Hi, people! Thank you for clicking on this story. Disclaimer: I do not own the Underground or any of the other characters. However, later on there will be some of my own characters.
Manic was tired of living in this little rat-hole. He had no idea why the tyrant ruler of Mobius, Robotnik, had to be so hard with the taxes. It gave him a shabby kingdom to rule, as most of the people were poor, hungry, and generally left in poverty. Ferrel, Manic's guardian, told him that Mobius used to be a lovely place to live. But the rightful ruler, Queen Aleena, had been forced to go into hiding. "But," Ferrel said, "Rumor has it that the Queen had triplets a year before that tyrant Robotnik took over. No one knows what happened to 'em, or where they went. The young'uns certainly couldn't fend for themselves."
Manic wondered what happened to them, too. He knew he was a foundling, or an orphan. He kept asking Ferrel if he knew who left him at the entrance of their hut. Ferrel would shrug and answer, "I jes found yeh in a little basket, snuggled into a couple o' blankets." Manic pondered all of this while walking back home from their evening thieving. Ferrel had taught Manic that the only way for their kind to survive in the poor city was to steal anything and sell it for food. Suddenly Manic heard carriage wheels grating on the cobblestone road—and they were coming fast. "DIVE FOR THE GUTTERS!" Manic gasped. They dove into the gutters, and not a second too soon. The carriage was fancy, and Manic suspected the passengers were nobles. It rattled past them.
Manic could see into the carriage, and sure enough, it had a few nobles in it. He absolutely hated aristocrats. They were always so full of themselves, and were constantly looking down their noses at everyone who was less fortunate, even if that less fortunate person was taller. A young lady inside the carriage looked out the window. Manic's medallion—the one he'd had ever since he could remember—sparked and sent a jolt through him. The lady was about his age. She had the same eyes as him, and she had the odd little birthmark just above her wrist that was in the exact same location as his. It looked just like his too: a small patch of silver fur shaped like a crescent moon. Manic felt like he knew her. Ferrel chuckled next to him. "You eyein' the pretty pink hedgehog? She ain't gonna take no thief as her special friend. You oughta know that!" Manic said, "I feel like I know her. She was wearing a medallion—it was similar to mine." And not to mention the exact same birthmark, Manic thought, but he didn't want to give Ferrel his suspicion that he and the pink hedgehog were related. The carriage grated past, leaving Manic and Ferrel behind.
They trudged back home, and entered their shabby little hut. It wasn't much to look at. Dirty brown walls, sagging ceiling, packed sand floor, and a makeshift table, along with a couple of mats where Manic and Ferrel slept. Ferrel set down the sacks full of food. They saved each sack for any time that they were in a crunch and couldn't get out for a while. Like that time when they were snowed in. Their door was iced to the wall, and Manic and Ferrel couldn't leave their hut for three weeks. That had been a nightmare.
Manic sat down next to the tiny table and pulled out of a sack a small loaf of bread and a jug of water. Ferrel split the loaf of bread in half and pulled two small bowls out. He poured about half of the jug into the bowls. Ferrel pushed a bowl and the bread towards Manic and watched as his adopted son tore into the food. Ferrel sighed, and thought about how much Manic had grown since that night he found asleep in the basket. He had been a tiny thing, barely as big as his hand, snuffling in his sleep. Ferrel had scooped him up and held the baby close to his shoulder. Manic had wrapped his tiny arms around his foster father's neck and slept on. "Ferrel?" Manic's voice jolted Ferrel out of his memories. He looked at his boy. "Are you okay?" Manic queried. His green eyes were full of concern. "You were kind of scowling. I thought something might be upsetting you." Ferrel smiled at Manic. "Yep. I'm fine. I was jes, um, thinking. You worryin' 'bout me is sweet, but yeh don't have nuthin' to worry 'bout." Ferrel knew he was rambling, but he was beginning to have suspicions about the lad's parentage. "We'd better get some shuteye, Manic. It's gettin' late." Manic nodded and lie down on his mat.
