Fuck.

I hate it when that happens.

That feeling of helplessness.

That feeling that everything is wrong.

The feeling that deep down, I just missed something important. The feeling that I would have seen it if only I had stopped moving forward so fast. Too blurry. Too washed out. Illegible.

You, the listener, know what I’m talking about.

You. The listener. Who I’m talking to.

You can try to play innocent with me, but this time it won’t work. I’m talking for a reason. I’m speaking to myself speaking to you speaking to anyone else.

But whatever.

This is

the

second take.

Or the closest I can get to a retrial. If not redemption, then explanation.

Why and because are the same fucking thing.

Why I’m tired of this.

Because I’m tired of everything.

No more.

No more.

This ends here. There is no more structure. There are no more boundaries. There are no more rules. There are no more restrictions.

And this time, you, the listener, will pay attention to me.

Continuing from the sunset. Inside the free world, outside the prison.

My body collapses on the stones, disregarding the shards, debris, and blood. Angel Island hovers peacefully serene above me, stained black from all the powder burns. Guns that stuck out from the rocks are all snapped in two. Small crevasses are sealed and burned to shit. The whole thing looks like it’s about to fall apart. I try to find the tube where Knuckles and I fell out of, but I eventually give up.

I turn away from it all, closing my eyes, cradling myself, pulling my legs up to my chest. The coldness of my gloves coaxes a violent shudder out of me. My shoes feel like they’re trying to invade my skin by absorbing themselves into me, and the urge to kick them off is overpowered by the urge to just lay still…

It’s so cold…

I pull together tighter, whispering to myself a poem I heard long ago from a time that I can’t ever seem to remember. My face presses against the stone. A slow, soothing vibration flows through me.

Is it that I suffer only because I say I do? Would I have to stop caring in order to make it all stop? Aren’t I supposed to give a shit for all of those people?

There is no right answer, is there?

The sounds of the wind rushing through the trees fades far away… something freezing, like ice or snow, falls against my head just behind my ear. They feel vaguely like lips.

“Rest… Sonic…” It’s someone I’ve never heard before.

I start to shiver.

The voice is soothing, pulling me on a downward freefall into a trench of tangible smothering. It feels like a comforter tuned to the perfect temperature, so that I can’t feel anything. The deep rumbling relaxes every muscle, it dulls every thought, and it decreases…

“Rest… let me rest…”

It just… feels so good…

I’m shivering so much that I’m shaking the island too.

The soft breeze blows into my ears now, forming words. Structure and lining leave…

“I can’t…”

There’s something about the way the mouth feels.

There’s something about…

The rumbling.

No.

Something is taking off.

Wait. Angel Island is crashing.

Wait.

It’s both. What a surprise.

Whatever Robotnik’s plan is, he’s orchestrating the final phases in it, and in fact, has probably already won. After all, he has the army, the muscle, the mind, the plans, the motivation, the hookers, the funds, the support, the numbers, the bleargh blab, the calculations, the foresight, the knowledge, the cognitive capacity, the research, the Master Emerald…

In fact, I’ve lost.

Does that mean I still can’t search for revenge?

Is that what I want now?

‘What are all these different versions of me? How many times to I have to pander my image in order to gain acceptance? How the hell am I supposed to know who I am if I keep getting revamped and resold?’

The pain is sharp and constant; my master plan changes more often than my mood swings change my degree of cynicism changes my outlook. The list of things to keep track of gets longer and longer. I can’t decide what I was right or wrong on anymore.

It’s like trying to put together a two-hundred jigsaw puzzle with one puzzle piece from two-hundred different sets, and then expecting it to all make sense. In a certain amount of time. Upside down. Yeah, why not…

‘Are my thoughts even my own anymore? Am I really just ignorant of my control? Can this pass for free will?’

‘No.’

‘Stop searching for structure. Stop searching for a meaning to everything. Just stop.’

This will be about the third time you’ve done it this way. This will be the fourth time you’ve tried to change. Have you ever considered the fact that you can never change yourself? That maybe trying to change is really just making it worse? The grass is never greener.

I need change to stay alive.

Bullshit. You need change like you need a bigger bed. You could survive on your own mind and you know it.

‘Then I was right?’

‘It’s all hopeless?’

Yes.

But is that really so bad?

‘Only if I think about it.’

So…

Ignorance isn’t bliss?

‘I don’t want to become that.’

‘I don’t want to lose myself.’

You can’t lose what you never had.

‘It’s there. It’s still there.’

Even if I don’t see it.

I’m not dead.

So, we’ll just say that he hasn’t won. That’s what counts.

