A note on the commentaries: This was made as a sort of afterthought to the writing project that is Sonic : Sketchy. Over the course of a couple of months, me and MC have been composing these commentaries to present, just because we thought it would be a neat thing to do. I don’t know if we’ll be doing any joint-simultaneous commentaries in the future or not, but for now, it is only going to be me and him. And possibly Normal Dave, but who knows.
I’m typing this alone in my room on my Compaq computer notebook on an uncomfortable bed listening to either Bad Religion or Korn, so please, forgive me if I come off bitter at times. It’s the drugs. It’s society.
Actually, it’s me.
I guess what I’m somewhat worried about is ffnet deleting this because of the similarities to a MST. Oh well, fuck, it’s not like a great injustice would be done. I mean, all I’m basically doing is complaining about a mediocre story that I posted a year ago that’s barely worth reading. In fact, I commend the moderators if they do, in fact, get rid of this god awful beginning to a rise to what everyone says is cool.
Uh, I mean . . . . . Sketchy rocks?
So, without further masturbating, here comes the real sex. Enjoy or I’ll cry.
Sonic: Sketchy
Concept by M.C. Griffen
Jesus, gimme a break. So I spelled his name wrong. I apologized already. Let it go.
Story by Sean Catlett
(Sarcasm)
Sunday
I decided to make the chapters into days since it obviously took the span of how Sonic escaped. This, of course, meant I would have to shorten it from being like a TV show to more like a mini series. I liked the way it worked out.
This place. I can’t stand this place. The walls seem to no longer accept me, rejecting me. I could swear that this place is alive. It’s almost like the inside of an organ, and I’m like a foreign invader, a replacement limb taken from a different species. It knows I don’t belong here, it knows that I am all wrong for the tasks it needs me for, and worst of all, it knows enough to get rid of me. It’s now trying to sweat me out of its pores.
So I do the thing I’m built for . . . . . .
I run.
This entire beginning was first written on lined paper because my computer was dead. I brought the tattered notes to MC’s house and showed him what I had so far. He liked it, but offered a few tips on Sonic’s character. More like Edward Norton than Jaleel White, he said.
It seemed all I did was run anymore. Running is what I did best, but I was required to do so. This wasn’t freedom, only doing what was needed, then retiring for the day. Well, now I wasn’t running for him. . . . . . I was running for me.
You see, I was the Eggman’s errand boy, his little lackey. I was expected to do whatever, whenever, however he wanted. One of his many slaves, but even that’s a lie. He made me better than that.
Those last two sentences were written by MC himself on that lined paper. He told me to keep referring back to the fact he was a slave. Anger could come in a little later.
I remember when I was born, about 4 years ago (well, I wasn’t so much born as I was created, invented, made, and pieced together from blue plastic and hedgehog anatomy). I had the distinct feeling of content ness with my work. I used to have to round up new subjects for Robotosization, but now he has more capable robots for that. Now I’m just used as a Gopher boy. But once again, I’m too good for both of those jobs.
Last three sentences written by MC.
You know, now that I think about it, I realize that I was, at one point, almost as bad as he was. I never questioned orders, or thought of the moral implications of sending living creatures off to their enslavement. In fact, I almost enjoyed hearing them whimper and squirm as I escorted them to the Scrap Brain Zone.
I admit it starts off confusing, but that’s just so it can be explained later. The problem is that I think I alienated most readers from the vague beginnings. Oh well.
Until one day, when my outlook changed.
**********
I call him ‘Boomer‘, because I didn’t know his real name, and ‘Boomer’ pretty much summed up his appearance. A fat, slightly taller than twice my height, walrus. Sort of fat, but not THAT fat. I speculate that Robotnik must have engineered his kind to withstand a grassy, forest environment, as I assumed a regular walrus would have been uncomfortable in such a place.
Ah, Boomer. I chose to combine the difference in his name from Archie comics and the Saturday morning cartoon in a clever way, or at least I think so. This was actually my favorite thing that I did in this chapter.
I remember trying to decide which original freedom fighter would get to be the plot device that died in one chapter. I chose Rotor in the end because he seemed to be the least important character, just the guy who was smart. Oh, and fat. Don’t forget the fat part.
His role is somewhat more pivotal in Sketchy, but I always regret using him like this. I wanted him to be bigger. I actually liked Rotor.
But I had plans for Bunnie and Antoine. So, hey, sorry bud.
‘Boomer’ was damn sure uncomfortable now, but he did his best to hide it as he was escorted to the Scrap Brain Zone to be Robotosized. Two Buzzbombers flew both in front and behind, but they wouldn’t have been needed. He couldn’t have outrun me even if he tried.
Later referenced. Hehe, repeated lines are the best, aren’t they?
‘Boomer’ was squirming slightly as he walked. He looked like he wanted to talk to me, but was working up the courage. It was almost like he was a little scared of me (I would’ve been).
My English teacher says that parenthesis take away from the experience of reading. I now take her advice.
He finally said something. “Would you . . . . mind telling me where you’re taking me?” he said innocently.
“It’s best not to know,” I told him. I saw no point in telling him, since it wouldn’t matter in a couple of minutes anyway.
He turned his head ever so slightly towards me. “I’ll try.”
I said nothing, just walked with him.
It’s hard to keep track of things sometimes. I had to read my own series numerous times before I felt comfortable with submitting the final copy to MC. And even then I still had some problems.
“It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about my family, back at Knothole. I went out to find food about 2 hours ago. They’ll be beginning to wonder about me.”
The first mention of the village. Him being from there is almost never mentioned, maybe twice, in the later chapters. This was because I did not want his origin to become a huge plot device. So Sonic never mentions that he knows Rotor. Just that he knew ‘a walrus guy.’
Knothole, did he say? I wasn’t familiar with that name. Must have been a city in one of Robotnik’s holding zones.
“I haven’t seen you before, in any of the cities I’ve ever visited,” he continued. “Where do you come from?”
Hmm, sounds like he thought that I was captured with him. (Hell, I was starting to question whether he knew he was captured himself!).
Arrg, more parenthesis.
“Here,” I said, motioning around me, indicating the entire metal structure towering around us, neon beams pulsing.
His eyes grew wide. He stopped walking and suddenly was very energetic and excited.
“I KNEW you were as important as you looked!” he exclaimed. “It must be wonderful to live with the demigods.”
Demigods? Did he mean the Buzzbombers?
A lot of speculation on Sonic’s part so far, mostly for the reader‘s benefit. I still think that this day is the most horribly written of the series. Mediocre at best. But that’s me, and I have this self loathing problem. Ummmm………..moving on……
“I’ve only heard stories,” ’Boomer’ babbled on. “about how only worthy people are chosen to come live here. Is . . . . Is this why I’m here. Have I been chosen?”
