Think about the worst month you've ever had in your life. Just, please… humor me. Picture in your mind, one of those absolute bottom-of-the-barrel, gum-on-the-shoe periods of your existence. If you don't have one, fuck you – because nobody should have it that perfect.

Anyways, are you imagining it? Because whatever the hell it is you're imagining doesn't even come close to the shit stain that is my last month. Trust me, it's not even on the same goddamn scale.

Where do I start? Oh, maybe with the fact that my creator, Gerald Robotnik, who I viewed as a father to me and the man who I modelled my existence after turned out to have been some batshit crazy-ass mofo who wanted to blow up the Earth and shit. Oh, and he made some fucking demented-ass phallus of a lizard who was going to drag a space colony into the goddamn Earth – purely out of spite.

But that's nothing. Nope, turns out I had to also fall to the goddamn Earth in the process of killing that thing. Have you ever catapulted through the goddamn atmosphere at terminal velocity, bursting into flame at uncontrollable speeds and slamming into a solid mountain!? Yeah… that's what I thought.

Now, you might be saying: "But Shadow, you're immortal. Doesn't it not matter that that happened? Isn't it just a drop in the bucket? Didn't it not even hurt" And to that, I might be saying, "Fuck off, you piece of shit". Because it fucking hurt. A fuckload. Call me back after you fall from space.

Anyways, I'm rambling. And I might as well save some of my exaggerated metaphors for later complaints, because little did I know shit was just gonna get worse.

I am Shadow the Hedgehog. Welcome to my fucking life.

For a week I laid in the crater I made in that godforsaken mountain, slowly regenerating every bone and tendon in my body. Bugs all over me… hot, sticky weather – the whole package. Finally, I discovered enough energy to make my trek back to Station Square – on foot, of course. Three days it took me to run through those Green Jungles and White Forests and whatever the hell-ass other third grade names we like to give places in this country for some reason.

Despite my horrible mood, there was a lingering excitement somewhere inside of me. I was going to be a hero when I returned to Station Square, at the very least. Somehow, within my dark, twisted soul I found it in me to enjoy the fact that I had done something good for the world – even if it was for the selfish reason of being recognized and remembered forever. If I was going to go through hell like that, at least I wasn't going through it for nothing.

Except, of course, I was wrong about that too. Arriving in Station Square was pretty much the opposite of a fanfare: with every person failing to recognize me – ignoring me completely, in fact. You'd think after saving the world, people would show some goddamn gratitude. Whatever, I guess I'll get my recognition through the official channels instead. Mayor's medal, key-to-the-city and all of that.

I turned a corner and someone barreled straight into me, nearly knocking me over. Despite the fact that he initiated the contact, he had the nerve to say, "Move, asshole!" I wanted to snap his damn spine right there, but I guess I don't do those things anymore so I hesitantly let it slide. And the second I regained my composure and took in what I was seeing, I realized I had bigger fish to fry anyways.

In front of me, in the center of Town Square, was a giant statue of Sonic. Mother… fucking… Sonic. Twelve foot tall and golden, the disgrace of a statue was just a straight insult to me in the biggest way possible. Fountains and birds and shit were shooting out in all directions as if to literally say "Fuck you Shadow, I hope you fucking hate yourself."

And I kinda felt like hating myself, because what the hell. I did MORE than that blue bastard did. He didn't sacrifice shit for anyone – he was literally less relevant than me to saving the world and HE was the one who got the statue. They might as well have put a two-foot, rock-hard golden dick on the statue, with the hands of the statue just mechanically stroking it as it metaphorically and literally jizzed all over what was right and fair in the world.

I needed a goddamn explanation. Now. I was gonna find that spiky bastard and figure out what the hell happened when I was gone.

So I started off for answers… and another cocksucker bumps right into me. This time, I snapped. "What the fuck!? Do you know who I am!?" I yelled, bumping my chest into his aggressively.

He looked at me and said, "Uh… no? Who the fuck are you!?" He gave me a two-handed shove, but I didn't budge.

"You know, Shadow the Hedgehog!? Saved your fucking ungrateful ass, along with every other person on this godforsaken planet just a month ago!?"

This just made him madder. He came within an inch of my face and spat, "Bull-fucking-shit. You and me both know that was Sonic, and while you kinda look like him you ain't even goddamn blue."

He started to wind up for a punch, but within the blink of an eye I grabbed him by his arm and whipped him effortlessly 73 kilometers into the ocean. I don't have time for this bullshit.

What I do have time for is finding that goddamned blue disgrace. And I knew where he'd be: at that goddamn chili dog place he always hangs out at around this time.

And before you could say "life is fucking bullshit" I was there. On the door was a sign that said "SONIC THE HEDGEHOG'S FAVORITE RESTAURANT" with a smug-ass grinning photo of the bastard, taunting me just below the text. I swore (did you notice yet that I do that a lot?) and pushed the door open. With a hard slam it crashed into the wall and the glass shattered. Everyone in the joint stopped eating immediately and stared.