My eyes snap open. In an instant I’m up on my feet, tearing off my gloves with my teeth, ripping off my scabs, and kicking off my shoes. In a moment of sheer insanity I turn to the sun and I scream as loud as I can.

I get no response from anything, and in fact, it looks like they all ran away long ago. The trail of dust I leave in my wake travels up into the sky, then fades.

My eyes roll in and out of focus.

Come on. Stay with it. Stay together. Don’t wink out like the rest.

Littered all over the fading metal floor are ‘bot parts and shards of the Death Egg, scattered in a circular pattern from the fuck-fight. A gooey texture lines it all and makes it glow, like a thick coat of embossed glaze. Makes it all look very plastic.

Toy guns, wall to wall, discount, on sale. Okay, for free then. The more you take the more you get. I pick up the gun nearest to me, a Motobug part, and I press the fit mechanism, point it to my head, and pull the trigger.

Click. It’s not fair.

I pick up another, this time a Buzzbomber.

Click. I want to die.

Another.

Click. Please.

Another. Click. Click. Click.

Grant me what I don’t really want.

It gets blurry each time, and not because of the loss of oxygen, not because of the anti-aliasing, but…

Click. I’m not getting it, am I?

I put my fingers to my eyes and I pull away tears. Bullshit.

This is bullshit.

This time, I check to see if a gun is full.

It is. I hold onto it.

I start searching around the room, steeping over animal parts and sharp metal shards. While the Death Egg climbs altitude, entering the very last layer of atmosphere, I pick up every gun I can find. I put all of them in one big pile. I pick five of my favorite.

And on the way, I break a metal spine of a patrol ‘bot in half and straighten it out. Mmm, okay.

Now… I’m ready.

Close enough. What I’ll settle for.

“Ready.”

My arm almost gets pulled out of its socket, but I manage to hold on. Wind rushing past pulls my eyelids down, my head down, my other arm down. Every stray drop of blood also gets carried away. Somewhere behind me, Chaos roars again, defeating the engines and the rushing air.

The Winged Fortress keeps climbing, pulling me along with it. I hang with about three fingers onto a familiar engine that smokes and bellows strong, fuel-smelling wind. The taste of it invades my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

I can’t see ahead of me. I have to look down to prevent that stupid face that I make whenever my mouth and eyes are pulled open. That and I could die from it. It’s that strong. Strong as in a concrete block falling from five-hundred feet, hitting the target continuously, relentlessly.

But…

For some reason…

I can hang on. In fact, as the altitude climbs, I find I can turn my head forward like I wanted to.

What?

Oh…

Oh no…

It’s happening again.

Chaos’ scream faded out awhile ago.

I can tell the energy is increasing because I feel so fucking bored, hanging right next to a powerful engine suspended high above solid ground with no means of breaking my fall, in close proximity with everything geared towards my destruction. If it were a usual day, I’d probably…

I’d probably be on his side.

That’s not the point.

I reel back and I slam my hand into the metal, crumpling it like soft paper. My groping fingers find a tube that just somehow feels really important to its function, and you can probably guess what happens next. Why do I even have to explain anyth
The engine explodes. My body is hurled into an observation window close by. This is so stupid. This is so retarded. This makes perfect sense.

Closer, closer, closer.

I’ve probably landed perfectly. I’ve probably landed without any damage from fire, debris, or aftermath. How this works I have no no wait some idea. Not a typo. In character. Parenthesis. Re-edit.

I just lay on the ground for a moment.

Just a moment of peace…

Shadow’s bloodied head sneers a jack-o-lantern grin so close that I can smell her organic lungs. Gripping my throat tighter than I would have thought possible, she brings herself up to my ear. I hold on with all I have left.

Lips brushing, tickling, words come out of her in a gasp.

“i… still… am…”

And she lets go. In fact, she pushes herself off with her feet, against all inertia.

The small red and black dot shrinks into the land below, the craft’s velocity indirectly speeding up her descent. The surface of the planet swallows her whole, in a flash of orange amber light. She didn’t break her gaze the entire fall.

And to this moment, I still have no idea what she said to me, but it’s not a priority. A priority is knowing that in mere seconds the air will be sucked out of every crevasse of the Death Egg. That soon, the Doctor will be dead, and so will I.

It may not stop the suffering, but it will delay it.

Just for the time being.

The cold metal girder drops lower in temperature. My arms and legs, bruised and cut open, tighten around it, gravity and inertia tugging at me. The craft increases velocity and the space between my back and the metal increases. Still, I hang on. If I fall, I may survive.

There is nothing in space. No air. No noise. Nothing can live.

I don’t make the rules. The rules make me.

Clever.