. . . . . . . . . Ok, this was starting to irritate me. Did everyone like him think that those assholes were demigods?
“Is it as wonderful as I think, living in paradise?”
I couldn’t listen to this anymore. I stopped walking and turned angrily to him.
The first fuck words are coming in the next paragraph. It was largely written by MC on the lined paper, with little notes off to the side that said “Cussing = more emotion.” Since I wanted Sonic to be a brat in his early days, anger was important to me. MC is God, apparently, because it kicked ass.
Sorry. It kicked FUCKING ass.
“Shut the fuck up and listen the fuck up! Your ‘Gods’ are machines! The Death Egg is not fuckin paradise!! And the only thing you have to look forward to is helpless enslavement. Dwell on THAT and quit bothering me . . . . . . .!” WOO!
**********
It took me about 6 months after that incident to realize what a fucking fink Robotnik is. I finally took some initiative and decided to first start by hacking into the Death Egg’s central computer. It took me a year to memorize the entire database.
The entire background of Sonic using the database as a means for information was used to illustrate 1) that he wasn’t told a hell of a lot while he was an errand boy, and 2) a means to show that he can be resourceful when he needs to be. Like I said, it’s not that well written.
It would have taken me a lot faster, but hacking into a maximum security computer isn’t easy when a security ‘bot goes by every 10 seconds. As fast as I am, I can only do so much with that small of a window. And I was VERY careful.
I had made a promise to myself to memorize every bit of information contained in the database, so I would be totally prepared for what I was about to face. I had plans for leaving Robotnik’s lie, but I had never been outside the Death Egg, which I learned stood in the exact center of Robotropolis, his ENTIRE domain, which stretched for miles on end. I knew for an area of that size, a computer database about it would be huge. I knew it would take awhile, especially if I was meticulous with not getting caught, but I wanted to make sure that I at least knew most of what I was up against.
Background, background, background.
While I couldn’t hack or assimilate information, I made sure to keep up the front that I was still a happy little worker. I kept doing what I had been doing, leading mammals off for Robotosization, even though it made me sick.
Brought up in later days.
And every weekend, the Eggman would ask me to accompany him to the screening room, which he built for some sort of flying machine. I had NO idea why, but he would show me movies for an entire day. His explanation for doing this was ‘to teach me valuable things about life’. I got nothing out of it.
Foreshadowing of the “Flying Machine.”
On one of these outings, I asked Robotnik why he built all of this. “Why go to all the trouble?” I asked.
“I wanted to do something great for my kind,” the Eggman said. “Now I can finally get the respect I deserve . . . .”
Most of the above is later referenced, to illustrate Sonic’s inability to see what he really wants to. Or rather, needs to.
Just then, I realized how tangibly evil he is. Like a fat version of Darth Vader, without the cool costume or hidden innocence. Maybe he shouldn’t have put images of good and evil in my head with those goddamn movies. But maybe then I wouldn’t be doing this. The Darth Vader line was going to be the start of a running gag, stemmed from Sonic being exposed to the movies in Robotnik’s little show room, but it fell apart and I have all but abandoned it.
**********
And here I am now, running from Robotnik and his evil. It’s been 4 years since I was ‘born’, 2 years since I met ‘Boomer’ the walrus, 1 year since I started memorizing information from the computer, and 1 week since I had the last words into my head.
I always seem to have a problem with specifying with dates. I’m sure I made a mistake somewhere in there, too.
I then asked Robotnik for the next 2 days off (that would get me a head start). I’m hoping it didn’t make him suspicious. He seemed oblivious enough of my insubordination. (I wanted my 2 week notice to come in 2 weeks after I left).
Plot explanation.
Then I took off running. I wanted out of this hell hole fast, but I also wanted to do it quietly. This was priority #1. I tried not to think about what to do when I left the Death Egg. Maybe I’d look for the place that ‘Boomer’ was from.
AHA! The next step. He’s thinking ahead. Everyone needs a goal, and his is . . . . . . Well, to kill the Doctor, but he also wants to make amends for all of the animals he has killed.
Home was a small cot on the 1999th floor of Robotnik’s round fortress. I am now trying to get to the 150th where security starts to slacken so I can steal a HoverUnit. Currently, I’m on the 1439th floor, and so far I’ve gone undetected.
Yes, it’s a Fight Club reference.
Even though I had hacked into the entire system, the computer was vague and secretive about many things. For instance, it did not give away the location of ALL the traps on ALL the floors (the official reason I thought was for security, but I’m slightly worried about why they weren’t listed). I tried to piece the computer info with what I had learned during my existence. Even after that, there were still missing pieces.
I’m worried about security for a reason: the corridor in front of me is rather suspicious (as far as corridors go, I guess). I knew absolutely nothing about it, which is HIGHLY unusual in this place. I knew something about EVERY corridor that I had passed so far (as far as I knew. I hadn’t run into any trouble, so I take it I was still undetected).
Those parenthesis are going to stop soon. I promise. Also, as Stephen Zacharus and David Macintyre have both pointed out to me, past and present tense in my writings tend to be jumbled. I never used to really care all that much, but at least in this series I give a plot explanation.
I looked around the corner for the millionth time, still finding nothing. I weighed my options:
1) Looking for an alternate route: It would take time. It’s been 3 days since I asked Robotnik for 2 sick days. He probably is wondering why I haven’t reported in yet. Most likely he would soon discover I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be. The clock was ticking down . . . .
2)Backtracking a short ways back: Again, more time would be used. Slightly less, albeit, but it was still using a precious commodity. Plus, I would be pressing my luck with the patrol ’bots I’ve already fooled (this one holds the same problems as the above choice).
3) Taking my chances in the hallway: The more I thought about it, the more easy this decision seemed to me. If my intuition turned out to be bogus, then I would’ve wasted valuable minutes if I’d chosen the above 2 choices. God could I use some time.
Again, steps and structure, the way it all starts out before it all goes wrong. Coming up is also mention of “others” of Robotnik’s that do not like Sonic very much. The voice is introduced in here as well. Strange, though, notice how Snively is never mentioned by Sonic in this chapter.
Also, I used word bullets and numbers to illustrate my point! I’m a fucking genius!!!
Then again, if it WAS a trap, all hope for me would be lost. Robotnik sure as shit wouldn’t let all this slide. He would most likely send me to conditioning, Robotosization, or possibly total eradication. His other creations would LOVE that (I was increasingly becoming more and more unpopular with them since Robotnik favored me. It would be wonderful to them if I left, but even more so if they were the ones who got rid of me). But I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I decided to take my chances with the corridor. If you didn’t take risks, you got no rewards. I started walking up the hallway, confident and sure of myself for the first time in days.