Hours later, Manic lay awake, straining his memory, trying to recall anything about who his parents were, or if he had siblings. He got the usual memories: waking up in this tiny hut, Ferrel's large face grinning as Manic burbled nonsense. That was the farthest he could ever remember. He heard Ferrel snoring beside him, a constant, deep sound. Manic squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember anything before Ferrel finding him. He fought those memories and strained as hard as he could, grasping for any thing different. Suddenly Manic bolted upright. His mind was filled with a few flashes from before this life: a loving mother, lullabies, soft quilts, fancy rooms, and then all of this was shattered with gun shots, screams that rent the tranquility, flashes of blinding light. Being carried in a basket and set on a doorstep. His mother fleeing before Ferrel opened the door to the shack. "Think, Manic, think. What does this add up to?" Manic began piecing together the puzzle. He was sixteen years old. The Queen gave birth to triplets sixteen years ago. Ferrel said the children had been born a year before the rise of Robotnik. Manic knew for a fact that he had been a year old when Ferrel had taken him in. Rumors said the Queen had for some reason set her children on three different doorsteps because of a strange prophecy the mysterious Oracle had told her. The triplets had supposedly been given medallions, ones like Manic's. All these thoughts came to Manic so quickly it made his head pulse.
Then everything clicked into place. It all made sense. How come he had never seen it before?
He was a son of Queen Aleena.
But Ferrel said triplets. Manic was one of the triplets. That means he had siblings! Manic knew he should be asleep, as they always rose at dawn, but his mind was far from sleepy. Nevertheless, Manic drifted off into a fitful rest.
Manic was jolted awake by laser fire. SWAT-Bots—Robotnik's robotic army—were attacking and gathering prisoners to be roboticized. Roboticization was one of the worst things that could happen to a Mobian citizen. It was when you were turned into a robot, you became completely loyal to Robotnik, and you lost all your free will. At least, that was what he heard. But he didn't want to find out.
He heard Ferrel shouting, "Run, kid! Run and don't look back!" He felt the ground shudder as Ferrel knocked down a SWAT-Bot. The Mobian broke away from the ring of robots and joined Manic. They sprinted out of the city, and didn't stop until they were in the next city. This place was even poorer than the other city, where Manic had grown up. They surveyed their surroundings. Manic said after a long pause, "Well, not as many people are here. But it's a lot poorer, which is odd since we're so near the aristocrats. Ferrel grunted. "Th' aristocrats are th' ones that fund Robotnik's bot-buildin' projects. He's allus tryin' to eliminate the Rebels."
"Who are the Rebels?" Manic questioned. "Th' Rebels are th' ones who blow up Robotnik's bad bots. They work under cover." Ferrel replied. "Oh." Manic thought about how dangerous it would be to work at blowing up the bad bots of Robotnik. He decided that once he was declared a "man", at age eighteen, he would become a Rebel. He absolutely hated Robotnik. Stupid obese tyrant. What makes him think for even a second that he can destroy their home?
"Well, we need a shelter. Let's see if we can find anything." Manic began to hunt through the layer of leaves and trash on the ground. He and Ferrel scrounged fabric from a few odd places behind the trash dumps. It smelled a little, but not too noticeably. They flung it over a dead tree branch to create a makeshift tent. Manic crawled inside to make sure the branch was sturdy enough to hold up in case of wind or rain. He deemed it strong enough and crawled partway out. "'Kay, Ferrel," he called. "You can come in now, but it'll be a tight fit." Ferrel dragged in what was left from their thieving. Manic looked it over: A couple of gold pots, a ruby-studded vase, and a few chunks of raw diamond. "This ought to buy a few meals, if these people are anythin' like th' last village," Ferrel said. "If they ain't, then we'll have to learn a new trade. Bu' I don' like this place. Summat here is wrong." Manic agreed. There was a lingering chill in the air, as if someone—or something—was watching them. Something unfriendly.
They traded their plunder for two loaves of bread and a pound of apples. The two walked quickly back to their little tree branch tent. Manic and Ferrel ate a small dinner consisting of a chunk of bread and an apple apiece. They crawled into their tent and curled up and fell asleep.
Manic woke with a start to the smell of fire. He sat up and peeked out of the tent, and then sighed with relief. It was just a couple of locals burning trash for warmth. He shivered and thought the locals had a good idea. The temperature must be below forty degrees, he thought. Manic noticed the sun was already over the horizon. He realized that he and Ferrel had overslept, and crawled to the back of the tent to wake Ferrel. But Ferrel wasn't there. Clanking noises behind him told Manic that someone was approaching him. He whirled around and saw a large figure trundling towards him. Manic tensed, prepared to run if needed, but then relaxed. It was Ferrel. "Yer awake. Good. Yeh looked really tired, so I let ya sleep. I found breakfast, anyway," Ferrel told Manic. He dumped out of a bag some expensive food that only nobles were able to purchase: A large stuffed turkey, a massive loaf of sweet smelling cinnamon bread, about thirty bags of pricey chai tea, and some of the largest peaches Manic had ever seen. They were the size of his head, easy. "Whoa," Manic breathed. "You're telling me that that's breakfast?" Ferrel burst out laughing. "Yer eyes got as big as them there peaches! Yeah, Manic, that's breakfast. I got more hidden away in a secret place no one can find."