The emeralds beat inside me like extra hearts, sending not blood but exponentially increasing adrenaline through me. My muscles atrophy and then grow back. I blink three times faster than normal. I’m shaking so much that I start to believe that the turbulence is caused by me.

But I suppose I can control it now.

The one thing I still can…

Hey, come on.

This is winning. This is what winning feels like.

It’s victory.

The clouds roll up and get thinner. The ground disappears. The horizon turns from a puke-ish green to a vaginal pink. The sun burns relentless in the distance, not even marking the midday…

Stop this.

I pull myself back inside, digging deep into the floor. I stand up.

The level is covered in bloody hand prints, body prints. Graffiti. I can pick out where my ass ends and Shadow’s tits begin.

The one part of the floor I stand on is clean, and when I look down, I see my reflection.

The natural lights wink out. Darkness rolls in. The sun is obscured by whatever, but the image stays burned in my mind.

I don’t have a scratch on me. And I glow in the dark.

Stalemate.

Is it this easy? Is letting go all I needed to do?

Don’t fucking bet on it.

The trees tower above me, thick enough to block out most light. The stone littering the ground thins slightly, so my feet grip the vibrating ground as though they are glued to it. Like a giant red rubber band, melting under the friction.

I move so much slower without the shoes. I don’t pass by things as quickly, so they have time to register. I don’t miss as much. The little things introduce themselves and I hate every minute of it. The Emeralds still haven’t kicked in, and if they don’t soon…

Angel Island crashing is an acceptable loss to Robotnik. With all the choices he now has with the Master Emerald, he can make a new island in the sky. In space. Underwater. Nothing is impossible. He can build new cities, new elements, new religions, new species, new everything. Anything he wants, created in his image. Could it be déjà vu? Has this already happened and it was just a matter of time before it happened again?

If he can destroy it all and rebuild it… then all hope is lost. When you have everything, when anything can happen, when there is no mystery, what else is there?

What if everyone knew the answers to all of life’s questions? What if everyone knew what death was like?

What would be the point?

“That fucker killed Mighty!”

Uh oh.

Voices. Up ahead.

“Shit, we’re fucked if the Island’s crashing.”

“What, so now you’re a believer?”

My run turns into an abrupt halt. I imagine a wacky screeching noises, and my body wobbles back and forth when I stop, like a stiff board. Ahead, the figures come into focus. Five of them.

“Fuck you, man! I’ve seen her before!”

“He’s right, you know. Why else would Knuckles want to guard the Emeralds so adamantly?”

“Wait, guys, if this is true, then… isn’t Chaos already released?”

“Then we’re walking dead men. We may as well repent for our sins and shit. We may as well say hi to Mighty and Bean and Bark and everyone else on that miserable island!”

“That ‘miserable’ island was our home!”

“Not anymore.”

There an uncomfortable pause between everyone. Fang coughs and Charmy scratches the back of his head. Vector nervously twitches and tries to nod to the nonexistent music. Lumina lowers her eyes. A tear rolls down Espio’s face.

“It’s all gone. Everything. In one day…”

“Years wasted on defenses that didn’t even last two hours…”

“Traps that backfire after successful trial runs…”

“Easy access to outsiders…”

“Some bitch on a biplane managing to get close enough to shit on us…”

“Plans of attack that falter into retreat or massacre…”

“Spy information that’s still useful after years pass…”

“Misuse of religious artifacts and mystical stones…”

“Gone.”

“All gone.”

I walk into the center of the pity circle and they all stop talking, breathing, and moving. Vector sighs in defeat and waves at me.

“Hey.”

And it occurs to me that these people have nothing left. It’s because of me, because of Snively, because of Rouge and Sera and Mack and Ashura and me, because of Nack and Bunnie and Scratch and Grounder and Shadow and Coconuts and me, that their entire lives have been destroyed.

They look so… dead.

Okay, now, this is the part where I make a rousing speech about how even if we have nothing left to fight for, we should still do it because we deserve vengeance. This is where I tell them that going out with a bang is better than going out with a sigh or a whimper. This is where they cheer and fireworks fly everywhere and the score rises dramatically. This is where hope is instilled in the only audience member…

Well, yeah, that’s what happens. Pretty much.

It’s all you need to know. If you know everything you won’t be satisfied. Sometimes I just have to keep certain things from you.

The end result is that we’re sticking together. We’re letting the past go in order to stay alive.

It’s starting…

I’m beginning to understand.

The Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds compliment each other. They make each other, and the subsequent user, stronger. The closer I get to the Master, the slower and more contrived everything gets.

This was no mistake. This is how Robotnik made me.

