that comes to them.
	This means that if one of us gets caught in the traps, confused but still 
effective patrol ‘bots will converge on our position.
	This half-retarded group of mine treads through the forest, tightly packed, 
with Sally, Tails, and me leading the front, and Antoine carrying our 
grenades in a tightly weaved marijuana sac. There are no traps in the 
forest, I know. There are no patrol routes through the woods. Only 
surveillance.
	It’s unavoidable that we are spotted, but as long as we keep updating our 
positions, we have a chance. As long as we keep the line moving at a 
constant speed.
	It’s harder than it seems, to keep moving. The pregnant women and the young 
ones get tired easily. Already, not even halfway through the woods, and 
people want to stop.
	I figure as long as I keep walking, everyone will follow. I am their 
leader, unwilling, but all the same, still a leader. They’ll follow me 
barefoot, through armies and over mountains, in snow and breathing fire, 
just as long as I go first. Showing them how. Learning through repetition. 
Easier next time.
	Antoine wants to talk to me again. He makes it apparent in the way he drops 
back and forth from the front of the line, with Tails, Sally, and me. I 
finally approach him first.
	“What?” I say to him.
	He points to the sack of grenades he’s carrying.
	“I am hoping I am being safe with this,” Antoine, the accented half-breed, 
says.
	“You are. They wont explode unless you activate them, then you have at 
least five seconds before you die.”
	Death is still a new concept here, so Antoine cringes a little at the word.
	For the next hour, Antoine talks about his life. How discipline was his 
father’s invention, and even though Sally is by right the leader, Antoine 
deserves it anyway. At least, that’s what he thought yesterday.
Now, he feels he can’t handle the responsibility of being in the spotlight, 
especially now, when this new conflict is brought to light.
	“I’ll be doing everything I can to help.” He says as he fades to the back 
of the line again. I am left a little confused by his attempt to be friendly 
with me.
	Sally’s look stays on me when I turn towards her.
	“The forest ends just ahead,” I say.
	The naked sex-driven crowd climbs over the last hill and the great planes 
of Robotropolis come into a brilliant view of the early morning sunlight 
shining through the trees.


**********


	Robotnik twirled his nine inch pocket knife on his finger. He finished his 
game awhile ago, and was whistling and waiting patiently for Snively to 
arrive. He finally came in through the door of the Casino, and immediately 
spotted the Doctor.
	“Well sir, I have to say you have me pleasantly surprised,” he said when he 
came to the Blackjack table.
	“What took you so long?”
	“On my way here, I checked the reports of the power readings. We are five 
percent ahead of schedule.” Snively paused. “I’m proud of you, sir.”
	The Doctor frowned, and let Snively continue.
	“I have to say, I was skeptical as to whether you could pull it off or not, 
since I didn’t know what you exactly had in mind. But you did it, sir, and 
you managed to do it without changing the cycle of the sun, or increasing 
the number of . . .”
	“Snively, shut up.”
	Robotnik lowered his head to the table, his eyes flashing with anger, but 
his face neutral.
	“I haven’t done anything yet,” Robotnik’s voice came out from beneath his 
collar in a strained, clenched voice. Snively, slightly confused, checked 
his stack of papers in his arms. He found the power readings and read across 
to the side column.
	“Oh . . . . . . . sir . . . . . . . . apparently, the report says that 
power is up because less is being drawn out from the ‘bots. And according to 
communications,” He switched to another paper. “. . . . . . No deactivation 
messages were sent out.”
	The Doctor slammed his fist into the table hard and let out a cry of 
frustration. The animals at a nearby table got up and left in a hurry. 
Snively, eyeing the knife in Robotnik‘s hand, took a couple of steps back.
	“He destroyed them all . . . .” Robotnik said just above a whisper. He 
twirled his knife once in his hand. “He is stronger than I thought . . . . 
.”
	“Our runaway, sir?”
	“Yes. I’ll have to make a note of his newfound strength.” The Doctor smiled 
and laughed. “I can’t believe I underestimated him.”
	“So . . . . . . how are you going to . . . .”
	“I said I’d take care of it!” The Doc struggled to remain calm. “Right now, 
I want you to go and get another production line running. Make as many ‘bots 
as possible. I want Buzzbombers, fully battle equipped, motobugs, for quick 
transportation, and those caterpillar things that . . . . . .”
	“SIR!!” Snively cried out, too late realizing that he shouldn’t interrupt 
the Doctor
	Robotnik slammed the knife through a deck of cards and into the table, 
causing the customers in the next room to jump out of their seats and clear 
out. Snively dropped some of his papers and took two more steps back.
	“I STILL will take care of the power problem when I get around to it. Come 
back here when you finish what I have asked. I still have that thing waiting 
for you . . . . . .”
	Snively quickly left, not relishing coming back for the Doctor’s surprise.
	Nearby, hiding behind a corner, a nervous Nack watched the entire 
conversation. When it was over, and Robotnik took his knife out of the 
table, Nack ran off as fast as he could.
	In the room with the couch, various sorts of prostitutes were lounging 
about, resting from the long shift they just had. Bunnie, holding a cold rag 
on her forehead, cringed when the door swung open and slammed against the 
wall. She groaned in pain, and looked up to see Nack standing in the 
doorway.
	“Everybody get up! The Doc’s throwin’ a fit!!”