Then the floor dropped out from under me. I was playing slightly with the spacing and the word usage, and the last sentence actually shows the first signs of a style I become quite fond of. Course, by now it’s probably going to be played out and tired. Oh well.
**********
“ . . . . . . is EVERYONE as fuckin naive as you?!”
I finished my long tirade of explanation. ‘Boomer’ just stood there, looking completely crushed.
“No . . . . . ,” he muttered. “You’re lying.” He looked like he was either about to cry or scream at me. Couldn’t decide which.
Another beginning of the sentence fragments I seem to always use. My grammar checker has field days.
He responded in the way I expected him to, but I couldn’t blame him. I might have the same way (except I wouldn’t have acted like such a bitch about it).
Maybe they won’t . . . . . . . .
“Then . . . . . . Why was I chosen?”
“Listen, you weren’t chosen, you were fuckin captured. You just happened to be where the Buzzbombers were. You were captured because of Robotnik’s need for you . . . .”
“Who’s RoBUTTnik?” he interrupted.
Yes, yes, trying to cram as many references as possible in here. It’s the entire point of it all, though. The merging of universes. The screwing up of something perfect. The stealing. The borrowing. Only when you see a broken mirror of yourself do you really begin to question what went wrong.
My patience was wearing thin. I did my best not to yell at the guy.
“That’s RoBOTnik. This is his place, Robotropolis. It’s his domain, his HOME. Robotnik needs you for two things: labor and power. Because of his domain’s size, it needs a lot of maintenance. And that’s where you come in.” I suddenly turned into “Joe the explainer” from all those movies Robotnik made me watch. I didn’t care. I was pissed.
Obviously, I had not found the long spaces yet. Now my paragraphs are no longer than three sentences, and if they are, there is a damn good reason for it. The general average, though, is about 3-4 sentences, counting fragments. Or maybe not, but whatever. Blame Glamorama. It corrupted me Stupid Bret Easton Ellis . . . . .
“So . . . . what now?” he shakily asked, small tears streaming down his face.
“You fucking putz. Right now, I’m supposed to escort you to the Scrap Brain Zone to be Robotosized. Now, I know that doesn’t sound good, and that’s because it isn’t. Now, wipe off your face and quit ‘yer fuckin blubbering (he cant stop his blubbering, he’s a fuckin walrus).” MC, as always, helping with the anger, but I probably fucked it up with those PARENTHESIS!! GODDAMMIT!!! Eh.
**********
I fell for what seemed like a long time, which was good, since it gave me a chance to rest, but more for a chance to mentally chastise myself for being so goddamn stupid. “I should’ve fucking gone around!” and so forth. It was a childish way of dealing with what happened to me. I didn’t know WHAT was in store for me next. The voice in my head was REALLY mad at me.
Noticed how everything that Sonic says starts out so technical; so exact. Then it gradually degrades as the character slowly loses touch with himself. This is not an accident.
Finally, I landed.
“Shit . . . . . ” That hurt a little, sending shocks up my spine. I shook it off and took a look at where I was.
“Shit.” I was in the Scrap Brain Zone. This wasn’t good. It was the one place in Robotropolis I DIDN’T want to be.
Not only did this area serve to Robotosize newly captured mammals, but it also held their brain energies, in the form of different sized electric arcs, all connected by powerful electricity. This harnessed the brain energies into a useable power source. These tall electrical staffs/arcs were as far as I could see, running from arc to arc for miles on end.
“Shit!” I was trapped. Suddenly, flood lights turned on above me, almost blinding me. I looked at the source of them.
The “shit” sequence was stolen from the comic version of Sketchy, and I hope I did it justice because I thought it was really funny when I read it.
“Oh SHIT!!” It was E-102, Robotnik’s personal robotic assassin, standing on a platform above me. This was NOT going to be an easy day. To me, he looked big and bulky, but I knew from the report (and experience with him) that he had a full compliment of gun emplacements on almost his whole body. GATT ling guns as arms, missile launchers on his back. He had it where it counted for a lot. As I said, this was NOT going to be an easy day.
“So, what time do I clock in tomorrow?” E-102 didn’t laugh.
And Neither did I.
“BY ORDER OF ROBOTNIK, REPORT BACK TO DUTY, OR EXCESSIVE FORCE WILL BE USED.”
Just my luck I’d run into this dinger bastard. I’d rather tango with 10 Buzzbombers any day than him. It’d be much more fun, because they at least frown at you when you say something that you think is funny. E-102 just sits there expressionless, like he was doing right now . . . . . . . I hate him so much.
Dinger bastard is from Conker’s Bad Fur Day. I don’t know how many of you caught that, but all of you should eventually, if you know what I mean. . . . . . . . . . . play the game.
Options . . . . . . . there were always options, out of any given situation. Taking a look at my surroundings a second time, I looked for an option that would work in my favor. As I did, I thought back to the reports of this place . . . .
Coming up is one of the first times I did my star, star, star cut-to sequence thing, this time not referring back to any past event, but instead a recap of knowledge.
*********
I mentally skipped through the statistical reports, and concentrated on certain incidents. Let’s see . . . . . . there were thousands of documented cases when Buzzbombers lost control of themselves (because of the static that this place conducted) and flew into one of the energy arcs on their patrols. Their casings would harden, and its circuits would short out. Every week or so a ‘cleaner’ ‘bot would be sent to find any lying around.
All in one paragraph. Man.
**********
Then I thought of the Buzzbomber blue-print. Since they were mass-produced on an assembly line, they had interchangeable parts, like ALL of the ‘bots in Robotnik’s domain. Also, there was a stipulation: if in a case a Buzzbomber’s emplacement was the only thing undamaged in a fire fight, a completely different ‘bot whose gun placement was the ONLY thing damaged in a fight, could take that hand gun, press the button on the side, and add it to their body with no problem.
**********
The gun report. Pressing the button on the side would turn on the gun’s “fit” mechanism, meaning that the gun would fit into anything that was holding it while it was moving. In essence, ‘bots mass-produced in the Death Egg could have a “weapon exchange program” and not have any incompatibilities.
All MC’s idea, the “weapon exchange program” thing. Hell, I thought it was neat, so I had fun trying to explain it.
Also, I noticed that I fucked up a little on the Death Egg, in mentioning it too early. Some foreshadowing would have been nice. Oops.
**********
And how was all of this useful to me? Because I see a shorted out Buzzbomber 20 feet to my left, lying past 3 pairs of electrical fields. It looked like a tight fit between the fields (about 2 feet wide), but it was better than giving up. (Anything was better than giving up). But in order for me to get to it, I needed a small distraction.