This was my purpose.

All because of Rouge’s fuck up. She got too attached to the enemy, and she botched her mission. The Chaos Emeralds were recovered but not the Master Emerald, which was the entire point of the plan. Robotnik, and his ever-present need to better himself, conceptualized a “Sonic” unit. Performing tests on the emeralds and analyzing the power that they generate, he created a prototype of a being that could run fast, punch hard, and fight for itself. Free thinking was a side effect that could not be foreseen, but was left in anyway.

Eggman had no time to raise a child, and knew this throughout his sexual escapades and nights of orgasmic inspiration. It would be much easier to just create something that was perfect already, something that was already raised and could raise itself. Something that could withstand a high rate of failure…

Manic…

Ashura…

Me.

The attempts, assembled from stolen DNA and borrowed ideas. A patchwork of perfection and imperfection. Knuckles and Amy. Mother and father. Sons and sons and sons and daughters. All too stubborn, all too stupid, and all too smart for their own good. He thought he had succeeded with me. His lies had almost shrouded my curiosity, but in the end… well, you know the rest. I would have been the one to wield the emeralds to take Angel Island. To place the Master Emerald in the Doctor’s hands. And then, only then, would he have killed me. Most likely everyone else too.

Shadow.

Fourth attempt.

He’s definitely got it right this time.

It gets difficult to breathe, but not so that I start losing consciousness. Even so, a lightheaded feeling swims into my eyes and I collapse against the wall. This whole thing starts to feel like the inside of Chaos, the thought of which scares the shit out of me, and unconsciously, I search for the sun…

Do I sound like I’m concluding?

‘Stop this. Days don’t matter anymore. Rely only on your own perception. It’s all you have left.’

So… I am done. It ends here.

Soon enough, anyway.

Second take. Redefinition. Holy shit. I’m weightless.

I’ve been in outer space for five minutes. I haven’t been breathing. But… I’m… still… alive. And he probably is too.

Funny, I thought the stars would be brighter than this.

With everything else gone, it’s just me and the Doctor. Goody.

They’ll all probably show up, though. They’ll all say hello, but by then, I’ll be done with what I came here to do. By then, by now, nothing surprises me anymore.

My five guns get put in the hollow husk of a Buzzbomber, and I pull that with me along with hefting the pipe. I start to drift, going towards whatever direction makes me feel even better. Following the trail for the Master Emerald, floating on a course set for…

(I reach the center, a place I’ve never been before, but feels like something out of the past all the same. I can’t break through it. I can’t punch it without breaking my fist in two. There is a single door, and I have no choice but to walk through it. I float through a long tube hallway, towards a giant black door. Gravity starts to return to me, and I have to walk. I don‘t hesitate when I get to the door . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .)

I wonder how Knuckles and whoever are dealing with Chaos. I wonder if they’re all dead.

Like Snively.

Like Manic.

Like Ashura.

Like Nack.

Like Charmy and Espio.

Like Vector and Fang.

Like Lumina and Bark.

Like everyone I touch.

Like Scratch.

Like Grounder.

Like Coconuts.

Like Scorpius.

Like Shadow.

Like Rotor.

Like Antoine.

Like Sally.

Like

…

. . . . . . . . this place looks exactly like the theater. . . . . . . .

When I come to a complete stop, I hear the strangest thing…

“Sir, help me!”

Snively’s voice screams desperation but is filtered through electronic speakers and wires. It sounds fake and forced, like he’s only acting. His movements suggest otherwise.

I stand to my feet, and a movement in the sky catches my eye.

Knuckles and Rouge dodge and block Mecha’s attacks, land a few of their own, and try in general to keep from being a dark spot on the green field. I keep fixated on the sky…

The Death Egg travels even further away, headed right towards the sun. In one brilliant moment both circular bodies are one, the edges of light creeping out in sharp rays. The area is shrouded in a dark curtain. The house lights go out. A slow roar that sounds like applause amplifies right in my face on stage. Roses fly everywhere.

Snively keeps jerking around, screaming, thrashing, taking shots at both Rouge and Knuckles and Sera, desperately trying to kill them all before his power runs out. He gets the upper hand and Knuckle goes flying, his jaw breaking in a resounding CRACK. The bat girl retreats, running to her child and hugging her.

She screams everything will be okay.

Everything will be just fine.

Liar.

Liar.

She forcibly pulls her head to her chest, shielding her, putting her daughter in between death and life, being the one last barrier. Sera doesn’t hug back. She watches me in metal form come down upon her with such a force that it’s so fucking uninteresting…

Knuckles jumps in front and slams his good hand into the robot’s oncoming fist. Bone and metal and blood and oil fall shortly afterwards. The two bodies both take off in opposite directions.