**********


	I recognize this place . . . . . . .
	Our group finally rested on top of a grassy hill in the middle of the 
sweeping, tall reeds. The mid-morning sunlight shone down upon the hill with 
disdain, and the putrid mocking greenness of it all was sickening. In the 
distance, at some point in the field, the grasses were burned to a dark 
black, radiating in an outward circle, with lighter and lighter colors until 
turning natural again.
	I’ve been here before . . . . . . .
	Also off in the distance, tiny red spots could be seen splattered around, 
like an artist cut himself on the tip of his finger and made flicking 
motions on a photograph of Robotnik’s world. Like round, red faces, staring 
from the distant ground at me. Hunks of metal debris were scattered around 
with the blood. Two wooden crosses, set in the ground, were very faintly 
seen.
	Déjà vu . . . . . . .
	I was introduced to all the villagers, or they introduced themselves. So 
little, yet so many. Names and faces blur together. Bob, James, Nicole, 
Dulcy, Daniel, Rick, Ricky, Rocky, Pocky, Pecky, Cucky, Picky, Wocky, Becky, 
Locky, Tocky, who gives a sh*t? Squirrels, Walruses, Rabbits, Pigs, Monkeys, 
Bears, f*ck. I don’t want to know these people personally. All I care about 
is . . . . .
	After introduction finished, I stood alone as the group went to check their 
surroundings. We were at the edge of the forest, and admired the area around 
the hill. The ground rolled in great waves, then leveled off near the edge 
of trees that eventually started to form. I observed all this, and my eyes 
slowly moved up to the horizon.
	Above the tree tops, smog clouded the structure, but it could still be seen 
if you knew what you were looking at. On a clear day, it would be towering, 
the only real visible thing in the sky, if you could even call it real. 
Stare at it long enough, and it starts to become part of a bad dream. Live 
in it long enough, and it becomes your nightmare.
	The Death Egg. Even though I only saw the outline of it, it still seemed 
just as foreboding. I didn’t realize what I was up against until I saw it 
deluded like it was. Looking at it with Vaseline smeared on my eyes. Through 
thick, boggy milk soup. White noise on a projector after the reel runs 
empty. This is what happens when the world ends. Static.
	I sat down next to Tails, excluded from the group, and we stared off into 
the distance together. My thoughts went back to the field.
	“I’ve seen this already, haven’t I?”
	She nodded. “You killed the Monsignor here.”
	Scratch.
	“You . . . . . gonna tell them?” My group of followers.
	She looked behind me. “They already know.”
	I looked back at the group. They were all silently staring at me.
	“They’re taking it well,” I turned back at the Death Egg. She was silent.
	One of two things occur when the same word is repeated over and over in 
your ear:  either the word loses meaning, or you start to believe them. If 
it works the same for images . . . . . .
	Maybe . . . . . . . I can just drown it out. Like it isn’t there. Stare at 
it long enough and it’s suddenly insignificant. I can abort it from my mind, 
drown it in the bathtub. Nobody will know.
	Before I realize, it’s two hours and my group of freedom fighters still 
haven’t moved. It’s like in The Odyssey where the group spends too much time 
with the temptress. But we’re all staring at the same thing. The f*cking 
Death Egg. The false God.
	The enemy.
	Man, do I need a gun.


**********


	‘Bots take at least two hours to produce. Snively had overseen the 
production and sending out of all the ones the Robotnik had requested. He 
made extra sure that some destruction ‘bots were send to the village where 
the crabmeats attacked. Everything had gone on without a hitch.
	When Snively walked into the Casino, he immediately saw Robotnik, at the 
same table he left him at, talking with Nack.
	Snively groaned, walked to the nearest bar stool and sat down. Too late he 
saw who he sat next to.


