Disclaimer: This story uses characters and situations copyright one or more of the following: Service and Games, DiC, Funimation. This story is copyright Sam Durbin, a.k.a. Bryon Nightshade.

This story was inspired by the superior "Sonic kids" stories of Dan Drazen. I flatter myself to think of this story as a successor. If you're unfamiliar with Mr. Drazen's work, it's hardly required for this story, but strongly recommended on its own merits.

The planet Mobius sails through the cosmos, a small orb of blue circling an average yellow sun. A closer look would reveal the white of clouds and the green of vegetation—an ideal planet for carbon-based life. An even closer inspection would show a handful of black spots on the planet's surface, marring her otherwise beautiful countenance.

The year is 3231. For seven years, Mobius has groaned beneath the heel of a tyrant. Resistance to his rule has been scattered and ineffectual, mostly hiding and scavenging from the ruins of the old order. But that's beginning to change…

The world turns.

A new day is dawning.

Paul was caught.

He knew by the sound of the hover unit behind him; knew he was in the center of a clearing, out in the open; knew, especially, that the hover unit's heavy blaster had just blown a crater in the ground next to his leg.

He'd tripped, fallen, and, now, was caught.

The hover unit circled around before him. It trained its heavy blaster on him in a wordless but clear threat. There was little he could do but wait.

Despair surged through him. He'd survived for seven years since the coup. Seven years, alone and afraid... and for what? Just to be caught here?

He shivered at the sight of the blaster. He'd seen what it could do to people. He'd been a soldier before. Veteran soldiers have fear just like anyone else; they merely control it better. Exposure to fear wears down its edges, allows it to be handled without cutting so deeply. But it's never gone. As he stared down the hover unit, as it slowly descended into the clearing, Paul felt fear.

Another, deeper chill rocked him. No, death would not be his fate- something much worse was in store. For the hover unit contained two Swatbots. Swatbots were the agents of Robotnik. And Robotnik had power... power like nothing else that had been seen before on the planet Mobius. A power that could plunge a being into servitude- absolute and unceasing servitude.

Robotnik had the Roboticiser.

Paul had seen its victims. He'd seen those poor souls, trapped in metal shells, helpless, hopeless. They were turned into robot facsimiles of their former selves, cruel parodies that bound more tightly than any shackles. That's what was coming for him.

The temptation to run overcame him next. Not Roboticization! Anything but that! Better to try and escape, and be gunned down in the attempt, than to let those fiends get a hold of him!

Perhaps the fear was too intense. Or perhaps the instinct to avoid certain death was simply too strong. Whatever the cause, Paul did not move.

The hover unit set down. The door on its side opened up. A Swatbot stepped out.

It was tall, almost two meters. It was vaguely humanoid. Its arms were long, its chest broad and thick with armor plating. Those facts made it somewhat top-heavy, and its balance wasn't terribly good. But it was strong and tough and surprisingly quick; it didn't seem fair that such a heavy robot should be able to run down its prey.

Its head was a half-sphere or dome shape. A horizontal red stripe of glass served as its eye. It was dark gray in color, which served it well in its natural habitat.

In its hands was a blaster- a smaller version of the energy weapon mounted to the hover unit. Smaller, but still quite lethal.

"Freeze, citizen," said the Swatbot. The fact that Paul already was freezing didn't change how it approached the situation. Its programming was rigid about some things. The Swatbot kept Paul covered with its blaster while its comrade stepped out of the hover unit.

Hover units always had a crew of two. While the first Swatbot ensured Paul didn't move, the second approached to take him into custody. Every step it took towards him caused Paul's heart to quaver. Panic and the urge to run swept through him again. He remained motionless.

When it reached him, the Swatbot began to bind him. He twisted Paul's arms behind him and shackled his wrists together. Now he was well and truly caught- the moment the Swatbot took a hold of him, there could be no more fighting. Its grip was far too strong. The Swatbot bound his ankles together next.

The reality of his doom took hold of Paul. He could no longer even entertain the notion of running. He was helpless as a newborn. The Swatbot would sling him over its shoulder, haul him back to its hover unit, and return to the city...his eternal slavery would begin...

And that's when things took a turn for the surreal.