The past and present tense I had not mastered, or still haven’t. I still struggle with it all, and since this is my first real fanfic, I didn’t give a shit about it all too much, and it shows. Eventually, I was shown the way by other authors, to fix in future stories, but as for this one, and Jaspul, I gave plot explanations.
I did my best Robotnik voice impression. “E-102, shut down for the day and come to my office, and bring my bird with you.” I was hoping to keep him busy.
Ugh. Horrible.
Oh, wait, one of the better parts is coming up.
As he tried to make sense out of what I’d said, I dove to my immediate left. I twisted my body into what I thought was a good Hedgehog pretzel, and curled up my extremities. I missed the arcs by inches. Dimly I heard E-102’s guns whir into place to fire on me.
Now the gun. I ignored the ‘surprisingly loud’ whirring of guns and I outstretched my right hand. I turned in mid-air so I could easily grab it when I sailed past. I jammed my hand into the Buzzbomber’s hardened casing, shattering it. I found what I was looking for and gripped it tightly. This swung me down to the ground on my right side.
Using my shoulder to absorb most of the impact, I utilized my momentum and came up standing. As I did this, I thumbed the button on the newly retrieved gun and sent it into ‘pedestrian’ mode. E-102’s guns were blazing. I thought I was dead. “Fuck!” the exasperated voice in my head yelled. “You’re too slow.”
Lucky for me, though, E-102 considered me a big enough threat to launch a missile at me. Idiot didn’t consider what would happen if it happened to explode next to an energy staff. Assassin indeed.
KABOOOOOOOOOM!!!!
The explosion from the staff knocked me back 50 or so yards, I can’t be sure. It’s sketchy in my mind. But I DO remember thinking two things:
“Boy, I sure hope I don’t fly into an energy arc.” and “Heh, idiot didn’t realize he was sitting below an energy arc.”
Anti-climatic action sequence. It’s a fucking shame, too, that E-102 didn’t take on a bigger role. Just a side reference. A plot device. Oh, and I say the titular line. So it’s explained. Yeah. Sure.
So, when I woke up seconds or minutes later, I realized that that was E-102 melting in the distance. Because of the explosion, the energy arcs within a 50 yard radius were destroyed. I figured that either the explosion from the destroyed arc either destroyed the one above him as well, or I fired a shot at it. Either way, it seemed anti-climactic to me. I kinda wanted to Buzz saw his ass.
I walked up to him slowly, so my head would stop hurting. E-102 was steadily on his way to becoming a melted puddle on the floor. I decided to end his misery quickly, so I raised my foot and kicked him in his halfway melted breast plate.
Unexpectedly, his chest exploded outward. I shielded myself from the debris with my arms. When the smoke cleared, I had an un-obstructed view of what made E-102 tick . . . . . . . . .
This is what I mean. The raccoon. That’s all E-102 was good for. Suck.
**********
“You see, Robotosization is not the direct conversion of animals to robot as you may think it is. It’s really just the repeated placing of metal parts upon flesh until the original animal is no longer recognizable. Then the body runs the ‘bot parts like a battery. The “once” animal has no freewill, because all thoughts are diverted here, to the Scrap Brain Zone, hence the arcs of electricity. In a sense, the animal is still alive, but he is a slave, his thoughts never being able to move it’s body. Ever see that movie Being John Malkovich, where . . . . . .”
My explanation was cut short. ‘Boomer’ took a swing at me.
In fact, there are only a couple of things redeemable about this day, one being the Rotor side plot, and where it ends up. The other I’ll talk about later when it comes.
Also, Sonic, right here, is talking a lot like a future character introduced. Also, he mentions a movie. Yay.
**********
A Raccoon sat inside of E-102, tubes entering and exiting it’s body. The sight of it disgusted me, yet I didn’t look away. It looked as if caught in a state halfway between life and death. It’s body contorted in anguish, his arms hanging limply outwards, and his eyes . . . . . . . it’s eyes seemed to peer into me, reading my thoughts, wanting to live as me . . . . . . .
Ah, faithful raccoon. He makes appearances in later days. He is cool. I like him.
The gun was no longer in my hand. I assumed it must’ve been thrown across the room somewhere. I needed a replacement gun . . . . . . ANY gun.
E-102’s looked in good shape, just a little melted. I picked it off of his body and pressed the button on the side. It whirred into it’s fit mechanism. “Good,” I thought. “Still works. Wonder if it still fires.” I tested it out on the Raccoon’s head.
It worked perfectly.
Groan, MC, come on! Groan when you read that! Ha ha ha! Ahhh . . . . . violence.
Just then I realized that alarms were blaring all over the place. Thousands of Buzzbombers and God-knows-what would soon converge on my position. I needed a way out . . . . . . . . . .
The gun. That was a way out.
I put the gun to my head. It might come to this, if I ran out of options.
“What do you do when the food is cold, the stores are closed, and all the clocks say Shit:50?”
You wait 10 minutes.
Ah, best thing written by MC, ever. He told me that one after school one day, too, I think, about a month or so before I started writing.
I lowered the gun and sat down on the cold floor. Ten minutes came too quickly.
Notice the repeated references to temperature, time, sound, color, and light.
**********
Since I was built to be super fast, I perceived everything differently, as if life were moving in slow-motion (that‘s the best I can explain it). I saw the punch coming way before it was halfway to my head. I ducked it with ease, but didn’t fight back. I wanted to see what he would do next.
This action scene with Rotor is important because it is referenced later at least twice in further days, and it even has significance in the final days. The past always seems to stay right on the heals of the poor, tortured main character.
‘Boomer’ must have realized that I was too fast for him, because he went after the nearest Buzzbombers, which happened to be the 2 in front of us. He sent the one on the left flying into the wall with a rabbit punch, and took care of the one on the right by twisting it’s head around and pulling it off. He was strong for a fat fucker.
Actually, Rotor ain’t all that fat. He’s just a little big, dat’s all. Come on, man.
The last 2 Buzzbombers came up quickly behind him as he was busy twisting their comrade. They swung their stingers out at him and dove full speed at his back. Quickly, ‘Boomer’ turned around and threw the head of a Buzzbomber at one of them. One of them was completely knocked to pieces, while the other continued its dive. No time to dodge it, ‘Boomer’ jumped backwards and slapped his hands together to catch the stinger.
It worked . . . . . sort of. He didn’t succeed in stopping the stinger, but his hands diverted it to just above his shoulder, making it stick into the hard metal floor. The Buzzbomber now stuck, he slammed both his fists into it head, breaking it. Cut up his hands to shit, though.