**********


	“Isn’t there another way?”
	“I’m afraid not, Nack. The city needs power, as do I.”
	“But . . . . . . . .”
	“Try to understand. I wouldn’t be doing this unless it was absolutely 
necessary.”
	“Is this because Bunnie said she had a headache? Because I can force that 
bitch . . .”
	“No! That’s not it at all. I LOVE your girls. But I have no alternative.”
	“How am I going to tell them . . . . ?”
	Pause.
	“You don’t have to.”
	Pause.
	“Huh?”
	“I’ll send for them tomorrow, in the morning. You can be conveniently 
somewhere else, if you wish. No one could know. I just need you to pick some 
candidates for me.”
	“I . . . . dunno . . . .”
	“Oh come on, I’m sure you have some in mind. They can‘t all be likable.”
	Silence. Long silence.
	“I hear . . . . . talk of a runaway, Doc.”
	Pause.
	 “I could all be bullsh*t, right, but . . . . . . is there anything you 
want me to do?”
	“Maybe.”
	Pause.
	“You’re right, Nack. There is a thorn in my side, and at the moment, he’s 
in real deep. I want him out, but I may underestimate him again, Nack, in 
which case, if he comes down here, you get rid of him.”
	“You got it, Doc.”
	The sweet, inconvenient interruption of laughing.


**********


	“What I’m sayin’, is that you can’t show Schindler’s List and Saving 
Private Ryan to a bunch of subjects that they themselves are slaves of the 
one showing the movie. Ya know what I mean?”
	Snively nodded disgustedly. Manic and Ashura held him down in his seat, 
forcing him to listen. Their forceful hands were pushing him far into the 
stool’s seat, and his back hurt from it being weighed down on.
	“And, yo, what is up with that one hoe, Lain! Man, she is one f*cked up 
bitch.”
	Ashura just smiled slightly and nodded. Manic burst out laughing 
hysterically. Snively could smell the piercing scent of alcohol on their 
breaths.
	“MOTHA F*CKERS!!!”
	The two green hedgehogs looked in the direction of the voice to see Nack 
getting up from a table and coming towards them. They were going to laugh at 
him when they saw who had been sitting at the table with him.
	The two trouble makers stood silent, barely hearing Nack yell at them. 
Everything was muffled, as if they were being smothered with pillows. They 
both saw Robotnik, his head lowered, the collar of his lab coat coming up to 
his mustache. In slow motion, he turned to meet the eyes of Manic and 
Ashura. And . . .
	Although they couldn’t see through the lab coat collar, they both knew it 
was a smile.


**********


	After walking through the thick, voided artists field and the next 
monotonous forest, we finally reached our first priority. “The Chemical 
Plant Zone.”
	“F*ck, the day’s over halfway over.” In the sky, the ball of light is 
getting lower.
	“What does this place do?” I hear Pockey or somebody whisper to me.
	The Chemical Plant Zone has silos, thousands of silos, standing randomly 
about, in the same way the energy arcs do in the Scrap Brain Zone. Each silo 
has its own storage base for leftover chemicals, made from all of the 
preservatives soaking beneath the ground. All of the zones have giant tubes 
buried beneath the surface, deep, where toxicity content is diverted away 
from the water supply and into this area.
	What I don’t get is that there aren’t enough silos to keep chemicals safely 
stored for a period of more than twenty years. It’s not permanent.
	“Shut up. Here’s the situation, people. See off in the distance,” I point 
across the silos stuck in the gritty sand and point to the green valley 
offshore to the black mass set in the ground, “that’s the Hill Top Zone, 
next to the Oil Ocean. My plan was to come through the Hill Tops and contact 
the group there, but we‘re a little off target, and now we don‘t have time 
for it.” They nod. I look up at the fading sun and sigh heavily.
	“So, for now, here’s the plan. I think there are controls here that can 
divert the Oil flow from the Hill Top Zone to the Marble Zone. I’m gonna go 
over there, find a computer terminal, and . . . .”
	They didn’t understand.
	“Anyway, long story short, I need a couple of people to come with me, 
whilst all others are on their own.”
	Antoine, Tails, and Sally volunteer by raising their hands. I didn’t trust 
anybody else.
	“Good. Antoine, pass out the grenades . . . .”