From the boundary of the clearing came two children, one boy, one girl, he blue, she brown. They were arguing. Loudly.

"I don't care if I do sound like a sissy, the answer's no!"

"You just won't admit I'm right!"

"If you ever were right..."

"I was right yesterday!"

Paul wanted to cry out to them, to warn them off. Even as he opened his mouth, his captor pushed him over. Paul couldn't move his arms or feet to catch himself. He fell like timber.

The breath flew from Paul's lungs when he hit. He gasped in pain and surprise. Above him, the Swatbot intoned, "Freeze, citizens."

"...well, I was right NOW!" The brown girl ducked behind a stump in the clearing. The boy began... no, that wasn't possible... spinning his feet?

Whatever he was doing, he dashed past the front of both Swatbots. He stopped besides the Swatbot at the hover unit, smacked it on the hip, and laughed, "Tag! You're it!" Then, in a blur of motion and dust, he was gone.

The Swatbots split up. One chased the boy. The other approached the stump. Paul tried to cry out to her, but he couldn't manage it, couldn't warn her, couldn't tell her that her doom was so very close...

The Swatbot pointed the tip of its blaster over the stump. The girl rolled away and scrambled to her feet, facing the bot. It tried to follow her with the blaster, but found it couldn't. A bit of rope tied the end of the blaster to the stump. Paul blinked hard. When had that happened? How had he missed it?

The girl faced off with the bot, edging away nervously, but still close. The bot had to release its blaster if it wanted to follow her. It did.

"Bunnie! Antoine!" shouted the girl. The Swatbot stepped towards her, its arms spread wide to snatch her if she dodged left or right. She backed up, step by step, letting it close in on her.

That's when Paul spotted another group of children. Three of them, behind the Swatbot, ran right at it. Two of them held a thick branch between them at the level of the Swatbot's knees. The other was pulling on rubber gloves.

It looked like the Swatbot had the brown girl cornered, but the children caught up to it. The branch hit the Swatbot behind both knees. At the same time, the brown girl lunged forward, body-checking the Swatbot. Normally, light as she was, such a move would have been futile and dangerous. When combined with the other hit, it caused the Swatbot to jacknife backwards.

The brown girl rolled off the Swatbot. "Rotor! Now!"

The last kid raised a screwdriver high overhead and plunged it down into the Swatbot's "eye". With the other hand he raised a rock. He hammered the rock down onto the end of the screwdriver, impaling it deep into the Swatbot's head.

There was an almighty crack; the bot spasmed once, let out a puff of smoke, and was still.

The children stood still for a moment as they surveyed their handiwork. The blue boy who'd ran off earlier appeared in their midst. The wind from his passage tussled their hair. When he skidded to a stop it showered Paul with dirt.

"Where's the other Swatbot?" said the brown girl with alarm.

The boy laughed and raised his right arm. In it was a Swatbot's hand, messily amputated from the arm. The children erupted into chatter.

They paid Paul no mind. That was just as well, because he needed a moment to address the thought that was dominating his mind:

Just who were these kids, anyway?

One hour earlier…

Robotropolis.

A name synonymous with darkness and danger. Its very existence anathema to organic life.

The city was murky even by day. It was the concentrated industrial heart of an empire, and it had the pollutants to prove it. Its rulers were focused solely on efficiency. The facilities of the old regime, which were remarkably clean-running, were left in place because replacing them would be too expensive. The miles of new construction—the factories, refineries, and laboratories, and the power plants that supported them—had no similar restrictions. They spewed toxins into the air day and night, until the skies were choked with smog and the water flowed with death.

Between that and the roving Swatbots who imposed Robotnik's strict version of order, few people ever ventured to the city, and none lingered.

Which is what made this sound so unusual:

"…not my mother…"

"…totally immature and reckless…"

Two children's voices rang out. High but harsh, the sound was like two songbirds trying to sing over one another.

"…like I need a leash and collar…"

"…no, too smart to listen…"

"…scaredy-cat…"

"…jerk…"

A new noise reached the children's ears. Their voices cut out like throwing a switch as they concentrated their faculties on listening. They turned to each other and shouted, "Duck!"