Fuck, this sounds like a two year old wrote it.
I was impressed slightly, although he now had to deal with me. Unless he had a truckload of back-that-shit-up, he was fucked.
Regrets? Yeah, I have regrets. First of all, this awful, awful day has to be the starting point of the Sketchy series. The temptation to rewrite it becomes stronger every time I read this, but I don’t think it’ll happen. Maybe I’ll just provide more plot explanation for how bad it is.
But gimme a break. I was young.
“You done?” I asked plainly. “Because now that you’ve destroyed what is most likely two of your former friends, you should have any heroics out of your system. Now, come with me, or I break every finger in your hand.”
“Please, I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want out of here.” He raised his hands in the air non-threateningly. “Help me. Please.”
“No. I have a fuckin job to do! And willfully or unconscious, you’re coming with me.” I started toward him.
He didn’t back away. He just stared at me.
“You’ve never left here, have you?” I stopped walking. He continued. “This is all the world you’ve known? Do you REALIZE how pathetic that is?!” I continued walking at him.
“Listen, I can help you. Come with me. I can show you the outside world, the world you’ve only heard about, only DREAMED about. Sounds intriguing, doesn’t it?”
In my opinion the Rotor convincing Sonic scene was way too rushed. But, since this was my first fic, I had not found out the idea for making things as long as possible. Hell, even now I tend to rush things.
I kept walking until I was right up to his face. Then I hit him in the side of the head, knocking him out.
**********
What a day.
My life has meant nothing until now. Sitting in this stolen HoverUnit, piloting through narrow sections of tubes, after just recently killing hundreds of Buzzbombers with living creatures encased inside them that I most likely made enslaved. It was not until now that I realized how decidedly evil and corrupt I was. There is almost NO chance for redemption.
Hmmm, maybe if I say deep over and over again, they’ll think it’s profound or something.
Almost. If I can do one thing right in my life, I can stop him. Robotnik. The epitome of all evil in this world. If I can stop him, kill him, before any more innocents are raped of their lives, I might be able to call myself a decent creature. My hate for him is so great it overflows my veins like a lava flow.
Okay, well, that’s a LITTLE better. Deep, deep, deep.
When I kill him, it will be the most painful, degrading, deserving death he can get. And it will be beautiful. It will turn uglier the more I beat his dead body with a lead pipe. That was MY definition of justice.
Lead pipe? What the fuck?!
Currently, my situation could have been a lot better. Security was on full alert and coming after me with a vengeance. My gun had since long run out of juice. I was fighting with my hands and quills now. I could kick serious ass as long as I wasn’t attacked with great numbers, but that was looking less and less like it would happen.
I found the HoverUnit sitting alone in an isolated hanger. I took my opportunity and lifted off. Once I reach the outside world, I’m in shit’s creek without so much as a boat. Every ‘bot within radio range would want a piece of me.
What a day.
Repeated line!!!
Artificial sunlight flooded the cockpit. I hunched over the controls.
“Bring it on.”
Bruce Campbell quote.
**********
‘Boomer’ woke up next to me and at first, he started fighting back. “Calm the fuck down!” I whispered to him. “You want them to catch us?!”
He stopped struggling and looked around him. The piles of metal and repair tables must have confused him. “Where are we?”
This scene was especially poorly done. Little description, inane plot points, character problems, the works. But I guess it gets the point across, and really, it’s just a setup for Sonic’s black-outs and fall from sanity. Besides, you gotta start somewhere.
“We’re in a HoverUnit repair room. It’s small, no surveillance, and hardly anyone ever comes in here. Perfect for us to hide until I figure things out. Just a patrol ‘bot every 10 minutes or so.”
He touched the side of his head and grimaced. “Um, why did you hit me?”
“I said “Alive or unconscious,” didn’t I?! Also, I’ve decided to accept your offer. But I needed you quiet to sneak us down here, after the stunt you pulled.”
‘Boomer’ leaned his back against the wall and sighed. “Thanks, I guess.” Silence from him for
awhile. “Sorry ‘bout taking a swing at you.
“Hey, no harm, no foul.” I shrugged.
“So, why did you decide to help me?” he asked.
“I dunno. I guess deep down I’ve always dreamed of a better way to live. You sounded like my ticket to that life.”
“Well, I’m assuming you have a plan. Actually, more like I’m HOPING you have a plan.”
“I do . . . . . sort of. My plan is to wait until a HoverUnit becomes available, steal it, and sail to freedom. And freedom at this point is probably that Knothole place you mentioned.”
“Hmmm,“ he said. “That sounds really easy. Then what?”
“ . . . . . . . . . I guess we’ll find out when we get there. Until then, we concentrate on us getting a ride out of here.”
Those half assed plans again. Audience, let’s hope they get better.
Again, silence from him. “So . . . . what’s your name?” he asked.
For some reason, I hesitated. “Sonic.”
“Sonic? That’s a strange name for a Hedgehog.”
I snapped my head angrily toward him. “Sorry,” he quickly added. “It’s just I’ve never heard of a name like that. Did your parents give that name to you?”
I was suddenly angry at him. “I have no fucking parents! I was built! My name just means what I do for a living. Now, do you mind shutting yer fu . . . . .”
Aw gee, come on. I wanted him to continue.
I was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. No time to berate him now. A bipedal patrol ’bot came into the room.
A what robot?
**********
Wait. Before I continue, there are some things you should know about me and about the place I live in . . . . . . . . .
Okay, get ready for some particularly bad writing. This is almost taken word for word from MC’s outline that he gave to me. Not saying his writing is bad, just saying that I took a FUCKING OUTLINE verbatim!!! What the fuck was wrong with me?!!!
Robotropolis. Sounds like a city, but it really isn’t. It’s actually a man-made, domed structure with many different areas, or ‘zones’, inside. Robotnik built it to conduct his tests on Robotosization, and the utilizing of synapse energy in the brain and converting it to a usable power source. But to do this, he needs subjects.
Around the edges of Robotropolis, are holding pens. These pens are fashioned to look like a real environment, so the animals are none the wiser. A patrol ‘bot comes by when a new subject is needed, and one that is the most isolated from a large group is taken.
Now, I would have thought the animals would get suspicious after awhile, but somehow they weren’t, and I think I knew why.
At some point, a religion was introduced that said that it was a blessing if you were taken away by the ‘demigods’ (Buzzbombers or any other robot) to ‘paradise’ (the Death Egg), which is why they never questioned why the person disappeared. This I learned part from ‘Boomer’ and part from my own deductions.
And . . . . . begin.