**********


	The lights come on. The Spring Yard Zone comes into full view for two 
seconds before the lights flicker back out again. Off. On. Off. Flicker, 
flicker, repeat.
	Snively stands next to Dr. Robotnik, smoothing back what little hair he has 
left and shuffling his feet.
	“Sir . . . . thanks for saving me from those two . . .”
	“Think nothing of it.”
	It’s a piercing silence, worse than the darkness in between the flickers of 
light, the follows. Robotnik lowers his head and sighs.
	“I haven’t had the dream in awhile, but I had it last night. I thought the 
trouble was passed, but it wasn’t. Isn’t.”
	The lights flicker once or twice again.
	“Last night, Snively, I finished some work I had been doing, or thinking 
about doing. Our runaway is a problem, and his job was of extreme 
importance, but I have replaced him.” The Doc took Snively’s shocked look as 
a good sign. “That‘s part of my surprise for you. After I’m done with my 
research, and our problem is taken care of, the power should be just enough 
to get the job done.” He paused to let it sink in. The Doctor hoped she 
wouldn’t miss her queue.
	“Snively, here is your new job.” The Doc pressed a button on the palmed 
transmitter in his metal hand and watched the lights at the far end of the 
room go bright, and remain on. The other lights still flickered, making the 
multicolored metal stand out even more.
	Snively was absolutely amazed at the brilliancy of Robotnik’s work. What he 
could see was a multicolored suit, shaped like Ashura, Manic, and Sonic, but 
still looked fit for . . . . . A human.
	“Oh . . . No.” Epiphany. “I’m supposed to be inside that thing?!”
	Snively was a fast learner. The Doctor was pleased at this reaction.
	“In addition to other projects in the works, this is the one spearheaded by 
you. I’ve improved the Sonic model in a way that I’ve never done before: non 
A.I. You, in this suit, will be piloting two other robotic version, only 
empty shells, of the Sonic model.”
	Snively frowned.
	“Sir, I can’t say that it’s all that efficient. I mean, A.I. Can react 
faster to situations better than I ever could.”
	“ . . . . . . . . . . Are you saying you want me to Robotosize you, 
Snively?”
	“NO! No, no. I’m just saying that I . . . .”
	“You don’t want the job?”
	“Well . . . . . . What will I be piloting?”
	“Still in production. I was busy working on something else.”
	Snively scoffed. “More!? What is it this time!?”
	“I said I replaced Sonic, didn’t I?”
	Silence again, only this time stunned. The unnoticed lights keep 
flickering. On and off. The Doctor’s voice lowered to a whisper.
	“I had a brainchild after the dream . . . .”
	Snively concentrated hard on the voice, straining to hear above the 
flickering lights and distant humming.
	“A dark, ominous one, like that of a black hole . . . . .”
	Snively was concentrating so hard on the Doctor that he didn’t hear the 
footsteps.
	“The lights are faded to gray and then black, like the end . . . . the end 
of existence.”
	Snively also didn’t register the shadow behind him.
	“Life ends as a dark patch, the opposite of light.”
	Snively also didn’t hear the mechanical breathing until it was too late.
	“The only way we know we’re right is because we know what isn’t.”
	Snively whipped around behind him. The lights in the entire area of the 
Spring Yard Zone stopped flickering, and all was black. The Doctor’s voice 
freely echoed around the complex. Snively couldn’t see the multicolored suit 
anymore.
	“The dark sides of things . . . .”
	A small, dim spotlight came on, shining a few feet away from Snively. He 
saw two feet standing at the edge of the circle, and above it . . . . 
glowing red eyes.
	“Snively . . . .”
	Snively thinks that Robotnik has the same red eyes, but he’s wrong.
	“I want you to meet . . . . .”
	It’s the goggles that make that illusion.
	“My newest model in the line of imperfections . . . . .”
	Get it over with, already. It’s getting painful.
	She didn’t miss her queue. She stepped into the spotlight at the exact 
moment she was supposed to. Snively was speechless. Robotnik almost had 
tears in his non-red eyes.
	“Shadow.”