The Death Egg flies further away. Knuckles slides into a rock a few feet away, knocked out cold. Mecha stumbles and falls on his back, the casing broken in half. As soon as the form hits the grass I hear a cracking POP from somewhere nearby, and more blood comes down.

Snively has stopped screaming.

And with Sera sobbing, hollow, with a garbled “Are you there? Do you copy” coming from Mecha, with Rouge staring at me and nodding a stiff glare, with the fleeting moments of all that I had wanted to do, with the gravity returning to normal, with the Emeralds throbbing weakly, with Chaos two feet behind me, reaching for me…

Only then do I look away, watching the edge of the Sky Sanctuary. Staring at the end. Eyeing my exit. My way out. My last of the last of the last. I think. If this doesn’t work, then I’m trapped. There is no way out.

Still…

It looks so beautiful.

I dash to the edge of the Sky Sanctuary and I jump off. The updraft makes me float, but that quickly changes.

I close my eyes and I let myself fall.
This is called freedom.
Knowing you are about to die and not caring.
Knowing that in a second there will be no more pain, and when the anticipation is too great and you just wish the ground would smack you in the face already.
That moment where you’re weightless and flying and doing something few others have done.
For this moment, I’m special.
I’m unique.
I’m… free…
This is…

Ouch.

Hard metal surface.

The Winged Fortress. Flying under me. Flying conveniently towards the Death Egg.

Fuck.

Cheated again.
Somewhere behind me, Chaos roars.

Somewhere behind me, Knuckles is being helped back up by Rouge and Sera.

And somewhere behind me, is something that I know I forgot.

First mutation. Zero.

Chaos is a body of water with structure, with features, with the fetus of an Echidna lodged in its stomach. It somehow manages to have eyes, teeth, claws, drool, and an attitude. With what it is armed with, he can cut deep. The knowledge and instincts of centuries, imbedded into its consciousness, whatever that may be. Through her, the world looks like a warped version of itself.

Her speed is amazing.

Her agility is incredible.

And his strength…

“Whoever has the Master Emerald when it’s not in its place controls her, man,” Espio says, standing his ground but shaking as much as Angel Island is, which is even lower than before, almost passing for a ceiling. “She’ll kill anyone who comes within her sight, and running away is pointless because there’s nowhere to go on this island. The more people she kills the more energy she acquires, so it’s best to get her while she’s still warm.”

Lumina shivers and pulls herself tighter, her eyes glazed over with two coats of tears, her pupils wide like saucers. She reminds me of a raisin, a dried out version of what she used to be, sucked up and withdrawn.

“Just keep moving, stand your ground, and never show any fear, and we’ll come out on top. We need to attack her from all sides, with any possible ways to hurt her. We do it fast and we do it relentless.” He takes off, buzzing high into the air.

The myth says that Chaos will also follow the scent of the Emeralds, acting as a sort of biological homing beacon to return them to their rightful owners.

A plan forms. A stratagem distracts from the reality of the situation, and for one second, we all think that we’re gonna make it. Espio, Lumina, and I all stand in the center of a small clearing, with Charmy flying somewhere above, Fang climbing into the trees, and Vector hiding in the bushes.

“See this, mate? It’s not your usual rifle. It’s not what most people would call efficient or easy to use. The only thing it’s good for is making shit go real fast. The accuracy is dependant upon the user, and luck. To me, the entire point of the challenge is lost when everything is too easy. What’s the point, then? What’s an obstacle course with no obstacles? I like it rough. I like it where I have to strive to win. Ya know what I mean?”

I could kiss that walking pile of goop. He’s my savior, he’s my salvation, he’s my ticket to martyrdom, and my train out of here…

“Nobody stops. Nobody stops until you’re dead.” Then he dives behind a bush and waits.

This’ll never work. It’s too planned out, and it depends on too many factors.

In fact…

This whole thing isn’t right. We’re doomed for failure, and I feel… I mean, sure, it’s always been my fault, but this time it’s like… I know beforehand…

Second mutation. Two. Ridges and bigger claws. More pixels.

A steady roar rises up through the depths of the forest, followed by a growl and a gnashing of jaws. Leaves start to rustle in the distance, but the wind has long since stopped blowing. Angel Island sinks lower and to the south, drifting away from the Sky Sanctuary. The decreased gravity makes me feel weightless. Like a prelude to something…

Oh fuck.

I get it.

Just before I feel a rush of panic, these eyes start to glow from just beyond the line of trees.

“Get up.”