Here is a breakdown of the Robotropolis zones:
The Death Egg: Robotnik’s fortress, where he resides. Also houses 3 other zones where tests are conducted, ‘bots are built, and animals are Robotosized. Also, (this is just my suspicions) but I think it’s built towards some higher purpose that has been kept secret from me.
Scrap Brain Zone: Where cheap labor is born and a highly unstable power source is utilized.
Star Light Zone: Construction point of the Death Egg. I remember being trained here, but, oddly, only vaguely.
Labyrinth Zone: Runs the entire length of Robotropolis, but starting in the Scrap Brain Zone. So many tunnels inside I don’t even what to think about where some of them lead.
Circled around the Death Egg were Robotnik’s personal areas:
Casino Night Zone: The Eggman’s personal recreational area, run by some ‘bots and even tightly regimented subjects. Basically whores and poker.
Spring Yard Zone: Another training area. Also never been. The reports place it under the tightest of security, so I’m thinking I should avoid it all together.
Surrounding these were maintenance areas for the ‘bots.
Chemical Plant Zone: Exactly like it sounds; a storage area for chemicals. Huge-ass complex.
Oil Ocean: The oil refinery for all ‘bots that need oil. For something that’s relatively small in demand, this ocean is BIG. So huge, in fact, that it effects some areas around it in a great way.
And the holding pens and ruined (?) cities.
Aquatic Ruin Zone: A ruined place with a stony structure, dried with dead plants.
Green Hill Zone: Holding area #1. This is where Robotnik keeps all of his free range animals awaiting Robotosization. The breeding is not restricted so new subjects are almost always available, as the same with ALL of the holding pens. ‘Boomer’ mentioned a city inside called “Knothole.”
Marble Zone: Area with stony structures, next to the Green Hill Zone. Molten lava surrounds it.
Emerald Hill Zone: Holding area #2.
Hill Top Zone: Holding area #3. This one sits right next to the Oil Ocean, most likely effecting the IQ’s of the animals residing there.
Mystic Cave: Cave in the Hill Top Zone. I don’t know why it was mentioned, really, but it was in the report, so I assume it’s important somehow.
And, believe it or not, some zones are in the sky.
Angel Island: This island has a dark past revolving around an ancient civilization that was destroyed by someone named ‘Chaos.’ It now serves as base and home for a gang called ‘The Chaotix.’ Ooo, I don’t like the sound of THAT.
Carnival Nights Zone: The recreational area for the Chaotix. It is also apparently a source of income for them. It’s basically a family amusement park for the other residents on the island. It’s, you know, for kids. The Chaotix must use the money to pay Robotnik for immunity, because the entire island is listed as off limits to the ‘bots. (How nice of them.)
Hydro City: The ruins of an ancient civilization destroyed by that Chaos guy. It’s now engulfed in water.
Lava Reef Zone: A volcano. The term ‘reef’ is used loosely.
Sandopolis Zone: Another ruin from that old civilization. This area is tainted by *ahem* ghosts. Yeah, ok.
Oh, fuck. You weren’t supposed to know about Angel Island yet. Whoops.
Now, about me:
Some people might tell you that I’m a Hedgehog, when in fact I am not. Well, technically not. Technically, I am a creation of Doctor Robotnik. My body is made of a durable plastic made for high speed traveling stresses. However, my insides ARE made from organic parts. The reports I hacked into housed a file on me, but didn’t contain much information. All I know is that my organs were cloned from a genetic template, then a blue-plastic was molded on me. The plastic formed along my head and back are pointed at the ends. I was also genetically engineered to run at super-human speeds, and couple along with the shoes the Eggman gave me, I can break the speed of sound in 6 seconds flat.
For attacking purposes, all I need to do to hurt somebody badly is get a good head start, and curl into a tight ball. Because of the spines on my back, I turn into fast moving buzz saw. You all know what happens next.
As for the rest of me, it’s a complete mystery. I have NO idea why I was made, or from who I was cloned off of. I hope to GOD it’s not Robotnik’s genes running through me. Just the thought of him coursing through my veins . . . . .
Foreshadowing?
**********
Okay, around here it starts to get a little better. Glad I’m here to tell you these things.
Besides the Rotor interludes, here is where the fic really begins to shape into something worth reading, and even into tricks that I use in subsequent stories.
I’ve been piloting this HoverUnit for about 10 minutes. I expected an armada of flying things to converge on me and knock me out of the sky after the show I put on inside. But nothing. Not even a bird flew in my wake. Strange, but I suppose I should be grateful that I’m so lucky, even the slightest bit grateful that I even got THIS far, but I’m not. I keep telling myself that I’m being paranoid, but the feeling of being royally screwed doesn’t leave my mind. I keep coming up with notions in my head; always the same “It’s probably a trap” or “They’re probably following you”, and “They have a homing beacon planted on you,” “Your body is set to self destruct in 10 seconds if you don‘t surrender”, “They have you in their sights, Sonic. Turn left, turn left or you’re dead. Turn left right NOW!” but always nothing would happen. But this didn’t stop the nagging voice in my head. “Sonic, you fuckin idiot. Don’t you realize that they’re LETTING you go?!” . . . . . . . that last one didn’t sound too farfetched . . . . . . . . Oh, SHIT!!!!!!
I think I actually thought up the last part in a dream I had, but I honestly don’t really remember. What I do recall is feeling a slight fear in epiphanies because of the fear of facing them, but by then the horrible truth is already right up front. It’s like being afraid to turn around to face whatever monster might be right behind, but then suddenly it appears in all directions.
An explosion rocked my HoverUnit. I was already on my way out of the ship. The door automatically opened as I ran towards it. I dove outwards, right as the HoverUnit exploded. The force sent me crashing to the ground faster that gravity would have. I closed my eyes and braced myself for whatever surface awaited me . . . . . ..
. . . . . . . . . Ooooo, soft.
Huh?
Messing with structure a little.
I opened my eyes. I had landed in the middle of a grassy field. A large one at that, about 50 feet in diameter. Trees lined around the edges of what looked to be a huge clearing. I was also dimly aware of the fact that my HoverUnit explode from my left in a shower of flames that engulfed all the surrounding trees, but I was more aware of the two figures standing on the other side of the field.
Scratch and Grounder.
More of my favorite characters. Also, the original comic had the fight taking place on top of two burning huts in Knothole village, which I really was anticipating writing, but MC then rewrote the scene, saying that it didn’t make much sense, just that it looked cool. I agreed, but was disappointed. However, I do like the desolate nature of fighting in a long, infinite field on fire.
**********
“Quiet!” I whispered to him.
The patrol ‘bot moved slowly around the maintenance area, searching and scrutinizing. I motioned ‘Boomer’ to follow me, to keep out sight of the ‘bot.