**********


	Déjà vu again.
	You live life long enough and you start to think of everything in script 
format, like random things are thrown in for the sake of suffering, then are 
conveyed in the most mundane and straightforward of manners, and afterwards 
expecting a reaction of greater or lesser importance. A cup of hot chocolate 
would be good in the morning.
	Voice Over: ‘At the moment, I’m crawling toward an object of which I have 
no proof will be there. It’s a necessity for me to have it. ‘I’m goin’ stir 
crazy here.’ I needed the cold, naked, heavy feel of metal pressed tightly 
in my hand.’
	‘We have in scene three, Sonic, our hero, who kills himself when he 
realizes how much his life sucks. Blood splatters towards the camera, and a 
close up of the gun is shown as credits roll.
	‘Fade to black.’
	I was in one of those philosophical moods as I crawl at a steady pace 
towards Scratch’s decapitated body somewhere ahead of me. I couldn’t see 
anything ahead of me. The grass smothered it all out. Soon, I should have 
been reaching the blood covered blades of green that I saw earlier. I still 
can’t be sure where I’m going, or what direction. I’m being cautious enough 
not to raise my head above the thin line of the top of the grasses, in case 
this IS a trap.
	I felt much better, but I still needed a gun.
	Flash back to the Chemical Plant Zone. I used the same computer program 
that I used last time I hacked into the mainframe. There was no running back 
and forth this time, though. Sally, Tails, and Antoine were my lookouts.
	At least the grass was tall enough to hide my approach. It wouldn’t be 
enough for what was left of my group, so only I went to get Scratch’s gun. 
Tails said she left him where he had fallen, but put two makeshift grave 
markers above his body, to mark where his soul was. When I left, I told the 
group I was going to make our chances better, since all we had were some 
grenades from the crabmeats. We’d stand a  much better chance of I had a 
gun.
	I had distractions as well. I told the other animals to run around the 
complex, dropping a grenade into each of the big shiny flashy things I 
called ‘the power cores.’ I heard explosions rock the foundation where I 
was, inside silo number 27, hacking into the mainframe from a remote 
console. Why they even had it out there I don’t know.
	I was being cautious again, in the field. I thought to myself that you 
could never be too careful. ‘Although this could all be a trap, a vicious 
one, we‘re pressed for time. If I go too slow, use too much of the page, 
we’ll run long.’
	NICOLE, the program I used, accused me of being late for my date with her. 
I told her I was sorry, and requested information, more than I had already 
in my head. And boy, did she have some . . . .
	In front of me, I saw little specks of artist manifestation splattered 
everywhere on the green blades. Blood. I could smell it too. It mixed with 
the smell of the grass.
	Robotnik is planning something. Besides the fact that he ordered the 
destruction of the old village of Knothole, and the production of more 
’bots, he has other things in mind. I now know what it is.
	I was starting to get a huge headache, and part of me wanted to rest. I 
kept crawling, and bits of wreckage appeared in front of me. Obviously, they 
were from the HoverUnit. Memories of that first day were conveyed all around 
me, in the blood, the metal, the sky, the pain, the smells, the voice.
	Robotnik wants to conquer more territory. He wants more than he already 
has, the greedy f*ck. He’s going after the big prize. I’m so gonna f*cking 
kill him, right when I get the chance.
	I finally saw the grave markers, and they were right where they should have 
been. Scratch would have been sneering at me if he still had his head. His 
gun was still clutched in his left hand, while the right’s fingers were 
snapped off.
	NICOLE asked me when I would be back. First I rerouted the oil flow 
controls to the Marble Zone before I gave my reply.
	My fingers clasped around the gun and I stood up.
	“I don’t know.”
	“Oh f*ck!”
	KABOOM!!
	‘Bots all round me held their weapons at me. Buzzbombers flew in circles 
around somewhere. Motobugs and their f*cking big guns swerved to point at 
me.
	Sally had dropped a grenade into the core, and it was like throwing fire on 
gasoline. The heat of the exploded grenade heats the core to blinding hot 
because of a chemical reaction I know nothing about. NICOLE on the computer 
mainframe started to blink out at me, but not before I saw her last words 
that she displayed.
	I’m too surprised to think for a sec, then I sigh and shoot at the nearest 
‘bot, which I guess was a motobug. I dove back into the grass and I watched 
as projectiles and lethal power discharges lanced over my head.
	NICOLE was my own creation, my program, like Robotnik and his robots, and 
me. I abused her as well, but I don’t program her to feel anything. I don’t 
know where she gets the idea to ask me out on dates.
	I’m rolling end over end in the grasses, the gun gripped in my hand, and I 
get up when I think I’m a good distance away and I start running. I see the 
trees in the distance, as well as the second half of the Freedom Fighters 
crouched in hiding at the edge. I’m ignoring them and darting left and 
right, firing behind me at the ‘bots. I figure if I keep updating my 
position they can’t get a fix on me. It’s working at first, then a shot hits 
me in the back and I fall back down to the ground. Déjà vu.
	“Lets go.” I said to Sally. Me and her, we gathered Antoine and Tails and 
we bolted the hell out of there. Just next to the door, I felt the shaking. 
Outside, chaos reined. Silos were tipping over and hitting the sandy ground 
with muffled earthquakes, making sand fly everywhere. At that moment, sand 
was raining from the sky, but it was manna enough to me.
	So, I’m on the ground, bleeding from yet another wound that won’t kill me 
right away, and I become philosophical. The voice comes into my head again.
	Amazingly, it seemed that everyone finished their job at the same time. I 
was outside and I looked to my left and right to see all the freedom 
fighters running with me. The sand falling everywhere and the crashing made 
it look like an extremely coordinated assault. I don’t know if that’s a good 
thing or not.
	“You have a gun now, Sonic.”
	I reached the edge of trees first, and I waited for the others to get to 