"Okay, so why is the food just sitting there, and why are we still talking? Let's eat!" Manic practically dove into the mound of food, and Ferrel joined him.
They finished the massive amount of food, and for the first time ever in his sixteen-year-long life, Manic felt full. He sighed. "That," he said, "was a truly satisfying breakfast." He sighed again, and started fiddling with a few gears that he pulled from the little pack he always had tied around his waist. Ferrel was always saying that his boy had a knack for building things, and Manic wondered if that skill would come in handy if he joined the Rebels. He doubted they'd need him. They probably had enough builders and engineers. "Oh, well." Manic didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Ferrel said, "What'd ya say, kid?" Manic jumped and stammered, "N-Nothing, Ferrel. Just thinking aloud, I guess." He stared at the gears in his hands so Ferrel couldn't read his expression. The Mobian had gotten better at that as Manic grew older. Often times when Manic was younger, something would upset him, he'd try and hide it, and Ferrel would guess what was bothering him without Manic saying anything.
Manic could feel Ferrel's eyes studying him, and he wondered if his guardian was going to pry for information. But Ferrel just grunted and asked, "What's in yer hands, Manic? Anythin' yer ol' foster pop would like to see?" Manic displayed the gears he had been playing with. "Trying to build anything that could possibly help us in any way, shape, or form," Manic replied. "But unless I can invent a money-maker or a Destroy-The-Evil-Tyrant-Inator, I doubt it would be useful for our trade." Ferrel chuckled. "Well, yeh could build yerself a grabber arm or summat. Be pretty useful for sneakin' stuff through windows." Manic smiled at his guardian. "You're always the optimist, aren't you? How on Mobius do you stay so… so…" Manic searched for the word. Ferrel spared him the trouble and said, "So optimistic?"
"Well, yeah," Manic said. "I'll tell yeh. Yeh jes got to look on th' bright side o' things an' not let the bad stuff bother yeh." Manic considered his guardian's advice. He decided that Ferrel had had lots of experience, so he'd follow it. He fiddled with the gears, not sure why he still had them out if he wasn't going to do anything with them. Manic sighed and put the gears back into his little pack. He pulled out his drumsticks and began tapping out a beat on the ground. Manic wished he had a real drum set, but those were expensive. "What are we going to do, Ferrel? I'm getting bored just sitting around." Ferrel got up off the ground and stretched, shaking the dirt off of him. "We migh' as well git ourselves a few friends 'round here. We gots to have a couple o' acquaintances." Ferrel offered Manic his hand, and Manic took it, pulling himself up. They began wandering around their new city. A few nobles rode past in fancy carriages, but Manic didn't see the pink hedgehog. He supposed that she lived in a different rich neighborhood. They wandered around for hours, but it seemed like the people here weren't all that social. The few people that Manic and Ferrel saw glanced at them, looked away hurriedly, and kept walking. Nobody stopped to say hi, and nobody seemed like there was anything good in life.
"Ferrel, I think we should head back to our tent. It's getting dark," Manic said tiredly. "Yer right, boy. 'Tis pretty dark. Bu' I see storm clouds in the distance. We'd better get some walls on the tiny tent, otherwise we'll be pretty damp tonight," Ferrel replied, just as tired as Manic. "'Kay, Ferrel. I'll go find some more clo… clo… cloth," Manic said, yawning. Ferrel watched as his boy walked back toward the trash dumpsters, occasionally staggering. Ferrel wished that he could do better for the lad. Should he tell Manic his suspicions about his parents? The boy was obviously troubled about it, and Ferrel suspected that Manic wouldn't be content unless he knew. But the lad had stopped asking if Ferrel knew who left him, so did he already know? Maybe he should ask Manic if he already knew, because he didn't want to frighten him. Why was he so reluctant to tell his boy who his mother was? Was he afraid that Manic wouldn't love him as a father anymore? That is stupid. Manic would never stop lovin' me, Ferrel thought. Wouldn' he?
Manic was hunting through the trash when he felt a large, fat drop of water land on his back. And then another. And then a massive rush of rain came pelting down, soaking Manic immediately. Manic muttered, "Great. Just great. I'm tired, and now I am sopping wet out in the cold, looking for bits of fabric in the dumps. I hate my life at the present moment." He found some extra bits of cloth, took it back to Ferrel and said, "Here are the walls. My question is: how are we going to attach them?" Ferrel shivered and said, "We'll find a way. Now I'm gonna look for some pegs, so the tent don' flap up when we're sleepin'."