Down the alley cruised a hover unit. It looked vaguely like an egg on its side. Flush with its underside was a searchlight that could penetrate even Robotropolis' proverbial smog. Mounted to its top was a heavy blaster. The cockpit was set back somewhat along the leading edge, to allow some protection for the two-Swatbot crew. It floated without apparent means; its drive had no external moving parts and made no emissions save a high-pitched swooping sound.

Even the bold and well-armed avoided hover units. Seven years of Robotnik's rule had eliminated most of the bold and well-armed.

The unit passed out of the alley. A few moments later, the two children emerged from separate hiding places, brushed themselves off, and looked to each other once more.

"So," the boy said with a smirk, "where were we?"

The smirk was natural for Sonic Hedgehog. He was special, and he knew it, had known it for all twelve years of his life. Indeed, he was the sort who doesn't look quite right without a smirk on his face. He wore his arrogance like a second skin, and it informed the rest of his posture—the crossed arms, the easy leaning-back, the tapping of a foot at the slightest delay from others. His eyes were black, and ever alert. They noticed everything that went on, but even that was a form of contempt, for things that could break his nonchalance were rare. Most of the things he saw could be ignored, without even giving the hint that they'd been noticed.

His fur was blue except for tan on the belly and arms. Though he was a hedgehog, his quills were all swept back into a single ridge along his spine. He wore white gloves—although keeping them white in such a place as Robotropolis was impossible—and custom-made red shoes. No lesser shoes could have withstood the abuse Sonic imposed. For Sonic was fast—faster than natural law would seem to allow. He was the self-proclaimed "Fastest Thing Alive". Both the title and its self-imposition were apt.

Princess Sally Acorn didn't respond at first. She pretended to be picking something from her arm while she worked to regain some dignity. Though she was no older than Sonic, she always felt compelled to act older in his company. Her brow was creased with worry, and the lines developing there revealed that she wore this expression often. She wore practical blue boots and a blue vest that, thanks to the growth she'd experienced in the past year, she could no longer fasten in the front. Her hair was auburn, and she kept it cropped short and out of the way. Her fur was plain brown. Her family included both squirrels and chipmunks; though she was unmistakably of rodent lineage, her tail was little more than a tuft of brown. Her eyes were large, blue, and intelligent. Her body was painfully thin, her head a size too large; yet, if one looked at her, you couldn't help but think there was an extra something to her that wasn't so easily described.

Her face relaxed, and when she spoke, it was like a mother exasperated with a noisome toddler. "We were having another pointless discussion," she said, "of why we do reconnaissance missions, and why pleading to jump every Swatbot we come across is plain irritating."

"Really?" said Sonic, voice dripping with sarcasm. "'Cause the way I remember, you were just about to admit that there's a Swatbot right nearby with our names on it."

"Sonic, saying that something has 'our names on it' means that it's gonna get us."

"Get us? Get us? Do I look like I can be gotten?"

"No… you look like you don't get it."

"Hey…"

"There's no point staying here," she continued. "We've already done everything we came here to do."

"Exactly! Now we can go for bonus points!"

"'Bonus points'? This isn't a game, Sonic. There are no 'bonus points' in real life."

"Style points?"

She ground her teeth together. "Now you're just trying to make me angry."

"It's working, ain't it?"

She scowled. Sonic laughed.

"Sonic," she said, "we've had this argument six times on this trip alone. And we come to the city two to three times a week. That means we've gone through this… you know, I'm not sure you can count that high."

"Sal, past a certain point, numbers don't matter. Take my speed. You think I've got a number for how fast I go? No way! All I know is that there's scootin', there's rootin', and when I'm really goin' all out, there's scootin' and rootin'." He waved a hand dismissively. "You sweat the small stuff too much. You think Robuttnik'd really notice a Swatbutt here and there?"

"In a word? Yes."

"Puh-lease!"

"Sonic, the more Robotnik thinks we get into the city, the more precautions he'll take. If we knocked off a Swatbot on every trip, soon we wouldn't be able to get in at all."

"You're no fun."

"Sonic…"

"Whoa, check out the time! We'd better juice on over to Rote an' Bunnie before Ant talks their ears off!"

Sally sighed. Sonic hadn't actually agreed with her, but at this point, she'd take what she could get.