me. We watched, all together, one as the Chemical Plant Zone was destroyed. 
And . . . . they were cheering. And laughing. They were shaking each other’s 
hands and slapping each other’s backs. And I’m not exaggerating this, but 
every single person gave Tails a hug. It was quite a sight, and it was 
obvious she didn’t know how to respond. And just as I’m about to break up 
the party, Sally comes over and gives me a kiss full on the lips.
	“Blow your f*cking brains out.”
	When it died down a little, I told the group the new plan.
	“Why else would you use a gun?”
	“Some people need to stay behind. In the morning, when the sun rises 
completely above the trees, is when you will begin your part.”
	I needed to get a good line of sight on the ‘bots coming my way. I could 
hear them, almost too loudly, getting closer to me.
	“The wheels are under the black sludge. You can’t see when you go under it, 
so you may as well keep your eyes closed. Swim straight down, don’t deviate 
from your course, and you should reach it on the first try, and then you’ll 
live to open your eyes again. Turn the wheels ALL THE WAY to the right, or 
you fail, and we’re still slaves.”
	Because I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I started crawling, this 
time away from Scratch’s body. I felt around my back for the hole.
	“Robotnik isn’t stupid. He knows what we’re trying to do. We can’t stay as 
a group anymore. After this group shuts off the valves, another group will 
hold the doorway in the Marble Zone open long enough for the other group to 
get back.”
	The shot landed in the center of the two other wounds, making one big, 
gaping abyss. More of the artist’s manifestation is spilling on his blades 
of grass. I’m starting to wonder how much blood I have left in me. It almost 
seems impossible for someone to be alive after all of this. It’s another 
wound I can’t fix by myself. All I can do is keep crawling, but even that 
makes things little better.
	“All of us are going to die. Either on the outside or in here. You can 
choose where you want it to be.”
	I’m crawling and crawling, and I start to wonder why I haven’t pulled the 
trigger yet. The gun pressed against my chest, so cold and distant, yet so 
warm and near. All I have to do is obey, and I already know how to do that.
	“You guys know how to swim, right?”
	All of a sudden, I hear screaming.
	“Good. Antoine . . . you can lead the group that stays here. Pick the ones 
you want.”
	Not screams of pain, but screams of death. Haggard battle cries.
	He picked Sally, be she refused, and still came back with me. We left our 
companions, half of what we once were, and headed back.
	The freedom fighters. They’re the ones screaming. Despite the danger behind 
me, I bring my head up.
	We didn’t rest this time, and when we came upon the field again, from a 
different angle, and the gun looked so close to me that it would seem like 
the easiest thing I‘d ever done retrieving it. It was at that time I told 
the group where I was going.
	They’re running. Running at the ‘bots behind me, carrying sticks and stones 
and whatever they could grab. Are they f*cking retarded?!
	So, I was crawling towards the gun, and at first I started thinking about 
the new territory Robotnik wanted to conquer. Whatever his plan was, it 
involved a flying machine of some sort. Also, it’s something in the sky that 
he wants, and by the looks of the amount of preparation, it’s not going to 
be easy taking it. Whoever ran that place was one tough hombre.
	I eyed the animals carefully, and none of them were being cut down by 
weapons fire. I was confused at first, then it came to me as to why they 
weren’t dying. The ’bots weren’t made to attack these people, only bring 
them for Robotosization, willfully.  They didn’t expect this.
	And so here I am, lying in the grass, gaping hole in my back, and I’m 
deciding whether or not I can go on with this. If I should just end my 
existence here instead of just trying. There is no peace while your living, 
but in death you can find it.
	I think that, because of the hard plastic, I’ll have to aim the gun in 
either my mouth, my heart, or my eye.
	Blood still flows through the body even ten seconds after the heart is 
destroyed. The Doctor made sure to point this out in movies, whenever bad 
guys were shot in the heart and immediately fell down and died. The only way 
that would happen would be if it hit the spinal cord.
	If you don’t aim correctly when shooting yourself in the eyes, you’ll just 
become a vegetable. You have to aim for the brain stem, cut off the heart 
rate and lung controller, and you’re guaranteed a place in the afterlife. 
The brain stem is also called the medulla oblongata.
	Since when did suicide become so hard?
	F*ck this.
	Barely thinking, I got up from the grass and fired off shot after shot into 
the crowd of ‘bots. The animals haven’t reached them yet, but they’re still 
screaming at the top of their lungs. Before I waste my ammo, I drop the gun 
and start running for them.
	The group reaches the ‘bots before I do, and they’re mimicking me from the 
day before. They’re ripping off shell casing and pounding eye stalks. The 
‘bots fight back, but are still in disarray. This is exactly what happened 
with Rotor. He took on four of them at once.
	I saw different ‘bots raising their weapons at the crowd, and each time I 
ran towards it and buzz sawed it in half.
	I was right. It does get easier.
	Sally was fighting like a raving psycho. She’s biting off limbs, she’s 
kicking, and she’s punching like an animal trapped in a cage, which isn’t so 
far from the truth. Blood’s dripping from her mouth and her knuckles are raw 
from the pounding. From this angle she’s not so bad looking.
	Tails, the one I thought was sweet and innocent, is picking up ‘bots and 
dropping them from a dangerous height.
	Through all of this, nobody dies except the ‘bots. I have no idea how this 
happened. Maybe they snapped out of their stupor and decided to fight back, 
harshly. Innocence is lost.
	Robotnik sent these ’bots here to bring me back. When he finds out that 
they’re all destroyed, it won’t be principle anymore . . . . . it will be 
war.
	We stop fighting and nothing is left. Parts are scattered so far that they 
reach both edges of the trees. All the freedom fighters breath heavily, and 
hunch over themselves. They all vomit. And despite this, they get up and 
cheer.
	This grass will never be green again.