Before the bewildered cashier could chew me out, I grabbed him by his collar and demanded, "Where is that goddamn blue hedgehog Sonic!?"

The cashier swallowed nervously and said, "Mr. Sonic has a private room in the back, and he is not to be disturbed by regular patrons of this restaurant."

I glared him right in the eyes, breathing on his face and snarled, "Say it again. C'mon, try it."

He swallowed again – a very dry-looking swallow – and said, "He's right that way… erm, sir."

"That's what I fucking thought." I aggressively released him and pushed into the back area of the restaurant.

To my right was a door with a star-shaped cut-out sign plastered in the middle. "Sonic the Fucker" it said on it, or at least that's what I remember reading. Angrily, I pushed the door open.

The room was expansive and fancy, but that's not what I noticed first. What I saw was Sonic on a couch in the center of the room, lying back as two busty, nude hedgehogs were giving him a blowjob. Not exactly what I was expecting, of course, but even more-rage inducing than anything I could have imagined. What was even more surprising, though, was that the girls didn't even react to the door opening. One of them just kept bobbing her head up and down sloppily on his dick, while the other one was licking his balls.

Sonic, however, grabbed their heads and stopped them. "Shadow!?" he exclaimed. He blinked hard as he checked again. "You're alive!?"

He pulled up his pants as he stood up, jogging over to him embrace me. I stopped him with a flat hand on his chest. "Don't touch me, faker," I said.

"Whoa, what's wrong, dude?" Sonic asked. He seemed very surprised, as his puny brain hadn't put together the problem I had with everything so far.

I half-chuckled angrily. "What's wrong? What's wrong!? How about fucking everything!? I nearly sacrificed myself to save this goddamn planet and YOU get the big fucking golden statue, and the whores, and all the recognition – and no one even knows who I am!?"

Sonic's eyes widened in recognition as he slowly put what I had said together. I realized at this point that he wasn't processing what I was saying at a regular speed – and looking towards the coffee table confirmed my suspicions about why. Sitting on the table were a bong, a small pile of cocaine, a bunch of unidentifiable pills and some needles. Sonic was high out of his goddamned mind on who knows what combination of crap.

This loosened my shoulders and my grip a little bit. I was still incredibly angry, but there's something different about arguing with someone who was plastered. I took a half-step back and continued to let him process my sentence.

And finally, he spoke. "We thought you were dead, man. We really did. Shit, if we had known we would have done something… but G.U.N. made us keep your whole existence quiet."

"They did fucking what!?" I yelled.

Sonic looked legitimately remorseful. "Dude, I know. It didn't feel right but we didn't wanna cause a huge stink, and you know, they said since you were dead it wouldn't matter anyways. They even told us they recovered and destroyed your remains."

My anger had shifted. G.U.N. continues to be the bane of my goddamn existence. "Those motherfuckers. Fucking pieces of garbage. I'll make them pay for this."

At this point, I had realized that Sonic himself didn't seem to be THAT high – but the girls did. They had maintained a blank, seductive stare as they stood behind Sonic during this whole conversation, stroking his back and not processing a single word we had said.

I thought about what he had said for a bit. While what he said really changed how I felt about the whole situation, I was still pretty pissed at him. I feel like he hadn't done his due diligence in my supposed "death" – even if it wasn't as much his fault as I thought.

So I socked him in the face. The girls gasped but didn't really react otherwise. Sonic stood with his face turned down and away from me for a long moment, and then said, "I deserved that."

Then, he started laughing a little and pulled in for the hug again. I hesitantly let him. "So are we square, man?" he said, "I'm sorry but I'm just so glad you're back!"

I replied, "We aren't square quite yet… but I'm not going to kill you anymore."

Sonic grinned. At first, I didn't get why, but then he motioned to the girls and the drugs.

"I know how we can be square."

The rest of that night is kind of a blur. It comes back to me in flashes.

Lines of cocaine off of the girls' tits.

Me cumming down one of the girls throats, her mouth all the way down my shaft. My hands in her hair, pushing it in further.

Deep hits from the bong.

Shots of hard, hard shit out of bottles from exquisite countries I had never heard of.

Double teaming the one with bigger tits – Sonic fucking her mouth, me fucking her ass. A high five over her back.

More drugs called in. More girls called in – Sonic had so many bitches now.

Girls begging to fuck me. Tits bouncing in my face. High pitched squeals and deep moans.

More drugs – needles and pills and who knows what else.

Cum on tits. Cum on faces. Cum leaking out of pussies. Cum in mouths mixed with foaming champagne.

…

Okay, maybe we were square.

AN: Guess who's back? Actually, no one remembers me. But sudden inspiration struck and here is this…. thing. Can't wait to write chapter 2. Also, maybe I'll finally get around to digging up the old outline and finishing A Game of Bones. Hope you enjoyed!