"Sanitation" was a disregarded concept in that city. The population, after all, was robots. Neither they nor their rulers cared much where garbage went or what happened to it, so long as it was out of the way.

So the trash heaps were born.

The city was girdled by a ring of heaps of different size and composition. Mounds of garbage and industrial waste grew, and grew, and grew some more. They were composed primarily of metal and building materials, broken parts and rubble. Some areas were dumping grounds for industrial chemicals, and no Mobian—or robot, for that matter—dared set foot there. Even the best parts of the heaps were tangled mazes of jagged edges, slowly corroding beneath the city's toxic haze.

They were, in short, a place where even hoofed animals considered shoes.

The heaps were labyrinthine expanses, and they were ever-changing as new rubbish was added day by day. It was too hazardous to patrol, so by and large Robotnik didn't try. He concentrated his forces on the more orderly parts of the city. Meanwhile, those at the margins of his empire—say, a collection of young but bold children—used the trash heaps as their way in and out of the city.

A young rabbit doe stood in the heaps—she hadn't found a place that looked safe enough to sit on. Out of all the children, she was the first and most obvious to enter puberty, a fact her childhood friends were having trouble evading. She had a pleasant disposition, though being in the city had soured her normally cheerful expression. Before coming, she'd applied eye shadow with an inexpert hand. Even in dangerous territory she believed in looking good. As a compromise with this belief, she wore a purple jumpsuit, so as to not risk ruining any of her "good" clothes. She pursed her lips in worry and reached to her ears. The bright ribbons she wore there were becoming discolored. "Rotor," she said with a soft Southern accent, "how much longer? You know Ah hate it here."

Rotor paused. He'd crouched low to inspect some discarded components. If the children hadn't had him, they wouldn't be here at all. "Well," he said, "you know what Sally said. We're going to look around until they come back."

"Wonderful," Bunnie mumbled.

Rotor grimaced. "I-I don't control when they come back," he said. "It's not my fault."

Bunnie sighed. "I never said it was your fault, Rotor-hun."

Rotor opened his mouth to speak, but his eye caught on a different piece of machinery, and he looked over to it. This was not unusual. Rotor had always shown greater talent with mechanisms than for people. Rotor was a walrus. Although Mobian walruses were bipeds, Rotor never seemed quite at home on land. His fingers were sharp and clever, but his eyes were doleful. The natural droop in the shape of his mouth was accentuated by a moping insecurity. He was the sort of person who tries above all to be useful, because if he is not, he knows no reason to exist.

He wore a backwards-turned baseball cap and a bandolier with perhaps a dozen pockets. Though the other children wouldn't admit it, the bandolier fascinated them. You never knew what would come out of it next.

"Mademoiselle Bunnie, you are being in too much rushing," said a heavily-accented voice. "You are being like zat fyu-el who tinks zat running around with fastness makes 'im sooo specialment…"

Bunnie rolled her eyes, a fact missed by Antoine, whose words had descended to bitter mumbling. Antoine's father had been a member of the Royal Guard. He'd been lost in the coup, which had left a strong impression on Antoine. Antoine aspired to be everything his father was. Sometimes, this was harmless, like in the uniforms and boots Antoine was able to conjure up for himself. Other aspects of it—such as his father's borderline illiteracy in common Mobian—were not so endearing. Most of all, his pretensions of military honor made him Sonic's natural enemy. Sonic was everything Antoine wasn't, yet had much Antoine longed for. They couldn't be considered rivals, not when Antoine was so far out of Sonic's league. Sonic tweaked Antoine because it amused him, but Antoine hated Sonic as only a jealous admirer can.

Antoine's large forehead, long snout, huge eyebrows, and condescending demeanor all helped people buy the picture Sonic sold: that Antoine was an over-filled balloon in need of popping.

"Ah think Ah've been more than patient here," said Bunnie. She looked at the ribbons again. Yep, discolored, and their ends were beginning to curl. "Ah ain't like Sugar-hog, neither."

"Look, I know I'm cool, but you don't have to talk about me all the time."

Sonic and Sally walked to join their friends. Behind Sonic, Sally made gagging motions. Bunnie giggled.