**********


	Nack leaned back in his chair and sighed. He finished his list about two 
hours prior, but still had yet to turn it in to the Doctor.
	The names on it, even though they were some of his worst prostitutes, they 
were still his. And he hated giving something up.
	He looked at the name at the top of the list, and sighed.
	“Sorry, girl,” he said to himself, “but you shouldn’t have gotten a 
headache.”
	And with that, he went to go turn in his list.


**********


	Snively walked cautiously up to Robotnik in his laboratory.
	“Hello, my dear boy. You have come just in time. I was putting the 
finishing touches on what you’ll be controlling.”
	Snively looked at what the Doctor was working on. It appeared to be another 
version of the Sonic model, only hard cased in silver. He also noticed 
Shadow standing against the far wall to the right, eyeing Snively 
suspiciously.
	“Um . . . Sir, I have bad new.” He was not going to like this at all. “The 
Chemical Plant Zone is unsalvageable. All of the power cores were 
destroyed.”
	Robotnik stopped working and turned around.
	“Also, Sir, two hours ago, we lost contact with our attack ‘bots.”
	The Doctor lowered his head.
	“They’re gone, sir.”
	At first, silence. The Robotnik let out a cry of rage and slammed his fist 
into the abdomen of the Silver Sonic model. It let out a clang that echoed 
through the entire room. Shadow, barely visible in the corner, smiled.
	Robotnik pulled his metal fist away, revealing the imprint in the model’s 
casing. He held his fist in his hand.
	“Make more.”
	“SIR!!”
	“Make one hundred ‘bots, streamlined, and send half of them to the Hill Top 
Zone, and the other half to the Marble Zone. Make them all with full attack 
percentage. I want everyone that fights dead.”
	Snively groaned. The Doctor picked up a wrench.
	“I know what the little f*cker is trying to do.”
	He turned his head towards Shadow. Eggman grinned at her beneath his lab 
coat collar.
	“It’s war now.”