I started leading him to the other side of the repair hanger. I figured there was enough debris and such to keep ME hidden, but I didn’t know about him. He was a fat fucker.
I moved under a big piece of scrap metal and held up my hand. Rotor, who was crawling on his ands and knees, stopped. I took a look over the scrap metal pile to see where the ‘bot was.
The ‘bot was at the other side of the room, moving along the edges. Pretty soon it would check over this area, and most likely find us.
I searched the room for an alternative. My eyes moved over several tables, tool cabinets and metal piles. Almost nothing would accommodate for Rotor’s size.
I sighed in exasperation. We would just have to avoid him, rather than hide from him. I motioned for ‘Boomer’ to follow me, but to keep extremely low to the ground. He did so, then started following me.
For the next couple of minutes, we crawled on the ground, staying exactly on the other end of the patrol ‘bot. ‘Boomer’ was doing a pretty good job of staying quiet and low to the ground. He flattened his body as best he could against the floor. I was actually proud of him.
I stopped crawling when I reached shelter under a sizable repair table. ‘Boomer’ was a couple feet away, still crawling. I checked the patrol ‘bot’s position.
Shit! He altered his course and was only a few feet from ‘Boomer.’ I motioned for him to stop crawling. He halted and held as still as he could. The ‘bot must have detected motion in this area.
The patrol ‘bot swung it’s massive legs and kept walking. Sooner or later, I knew it would find him and alert security. And then our entire plan was shit. I was screwed. I had to do something . . . . . . . .
I’m not even going to touch any of that. Fuck . . . .
**********
Scratch conveyed a composure of pompous confidence as he seemed to stare disappointment into me. I hated that. If I’d know these guys were waiting for me, I would have brought some shotguns. These two were a handful.
Scratch is obviously the more fleshed-out character of the two villains. I had started to describe him and give him dialogue and all that, thinking I would do the same for Grounder, but I never got around to it. Oh well. It made it past the chopping block. Must’ve done something right . . . .
You may be wondering, “Sonic, why are you so scared of those two?” Well, Billy, it’s because that, even though both of them look stupid, they are actually efficient, cold, calculating killing machines.
Poor Billy.
What made them dangerous was their appearance. At first glace, these two look like bumbling idiots that you could swindle 1000$ out of, but they were actually MADE to look like that.
Notice how threatening I made them sound. (sarcasm)
Scratch was a tactical genius, a general in every sense of the word. He was fashioned to look like a chicken in order to blend in with the animals in the pens to monitor their activities. I suspect that Scratch also had a hand in their capture.
Grounder, who was your basic grunt all terrain vehicle, followed Scratch around whenever he could, but mostly hide close by in radio contact with him. Information from Scratch would be radioed to him, then radioed directly to Robotnik.
Across the grassy field from me, Scratch shook his head in mock-shame and clicked his tongue. “Sonic, Sonic, Sonic,” he said. “Why this little insurrection? You know it’s futile. But, I guess I should be grateful, for it gives me a chance to make a better name for myself in the boss’s eyes. Still, your logic escapes me . . . . . . . . .”
I looked around me. Flames from the downed HoverUnit lashed out at me from far away. My eyes fell to the ground. “Fuck off,” I mumbled.
“Pay attention, boy!” he yelled. His patience apparently wore thin. “Now, my orders are to take you in alive, but you’re obviously resisting arrest, so I’m forced to use old Grounder here to soften you up a little.”
Grounder, sitting at Scratch’s left, raised his hand drills in the air.
“Grounder, remember those machines I showed you that chopped meat into dust?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“It’s your turn.”
All of this was written at about 3 o’ clock in the morning. My mind was a geyser of ideas that all seemed so wonderful at the time, but they were coming in at such high speeds that I later had to sort everything out so it sounded better. I still don’t think I found everything stupid and wrong. I do that a lot . . . .
Grounder started his drills moving and advanced at me.
Now, Grounder’s downfall was his mobility. He was built to be tough rather than maneuverable, which suited me just fine. I waited about 5 seconds until he was close enough to me, then I jumped over the top of him just before he reached me. He had to reverse one of his tracks to turn 180 degrees. While he was doing that, I landed punches and kicks all over his back. They hardly made a dent in him.
When Grounder turned to me, I jumped backwards. Grounder, lucky for me, wasn’t equipped with any projectile weapons. Unlucky for me, Scratch was. He started firing at me as soon as I landed. I rolled away from him and jumped on the other side of Grounder again. His drills came at me faster than I would have imagined. As I sailed over him, a shot from Scratch’s gun hit me in the back.
Stars flew before my eyes as I hit the ground with a thud. I shook my head violently and my hands went to my back. Not a bad wound, I decided, after a quick examination. The plastic could take almost anything.
And already it’s over.
I looked up and saw Grounder standing over me. He had his drill aimed at my forehead.
“Stop!” I dimly heard. I saw Scratch walk up next to Grounder. “He’s mine.” He pointed his gun at me. “Stand up, NOW.”
Slowly, I got up. Scratch kept the gun trained on my face.
“Turn around,” he ordered. I stood still.
He got closer to me. “Turn around!” he said in a harsher voice. That chicken exterior made him look ridiculous. A small roar started in my head. Scratch thumbed the power control on the gun all the way to full power.
He leaned forward. “Turn the FUCK around!” he got right up to my face and yelled. Idiot should have known I’d spit in his face if he got that close.
Scratch took the trouble to hit me in the head with the gun before wiping the spit off his face. I fell to my knees. The wet grass felt good, and real. The roar got even louder.
This is my favorite part.
“Say goodnight, Sonic.” He pushed the gun into my head. I closed my eyes.
The roaring in my ears got to be almost unbearable. I felt like reaching up and covering my ears, but I knew that wouldn’t help. Tears started to well up in my eyes because of the unbearable pain. Anything to quench it, anything, even death. I wanted Scratch to pull the trigger already. Why is he moving so slow?
Then . . . . . . . in perfect clarity, the voice in my head, the voice that was always with me wherever I went, spoke in a booming voice. It told me to act now, and how to act. My saving grace. But I had to act. Scratch’s finger was already tightening on the trigger.
In a fluid motion, I moved my left hand to swipe his arm. The gun moved all the way from my head, to Grounder’s head. The gun went off.
I then used my right hand to knock the gun clean out of Scratch’s hand. He had gripped the gun so tightly that breaking the gun loose snapped all his fingers off.
Grounder’s head looked like a hunk of caved in metal, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was doing the exact same thing to Scratch. No other thought entered my head.