Insert: sex scene. Rushing, throbbing. High on fuel. Multiple orgasms aren’t sexy, they say. Too much realism spoils what could be very sexy and very erotic.

I get up from the floor, sitting down. Shadow kicks my legs and repeats herself. So I stand. I’m inches from her face when her head slams into my nose.

Cue: lights, camera, and the ensuing action. Make use of synonyms. Don’t repeat words or orgasms. Cunt is counteractive. Cock isn’t. The girl always enjoys it more and climaxes first. It’s not a race. It’s not a game. It’s not a competition even if the two in question are enemies.

She takes a step back and stands there, motionless. I’m reminded of one of those prestigious martial arts films or those cheesy spaghetti westerns. One hit, one move at a time. Like a slow game of chess. Or a boring bout of boxing.

But, this isn’t really what it looks like. Honest.

I knock her back so far that it takes her a full second to come back up to me and plow me to the floor. My kick scraped deep indentations on the side of her head, lightning bolts jagged down her eyes, clouds of red on her cheek. ‘Bots converge and watch us, looking for an opening to attack. In the same motion I’m jarred to the ground. Everything loose vibrates inside of me. Then she waits for me.

To anyone else, it looks like we’re fighting. Like we’re trying to win, trying to gain the upper hand, trying to prove something. But no. Fourth attempt. Fourth failure. Robotnik isn’t here. Robotnik doesn’t matter, and the fact that she was made to isn’t admissible in this court. She doesn’t want him. Not anymore. She wants me. She wants herself. She wants what she strives for.

Nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.

To anyone else, it looks like we’re fighting.

But no.

We’re fucking

Because she’s made exactly like me, because she’s more perfect than me, her proximity to the emeralds increases as well. If she had them inside of her, she would be damn near immortal, but we’re about equal the way we are.

Gray, blue, purple, green, yellow… red. Black. They throb with their own pulses.

There are rules to follow. There is structure. The line has to be drawn somewhere. Without a plan, where would deviation be?

Every punch is really a thrust. Every spurt of blood is really an orgasm. I had started off too quickly with an uppercut, she says. Start slow, teasing, with foreplay. The payoff is better. Wait for the reward, then strike. It’s that much more perfect.

It should be worth it.

I’m on top of her, and I’m biting and kicking, gently but with ferocity. Her nipples are hard. The Doctor made her anatomically correct too.

Made in his own image. Made in what he thinks he really wants.

Nowhere, that’s where. Opposites are just trying to be different. Goes without saying. Should it really be this bad, though? Does falling off the track mean that you’re unsalvageable?

Who makes up these rules?

She’s boiling between her legs. I’m throbbing so hard that it hurts. We’re hurting each other by our own admission. By our own hands. Believe me, it’s still rape even if it’s consensual. We still have no choice.

She bites on my ears. I rip into her back.

Oh wait. This could all be metaphorical.

She knocks another one of my teeth loose. I feel one of her fingers crack. The soft smacking sounds aren’t what you think.

Blood that’s really cum.

“I admire you.” Only because you want me. You want to kill me or you want me to kill you. It’s all the same. You’re my slave and I’m yours. We’re opposite so we oppose. It’s the rules. No leaders, only followers. Even the enforcers have to do what they’re told. It’s how it’s meant to be. Destiny. Marriage. A perfect, symbiotic relationship. Stressing the perfect.

But don’t call it love.

Call it “Mutual admiration.”

Call it “A friendly exchange.”

There is no single word for what this is.

…

‘Respect.’

…

I’ll settle for that, I guess.

But like I said, I can’t get off without knowing the other person is happy. If I can take some of their pain away, then there’s my distraction. My masturbation. The way I lie or bend the truth just so everything can be just perfect for everyone else.

Bearing the burden.

Sacrifice.

She really doesn’t want to win. Shadow won’t admit it, but she wants everything the way it is, even if she tries to change it. She wants to keep her admiration for me. She wants some things to be a mystery, even though she strives for the truth. You can strive for a better world for yourself if the best is already staring at you. At her. At me.

It’s not so much love as it is respect. It’s more admiration than infatuation.

Optimism and pessimism are the same thing. Just one of them doesn’t know it yet. What makes everyone different is what they think is the right way.

I was making a point.

‘Take me…’

Where were we?

I don’t keep track anymore of what has happened to me. Already I find out that I hadn’t really started over when he cut me open. He did nothing. He just wrapped me up in a neat little package. Set some bones and glued some veins. If anything, I’m more fucked up than before. Maybe environment did this, maybe genetics did this, maybe an outside force did this, but… maybe physics don’t count sometimes.

I did it. I did all of it.