"How'd it go?" asked Rotor.

"Boring, as usual," said Sonic. "I dunno, I guess we're waiting until the Swatbots start wearing 'kick me' signs."

He glanced over at Sally with a grin, daring her to speak. She ignored him, and his expression fell. "What about you guys?" she asked.

"Knicks and knacks, mostly," said Rotor. "I've got 'em packed away." He patted his bandolier.

"Every little bit helps," said Sally.

"Maybe someday you'll build something really cool," said Sonic.

Rotor frowned. "Well, I already built that coffee machine, and our watches," he said, pointing to Sonic's wrist. "How much cooler can we get?"

"I dunno, maybe an auto-chili-dog machine," said Sonic, licking his lips theatrically. "Or maybe a machine to check if Antoine actually has a brain."

"I 'eard zat."

"It'd be wasted if you hadn't."

"Ssh!" hissed Bunnie. "Y'all hear that?"

They went silent instantly. Bunnie's brow knit in concentration.

"Those are alarms," she declared. "We need to get the hoo-ha out of here."

The others nodded. There was no doubting those ears.

"Right," said Sally, asserting control at once. "This way."

They set off, moving quickly for their size. They ducked between piles of parts, skirted around masses of material and dodged past towers of trash. The heaps formed natural passageways; by staying down in those passageways, the children limited how much they could be seen. It was like running down a metal canyon.

"They're all sorts o' stirred up," said Bunnie.

"How can you tell?" asked Sally.

"Freeze, citizens."

The Swatbot's voice came from behind them, atop one of the walls of their passage. None of the children even considered stopping. They darted around the next bend before the bot could draw a bead.

"We won't outrun it," said Rotor.

"Sonic!" barked Sally. "Distract it!"

"I'm gone," said Sonic. In the blink of an eye, he was.

"Keep your eyes open," said Sally.

"What for, Sally-girl?" asked Bunnie.

"Anything," Sally responded. No one could press the conversation further. One Swatbot the children could defeat with courage and cunning. But there was never only one Swatbot. If one had found them, more would soon, more than the children could dream of fighting or hope to elude. The only defense was to get as far away as possible.

That meant running.

They twisted around a pile of damaged Swatbot parts, where half a dozen arms reached forlornly out of the junk. They dashed past a year's worth of metal shavings from a machine shop. They knew better than to complain, or to slow down.

Behind them, they heard blaster shots, and maybe—very faintly—childish laughter.

"Oh mah stars," said Bunnie, "sounds like another Swatbot's on our tails."

"There!" said Sally. The children came to a halt before a teetering tower of trash. Sally's tiny frame trembled as she heaved breaths, but she still managed to speak. "Rotor, where should we pull?"

Rotor looked over the base of the tower. A touch here, a glance there—he cut through possibilities one by one, until he found the one he liked. "There," he said, pointing to a strut that was bent almost double.

"Grab it, everyone," Sally said. As they moved, she let out a clear, sharp whistle, then joined them. "One, two, pull!... One, two, pull!... One, two, pull!"

On the last pull, the foot of the strut pulled free. Ominous cracking and snapping sounds came from the tower.

Sonic slid to a halt in front of Sally. "What's up, Sal?"

"Move!" she answered, grabbing his arm and pulling. The children started running again. The sounds in the garbage pile had gone from snapping to moaning.

A pair of Swatbots rounded the bend in time to see the children nip out of sight. They pursued—briefly. The tower of trash's moaning became a rumbling, and finally a crashing. The Swatbots noticed as it began to topple. They raised their hands in self-defense. It was like holding an umbrella against a tidal wave.

When it was over, the landscape of the trash heaps had been rearranged yet again. The Swatbots had been claimed.

The city of Mobotropolis was built nestled against the sea. It had developed, as most cities do, without any sort of plan or pattern. The Royal Palace had been built nearby the water's edge, and at the time was close to the city's center. By the year 3224, the city had swept on into the surrounding lands. This growth was tempered by a near-compulsive need to keep the city beautiful. Fountains and parks dotted the city; its irrigation and sewer systems were second to none.

In that year, when Sonic and his friends were merely five, Robotnik launched his coup, seized control, and took the city's growth in a new direction.