**********


	I’m in Sally’s hut, and I can feel her steady breathing next to me. She 
sounds contented enough.
	When we got back to our village in the forest, she asked me to join her in 
her hut. Intrigued at what she could possibly want, I followed her.
	“I . . . . .” she started to say.
	I waited patiently for her to speak, but instead she came closer to me.
	“I like you,” Sally said as she wrapped her arms around my neck.
	I just stared at her.
	“A lot,” She said, her face very close to mine.
	She just liked the way I looked. Or she was looking for a change of pace.
	I shrugged in her arms. “Ok,” I said indifferently.
	Behind Sally lay her bed. She tipped herself backward and we fell on the 
bed.
	“Come on,” she said. “Don’t you find me attractive?”
	A little.
	I nodded.
	“Well . . . . . let’s do it, then.”
	The problem wasn’t that she was attractive or not. The problem was that 
even though I liked her, I still hated her. But . . . . . .
	She kissed me full on the mouth, this time slipping her tongue in. I 
wrapped my arms around her.
	Some time in the middle of it, I told her that, for one, I had never done 
this before, and two, she would have to tell me what she wanted.
	And she did.
	That f*cking pervert of a Doctor. He made me fully eqipped.
	It seemed that it was all I was good for, just being told what to do.
	I’m not driven by this. F*cking, I mean. Sex. Most mammals are. I’m not. 
I’ll tell you what I’m driven by.
	Happiness.
	Not mine. I couldn’t give a sh*t about myself. Well, sort of. But . . . .
	It’s like this. Sally needs me to f*ck her to be happy. The animals need to 
be free to be happy.
	It’s what I do. I reduce suffering. I go get you your coffee in the 
morning. I give you money when you ask for some. I feed you soup when you’re 
sick. I cook your favorite food for you that’s so hard to make. A slave to 
myself to someone else to someone else, on and on.
	“Here, borrow my car. Take my wallet. Can’t stand your life, here’s a 
bullet in the head. Here, jump on me, have your way with me. Just don’t 
expect me to really care about you.”
	Well, we’re in our third position, I’m sitting up and Sally in on my lap, 
but I can’t see her because my face is buried in her chest.  It’s here where 
I start to feel like a porn star, except there’s no camera around.
	I must be doing good, since she wants even more of it. I hear her muffle 
cries as she rides me up and down. It’s been going on for two hours, and the 
sun is down.
	“We have a battle tomorrow,” I say to her. “You won’t have enough strength 
to escape tomorrow.”
	You’ll regret this in the morning, in other words. Maybe even before then. 
As soon as your orgasm subsides, you won’t want to see me anymore.
	“Please,” she says in between gasps. “I need this . . . . .”
	Don’t say it.
	“I need you.”
	Don’t say it.
	“I love you.”
	Sh*t. She said it. Great, Sally loves me. In my mind, NICOLE’s last words 
flash before me, in memory.
	“I LOVE YOU, SONIC,”
	I didn’t program her to feel, and yet she does. It’s like a malfunction.
	Emotions are like that.
	I remember some R rated movies I watched, where a man wants to have some 
more sex, and the woman grins and says, “You’re a machine!!”
	It would bother me if Sally said this. It bothers me enough that she loves 
me.
	It could be because it’s the best sex she’s ever had, but I wonder. Usually 
they shout ‘Oh God’ when they’re being ridden hard and deep. Or so I’ve 
seen.
	Sally keeps out the God part, I think because I took that away from her. 
Now she’s taken something from me. We’re even now.
	Well, almost.
	It’s finally over, and she lays next to me, sweating, and she turns towards 
me and smiles.
	“Thank you.”
	“Glad to help,” I say.
	She wraps her arms around me waist and sighs contently.
	“I can leave if you want,” I say.
	“No, I want you to stay.”
	F*ck, she really does love me. Again, I have no idea how this happened.
	She gets off on me, I get off on her happiness. It’s a cycle.
	“This isn’t some one night stand,” she says to me, almost asleep. “I don’t 
care if you get us out here or not. What matters is that we try. If we die, 
we die together, in here or out there.”
	She lays her head against my chest and falls asleep. And for some reason, I 
do too.


**********


	The biggest tease in the world is thinking you’re invincible and finding 
out you’re not.
	If we’re all happy, we’re bored. Nothing happens. It may as well be 
inexistence. So I’ve grown, but so what? Look where it’s gotten me . . . . . 
.
	It’s all pointless in the past. It matters in the moment.
	All this negative sh*t is making me f*cking depressed. If I had a gun, I’d 
shoot myself.
	If I had a finger, I’d pull the trigger.
	If I had a hand, I’d move my finger.
	I could go on and on, but it wouldn’t matter. The puddle on the floor is 
already bigger than me, than both of us.
	My only witness to my account are the unmoving eyes that glow at me from 
behind the thick dark.


The End of Tuesday

Sean’s Email: carringtonagent@hotmail.com
Michael Griffin’s Email: mgriffin@bak.rr.com
Sketchy Comic. www.angelfire.com/anime2/griller 
<https://www.angelfire.com/anime2/griller> (it’s somewhere on that site)
		Comments are appreciated. (I really mean that.)