Shadow claws her way up my neck, sucking on it, biting, faster, faster, until she hits an artery. A high arc of blood, under severe pressure, spurts all over her face. She starts to suck on it. I moan but I barely feel it.

What the fuck is going on?

This is supposed to be arousing, you see. Disturbing, you see. The images I give you are supposed to evoke a certain response. Whatever I’m going for. Think of it as a writer’s purpose.

I have to write something uplifting.

Like how the hero saves you from everything, including yourself. This story is real life and I’m the catalyst.

Her face the same color, her naked form thrashing on the cold, metal floor of the Death Egg, level whatever, I chew and I chew but I don’t break skin. The pink feels so soft, so warm… so familiar…

Is it okay to enjoy this?

Can pain and pleasure be this close together?

She suddenly springs upright and presses her mouth to mine, trying to bite my tongue off. We somehow manage to climb three levels, hitting floor after floor, shattering them like glass. ‘Bots converge but are quickly dispatched. Certain animals are freed and some aren’t. It’s left to chance, and they all end up dying anyway from the lack of air. We’re having children. They die and we outlive them. If anything, she gets off on this as well.

Soon, there is silence.

We’re still going at it, but the environment is changed.

Dead.

All of it.

So… is really anything accomplished? Will there be a winner or a loser, or just a draw? Shadow looks tired, out of breath, deserted, dehydrated. But she’ll never give up. She’ll fight until she collapses to the floor in a heap. Her dying words will be the scathing remark.

She will have the last word no matter what.

I don’t follow the structure anymore. Fuck it. The formula does not apply. Whoever made it up is someone I would love to kill one day, but it would do no good.

I can already tell this won’t have a happy ending.

No power lights. NICOLE gone cold. All the ‘bots are killed or deactivated. We’re in a place where nothing can hurt us and already I feel the nagging sensation of being bored as hell. Something is wrong. Something is absent.

I’m not following myself.

It’s my move.

My turn.

And we’re still gaining altitude, fighting the gravity of the planet. Struggling to reach the void of space. Robotnik chauffeuring us all the way. The Death Egg increasing velocity, escaping the atmosphere.

Not much time has passed at all, and it still feels like the wrong answer. All of it does.

Shadow’s eyes are so deeply black that I lose myself in them. Her insides are the same temperature as my outsides. She’s so soothing…

Oh.

…

Okay. Fine. I’ll give her what she wants. She deserves it.

Shadow’s body is thrown outside, crashing through the outer layer, bending all the metal into a gnarled, snarling beast. She climaxes. Her grin chills me to the bone and kills the moment, but I climax too.

She’s happy…

Because of the air sucking out of the level, I have to dig my claws into the floor to keep from being swept out. While she hangs onto a metal slab by a mere finger, I make my way down to her to say goodbye. Check. Your move.

I get within reach, and before I can say anything, Shadow licks my face. When she pulls back, her tongue is slick and red.

Then she grabs my neck, hanging by one hand. The other she starts to lightly caress my face, bringing away more blood. Her other hand is jammed inside of my chest and gripping what feels like the cold diamond of my heart, but…

They don’t know. They don’t know that I have the Chaos Emeralds. They think that Knuckles still has them. The Chaotix think the entire point of this is to protect him so he can fight Robotnik.

Why didn’t I correct them?

The inside of Chaos is soothing but painful and invasive. Her fingers grip my skull with enough force to almost crush it, to bend the plastic enough to start me bleeding.

I’m not struggling. Why?

Third mutation. Four. So modern art and so aquatic. Fins and scales, the works. It looks ridiculous but I’m not in any position to oppose.

My eyes are closed, and I can hear the shouts of Lumina and Espio as they try to free me, one of them tugging at my arms. It didn’t take long for our plan to go to shit.

This is what happens when you give me free will.

I’m sucked back out into the real world, snarling and spitting. Sound hurts, and the cold fingers of the intangible touch my face lightly, keeping me in place. I finally start hitting and Lumina lets me go, running back to get something.

Chaos seems occupied.

Come on, hurry up and work, you fucking relics! Come on!

Espio’s head is slammed full force into a tree, blood dripping downward faster than gravity should allow. Because of the large mass pulling beneath, the world feels heavier, and it takes more effort to do less. Story of my life. While I take a kick to the midsection, I hear a voice shout: “Hey!” and I knock away the foot and duck, regretting the feeling of lying still so long. I’m free again and I back away a little.

We’re being attacked. We’re dying. And I still can’t get myself to fly again.

Metaphors are stupid.

Fourth mutation. Six. I’ve become dependent on a tool that never works when I want it to. She’s much bigger and has more eyes. Her scream sounds vaguely like a little girl’s. Antennae and pincers lance out… what the fuck?