The anger emerges, and boy, do I like it. I actually made a note to use more of it in the next chapters, and boy, did I thank that night of insomnia. My best shit is written when I’m not all the way conscious.
Scratch landed a punch in my face with his left hand, but I got him in his stomach and his arm. I was a little surprised at how far he reeled back from it. I started towards him.
Grounder suddenly came in front of me, limbs flailing. He still had enough control over himself to come towards me with drills turning. And he came at me fast, too. I jumped backwards as far as I could, then ran straight towards him. I could feel the fire building beneath my shoes building. When it felt right, I rolled into a ball and let the momentum spin me.
Just the thought of Grounder spinning around with no control over himself, his head a mess of cables like a chicken with a gunshot wound bigger than its face makes me laugh and cry at the same time.
I felt friction go all around me, and when I stood on solid ground again, Grounder was sliced in two pieces. History.
Scratch had apparently went looking for the gun. He was 10 feet away, searching in the bushes, right near where I saw it land. From where I was, I saw recognition in his eyes. He found the gun. Shit. I looked over to Grounder’s upper half. I quickly ran over to it and grabbed his drill bit arm. I was HOPING that it would have a ‘fit’ mechanism button. I found one on the side, and pressed it . . . . .
Nothing happened. I heard a small “whir,” but nothing changed. Granted, I could still use the drill as a hand-to-hand weapon, but not a gun.
Reinforcing the gun mechanisms, and I wanted Sonic to win by way of using his spin dash again. Just to make him more of a bad-ass in my eyes. Up until now I had hated him.
Scratch had the gun hanging at his side. He stared daggers at me. “That was my best lieutenant you killed.”
I said nothing. Just stared back at him. I threw the drill to the ground.
We both dove at each other at the same time.
**********
VISUAL SENSORS ON: TIME DELAY- 10000TH OF A SECOND.
WARNING: SENSORS DETECT DENSE OBJECT MOVING AT HIGH SPEEDS ON
COLLISION COURSE. SET DEFENSE PARAMETERS: COORDINATES 10387568 ALPHA
SEARCHING FOR WEAK SPOT . . . . . . . . . . TARGET AQUIRED. FIRING . . . . . HIT
SCORED . . . . . . HIT SCORED . . . . . . MISS . . . . . . . .RECALIBRATING . . . . . . . . MISS . . .
. . . . . . RECALIBRATING . . . . . MISS . . . . . RECALIBRATING . . . . . . . ALERT, ALERT,
OBJECT IN CLOSE PROXIMITY, COLLISION IMMINENT . . . . . ERROR, ERROR ,
101000010010101010100101<>………..
One of the only times I use first person perspective in a character other than Sonic. At least until about Wednesday or Friday.
**********
I stood over Scratch’s decapitated body. His head I could not find. My body was weak from exhaustion. I wobbled on my feet as I watched the artificial sun set. I would have thought it was beautiful if I didn’t know it was fake, a lie. Nothing in Robotnik’s world is beautiful.
I love sunsets. So does Sonic. Or maybe he hates them. Never can tell with these things.
**********
You want to know the truth, what REALLY happened between me and ‘Boomer?’ Well, here it is: After I knocked him out, I started to drag him to the Scrap Brain Zone, but before I got there, Buzzbombers came in front of me. At first they just stood there, then they started to attack me. “Why!?” I yelled out to them. I pleaded with them to stop firing at me, but they wouldn’t STOP. Maybe they thought I was the one who attacked their comrades. I didn’t have a choice. I had to kill them before they killed me.
After the 4 Buzzbombers lay in pieces around me, I looked down at ‘Boomer’s unconscious form. I considered his offer. I thought Robotnik would NEVER let me back after the number of troops I killed. I decided to take ‘Boomer’ up on his offer. I wanted to leave. (At least, that’s what I THOUGHT)
Remember this conversation?:
“So . . . . what’s your name?” he asked.
For some reason, I hesitated. “Sonic.”
“Sonic? That’s a strange name for a Hedgehog.”
I snapped my head angrily toward him. “Sorry,” he quickly added. “It’s just I’ve never heard of a name like that. Did your parents give that name to you?”
Well, he added a part just before the patrol ‘bot came in.
“My name’s Rotor, by the way.”
Why did he have to tell me his name . . . . . why? Why can’t I ever get what I fucking want? I want to be happy. That’s all I want. I CAN’T be happy after I know his name and turn against him.
That’s right, you heard right. I TURNED HIM IN. I stood up in the repair hanger and gave up. Said he tried to get away and caught him. He was escorted back to the Scrap Brain Zone. I guess I figured Robotnik would take me back.
This entire part had sounded better in my head, but I guess it’s okay. It gets the job done. Oh, and coming up in the next paragraph is the first actual scene with Robotnik that isn’t a vague flashback, but instead a non . . . . vague . . . flashback . . . . .
Robotnik was surprisingly understanding. He gave me a hug (he dwarfed me) and said I did the right thing. Then he did something strange.
“Would you like to see it?”
See Robotosization? Okay, why not? I let him lead me into the Scrap Brain Zone.
I watched the unconscious walrus Rotor be strapped onto the table. I watched tubes being inserted into his ears and neck. I watched as his eyes snapped open mid-process, but it continued. And . . . . . I watched the life leave his eyes . . . . . .
WHY DID HE HAVE TO TELL ME HIS FUCKING NAME?!
Didn’t MC write that part? Yeah. He did. He suggested that maybe Sonic could be dwelling on the name of the person he is responsible for killing. I thought it was an excellent idea, and a basis for insanity. But then again, what do I know? I wrote Sketchy: Sunday.
**********
I waited until the sun set all the way, then I let my legs give out from under me. The world slipped away from me as I hit the soft, grassy ground.
**********
All I want is to be happy. I should be happy. That’s why this doesn’t seem real.
More of that early morning insomnia/insanity kicking in that makes for satisfying writing. And hey, it even mirrors a Korn song. How about that. And how it all ends in one paragraph/sentence makes my groin twitch with glee. Sarcasm.
The End of Sunday.
Sean Catlett’s email: carringtonagent@hotmail.com
Sonic: Sketchy Comic:
www.angelfire.com/anime2/grillerComments are appreciated.
And so it ends with a plugging of the site and the comic. Ah, beginnings . . . . .
Fun fact: with the added commentary, Sketchy: Sunday is now 20 pages on my word processor. HA! You just listened to me rant for 6 pages!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Unless you scrolled down to the bottom looking for the rant about the sex and the body parts. FUCK!!
Part two coming soon. Really. Oh, and there’s no sex until part three, so don’t bother asking. Bitch.
Cue Bad Religion’s Better Off Dead