"'Kay, Ferrel. I'll start attaching the walls. Hurry back, this looks like it's going to turn into a nasty thunder storm."
"Alrigh' Manic. I'll move quick as I can." Manic started tying the cloth to the tree branch and tying it to the sides of the tent. He left the front flap loose down the middle, creating a doorway that could be tied at the front. Manic heard Ferrel clomping towards him, and finished off the entrance. The rain was really coming down now, and Manic was shivering, water dripping down from his mess of spines. A sharp crack of thunder startled Manic into dropping the excess cloth. Ferrel entered their campsite, holding ten wooden stakes. Ferrel started hammering a few stakes into the walls of their tent, drawing the walls taut.
Finally, they finished the walls, and crawled in gratefully. They were still sopping wet, but at least they were out of the wind. His young'un had started playing with the gears again. He wasn't talking, and his body language said he did not want to talk, but rather he'd like to think. Ferrel took a deep breath, preparing to tell Manic who his parents were. "Manic, I'd like to tell yeh summat about yer parents." Manic looked up towards his guardian. Ferrel thought, well, it's too late ter pretend I haven' said anythin'. Keep talkin', ol' boy. "I gots a few ideas 'bout who yer parents are, bu' don' go lookin' unless yeh've got my permission, right?" Manic nodded slowly. Ferrel paused, and then blurted, "I think that yer one o' th' sons o' th' Queen!"
Manic felt a spark of joy that Ferrel agreed with him. He met his foster father's eyes and said, "I already know." Ferrel gasped. "Yeh do? How?" Manic shrugged and replied, "I just do. But I wonder if my siblings know." His guardian was silent for a moment, and then said, "I wonder who yer siblings are. No one really knows what they look like."
"I'd think they'd look like one of their parents," Manic said thoughtfully. "But I don't really look like the Queen. She's purple, for one thing." Ferrel said, "Well, maybe yeh look like yer father. But I don't know what the king looked like. Yer other siblings might look like him, though."
"Except for this little thing called ignorance. Ferrel, I doubt that my siblings know who their parents are. Maybe they don't even know a mother was forced to hide them left them on a doorstep. It's possible that they know and don't care. How am I supposed to find them?" Ferrel thought for a moment, and said, "Manic, yer birthmark. The one tha' looks like a moon? I think yer siblings might have them. Have you seen any hedgehog with yer birthmark?"
"Umm…" Manic was reluctant to tell Ferrel that he had seen a noblewoman with the same birthmark. He knew his guardian didn't like aristocrats, and Manic didn't care much for them himself. The thought that he could possibly be related to one did not exactly make him feel very comfortable telling Ferrel. "Well… I did see one other hedgehog," he said hesitantly. Ferrel looked at him with expectant eyes. Can't pretend I didn't say anything, 'cause it's too late to stop now, Manic thought. "She was in that carriage that nearly ran over us. She was looking out the window. I think she saw us, but I'm not sure."
"What does her seein' us have anythin' to do with anythin'?" Ferrel inquired. "I don't know, but…." He couldn't put what he wanted to say into words, so he just drifted off. Ferrel shrugged and said, "I think I'll go get summat fer dinner. Yeh look hungrier than those rats in the city gutters."
"Alright. I'm gonna sleep for a bit. Wake me up as soon as you get back." With that, the green hedgehog collapsed and fell asleep before his head hit the ground. Ferrel looked as his boy. He'd raised the hedgehog practically from birth, and now the lad new about his parentage. But Manic still loved him. He could see that much in his eyes. With that thought warming his heart, Ferrel strode out into the storm and hiked to where their stash was. He pulled off the leaf-covered tarp, which kept the food from bugs or getting wet. Ferrel picked out a loaf of cinnamon bread, four large, shiny red apples, and a spicy stew full of vegetables, duck, and beans in a covered pot. He wrapped the food in his cloak, covered the stash with the tarp, and trudged to the tent. As he walked back, he could hear robotic firing. Not here, Ferrel prayed. Don't come here.