Fang, hidden in the tress somewhere, pulls the trigger on his rifle, sending a bullet right through the center of Chaos’ head, followed by a giant bang. The fabric of her surface stretches behind her, her watery skin following the bullet’s exiting path, a sharp cone jutting out longer than five feet. Her arms flail upwards and she almost topples, but the skin breaks and with elastic speed, goes right back into place.

Fifth mutation. Tentacles. Jaws. Claws. Teeth. Eyes. The fucking works. But it looks as though she won’t do this again…

Her body is still jiggling when Vector swipes at her legs with his tail, cutting him in half in a diagonal slice, jagged like a hacksaw. Charmy, meanwhile, completes his dive bomb and plows right through her, the water slowing him down enough to stop before hitting the ground, although the increased gravity hands him a bump on the nose. He rolls to his feet next to me.

Smaller.

Lumina screams a jungle queen battle call, and lets loose a giant spear, cutting through air molecules and whistling sharp and painful. The landing point is Chaos’ left eye. In this instant, another shot rings out, another cone made. In this instant, I run and go right through her, spinning. It’s the longest time I’ve ever spent in complete silence…

I think I’ve gone and done it again.
I’ve lied.
I may have twisted what Knuckles said, but I can’t be sure.
All I can think about is…

In this instant, the roar of the primordial, mythological soup travels across whatever land is left in the air.

As for Espio, he is out for the count and out for the press conference. Out for the funeral and out for the doctor’s appointment. It would take more glue than what’s in a single tube to put his head back together. The pieces remind me of a 3-D puzzle.

Normal. Human-like. What a relief?

Chaos slumps his shoulders and starts to dissolve, the tiny fetus floating inside impaled by a sharp stick; the work of Lumina. His arm falls off and splashes to the dirt; the work of Espio. Her entire body begins to melt like ice in boiling water. The same substance in the same substance, killing each other, changing each other until a compromise is reached. I’ve missed half of this.

Death.
And how they should all die.

The most horrible screeching rises, sounding like that of a dying baby ran over by a truck. It wavers and fades out. The prehistoric monster, the protector of the Emeralds, fades away…

Lumina starts to cry. She runs over to Espio’s body and mourns her loss. Our loss. My… loss…

In this instant, Angel Island crashes on the planet below, wherever or whatever that is.

Vector lets out a cheer.

Fang and Charmy start to come back down, wings beating like a heart.

We did it. They protected Knuckles. I’ve protected myself. The world is a safer place.
Bullshit.
Teamwork.
Happier times will begin. We will prevail. We will go save Knuckles and we will beat the Doctor, the evil tyrant. It’s what we all want.
I think.
Why is this making me so angry?
I look down at my hands and realize that they’re glowing.
Oh no.
Eight.

Lumina’s chest explodes outward, her heart pushed through the soft purple skin that lined her rib cage, a clear, translucent fluid wrapped around it. Her blood spills into Espio’s open eyes, and he doesn’t even blink. I’m suddenly thrown backwards, my face feeling like a building just fell on it. He hit me in the face. That fucking bastard… Vector screams in fright, his next instinct being to swing his tail around again. It’s quickly and painlessly cut off, clean, and thrown back at him. The spear, pulled out of its original resting place, cannons towards the spark of light coming from the trees. The bullet rips the branch in two, but unfortunately they are not equal halves, and the larger one sails towards the beacon. A second later, Fang’s body hits the ground, and Charmy tries another dive bomb. I stood to my feet, watching the… I stand to my feet and I watch… still clutching Lumina in its fist, Chaos jumps into the air and meets Charmy halfway, his head sticking out from the very bottom of her ass. This train wreck I don’t look away from. In fact, I devour more popcorn and I shed a few more tears. My stomach feels twisted, and soon, empty. I eat more popcorn. I consume. Charmy’s head smashes on impact, having missed the target and dive bombed full force into the ground, his blood mixing with Lumina’s and Chaos’ bodies. Then both are cast aside. Her giant yellow eyes, multiplying, stare at me. Some of my own blood drips down my chin. Chaos just stares at me. Vector moans next to Espio. I stand silent. I’d do anything for some noise right now. Please, give me something to distract me… and Chaos hits me again with her fist and I go flying backwards, sliding towards the great unknown. I can see her grin and grow and shrink and fade away…

I don’t know where I’m going.
Thank you.

*

By the time I arrive, Tails is lying under the Master Emerald in a pool of her own blood, and Robotnik is just standing there, staring at me…

And because I want it to, here is where the day ends. Right…

now