3231 saw the city laid out in a series of concentric circles, like half a shooting target. In the middle was Robotropolis Headquarters. This giant, ovoid skyscraper had grown out of the Royal Palace, as Robotnik added new sections and facilities as he needed them. Surrounding the HQ were research and development labs, and a select few of the most important factories.

The ring around that housed power plants and factories; around that, refineries, raw materials processing, and maintenance shops; around that, endless warehouses and the facilities that supported the city itself. Surrounding this ring were the trash heaps.

Yet even the heaps were circled. Beyond the heaps lay a fallow land, a great grassy expanse that separated the city from the Great Forest. Before the coup the city was closing in on the forest's edge. As the city choked out the life that surrounded it, only hearty grasses and weeds could survive the close proximity. Year by year the forest retreated, leaving grass behind. In a few years, even the weeds would be gone in many places, leaving nothing but cracked and dusty earth.

The grassy no-man's-land was wider in some places than others. Where the children crossed, it was only about a kilometer from the trash heaps to the forest.

No longer running, but moving quickly all the same, the children set out from the heaps.

"Oh mah stars, mah bed is callin' me," said Bunnie.

"No joke," said Rotor. "I hate Swatbots."

"I guess you got your wish," Sally said to Sonic. "Weren't you wanting to knock off a couple Swatbots? Well, we got chased, terrified, and only just escaped. Are you happy now?"

Sonic put a hand to his chin in mock consideration. "Yeah," he said, "I gotta say I'm pretty stoked."

Sally sighed, but Rotor said, "It's pretty cool to think that we leveled two Swatbots like that."

"You can't even complain about picking fights," Sonic added. "That alarm went off before the bots found us."

"I was wondering about that," said Sally. "But if the Swatbots weren't looking for us… who were they looking for?"

"AaaAGH!" yelped Antoine.

"What?" said Sonic. "Did your uniform get dirtyyYY!" Sonic's words got away from him as Sally forced him to the ground. The other children also dove for the dirt.

"What was that all about?" said Sonic.

"Look where Antoine was looking," Sally whispered.

Sonic followed her outstretched hand—and saw a hover unit.

It was keeping low to the ground. It wasn't close by, but the children could see it clearly, so it wasn't too far away. They kept their heads as low in the grass as they could and still see, except for Antoine, who lay flat and clamped his hands over his eyes.

"It's lookin' for somethin'," said Sonic. "Check out the way it wiggles."

"Wiggles?" said Sally.

"You know," said Sonic impatiently. He stuck his head forward, then turned it from side to side. "Wiggling!"

"Wiggling," Sally repeated. "Riiight." She looked back at the hover unit.

She saw it turning to and fro. It *was* wiggling. She glanced back at Sonic, then set her face. There was no way she'd ever admit he was right about that.

"Lookit," Bunnie said. "Ah think it found somethin'!"

The hover unit fired once, into the forest boundary. Before reaching the edge, it raised its altitude, cruising above the trees.

"Sally," said Rotor, "there's a clearing over there."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," said Sally. "Come on, let's go. You too, Antoine."

"Of coursing, my preencess," said Antoine. He rose and dusted himself off.

"Now!"

He yelped, but obeyed. The children set off at a run once more. In moments they reached the forest. They'd cleverly concealed the mouth of the path. Even though they were in the safety of the forest, their travel was free.

"The clearing's this way," said Sonic. He led them off the main path, onto a smaller one running parallel to the tree line. It took all his self-control not to outrun his friends. He was still first to lay eyes on the scene.

"Get a load of this," he said. "It's a grown-up!"

The grown-up was trying to get across the clearing. Too late—the hover unit came over the treeline behind him. It fired its heavy blaster at him. Although the blast hit the ground next to him, he still fell to the ground.

The hover unit passed over him, circled, and began to descend. It kept its blaster trained on him.

"They're gonna nab him!" said Bunnie.

"Sal, we gotta move," said Sonic. He looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Sally's eyes darted around. They paused for the barest moments on Sonic's backpack, Rotor's bandolier, a nearby stick, a stump in the clearing. She nodded. "Alright, everyone," she said. "Here's the plan…"

To be continued...