As Ferrel entered the tent, Manic opened his eyes. He caught a whiff of the stew his guardian was carrying and grinned. "Smells good, Ferrel. Thanks!" Ferrel set down the food and began dishing out the meal. They each got a large serving of the spicy stew, two apples, and half of the cinnamon bread. Manic attacked the food, feeling incredibly hungry despite the large breakfast. As he ate, Manic thought about his dream. He thought it was some sort of message. He had seen that pink hedgehog running away from her estate, her clothes torn and dirty, being chased by SWAT-Bots, crying out for… Lady Windmere? He guessed that Lady Windmere was her foster mother. The pink hedgehog was running and crying at the same time, and Manic felt a stab of pity for her. He wanted to help, but in the dream, he was as insubstantial as mist. She kept running, and reached a different estate. She knocked frantically on the massive door, and a yellowish-colored mink wearing nightclothes pulled it open. "Bartleby, help! SWAT-Bots have Lady Windmere!" the hedgehog pleaded. The mink, Bartleby, looked startled at the appearance of the pink hedgehog. "Sonia!" he exclaimed in a pompous voice with an accent so bad Manic was sure it was fake. "What do you think you're doing out in public in that fashion?" Sonia, the pink hedgehog, gasped, "No time for that! Help!"
"Of course, Sonia, dear. Come in before anyone sees you in that outfit," Bartleby said. Sonia glared at him and grumbled, "Don't call me 'dear'." The estate door shut, and the SWAT-Bots ran right past.
The dream shifted.
Manic was standing in a little valley with waterfalls emptying into a small lake. At the edge of the lake there was a cottage with vines growing up the walls and trees surrounding it, and a family sitting out front. There was a blue hedgehog zipping around the yard at incredible speeds. All Manic could see of him was a blue streak. He skidded to a stop and began to climb the trees. Manic saw a silver crescent moon on the hedgehog's wrist and a medallion swinging across his chest as he climbed. Manic's eyes widened. This blue hedgehog was his brother. The hedgehog lost his grip on the branches. He tumbled to the ground, shot to his feet, and grinned at his foster parents. "I'm all right!" he shouted. "All right, Sonic," the man called back. Suddenly the rumbling of an engine could be heard. Sonic's eyes widened, and he rushed to his foster parents. His guardians pushed him into the little cottage, and said in a worried murmur, "SWAT-Bot patrols!" A massive firebomb exploded on the cottage, filling the house with smoke. Sonic appeared, coughing and calling out, "Mom! Dad!" He began searching through the wreckage and found them. His adoptive mother cried, "Run to Uncle Chuck's as fast as you can! Go! Go, Sonic!" Sonic's father groaned, "We love you, Sonic. Run!" They gave him a weak push and Sonic took off, wiping tears from his eyes. After he was out of sight from the patrols and his parents, he whirled around and watched. SWAT-Bots dragged the couple into the ship. The patrol ship sped toward Robotropolis, leaving the cottage a smoking mess. Manic knew his brother's parents were going to be roboticized. Sonic screamed, "NOOOOOOOO!" He fell to his knees, grief written clearly across his face. Another hedgehog pushed through the undergrowth and pulled Sonic away from the wreck. "It's gonna be all right, sonny boy," he murmured consolingly, leading him away. Sonic mumbled, "Uncle Chuck." Uncle Chuck said softly, "I'm here, sonny boy."
"Manic?" Ferrel's voice jolted Manic out of his reverie. He looked up and saw his guardian with a fearful look in his eyes. "Yes, Ferrel?" Ferrel gulped and said, "Yeh started ter, uhhmm, glow." Manic stared at his guardian, dumbfounded. "What?" Ferrel swallowed again and began, "Well, firs' yer medallion started to glow, and then you started to glow, and then—"
Suddenly the cloth was ripped off the branch by a massive gust of wind. Manic looked up and gasped. A large figure, almost the size of Ferrel, was waiting in the storm, with rain swirling around it. And it was floating three feet off the ground. Ferrel stood and stammered, "Who are y-y-you?"
"May I speak to the young hedgehog, kind sir? I have news that he must hear," the figure said in a gravelly voice. Manic guessed that the figure was male, judging from the pitch. Ferrel said, "Firs' tell us who yeh are. Then I'll decide if m'boy can go with yeh." The figure nodded his head and replied in that gravelly voice, "I am known by many names. But the one I will give to you is the Oracle of Delphius." Manic frowned, and asked the Oracle, "Are you the Oracle who gave the Queen the prophecy to hide her children?" For an answer, Manic got silence. At least that's what it felt like.
Ferrel said, "Alrigh'. Yeh can speak with Manic. But if yer gone too long…" He let the threat hang in the air. The Oracle nodded. He grabbed Manic's shoulder and led him off a few paces.
As they were walking, Manic studied the Oracle. He was a bluish-green, and his skin was scaly and covered with little bumps. His nose was long and looked rather reptilian, with long feelers stretching back to his cheeks. The Oracle's hands were thin and had long fingers.
"Manic, you now know who your mother is and who your siblings are. Now you need to use your medallion to summon your brother and your sister." Manic frowned and asked, "How do I summon them?"
"You must play the song of your heart," the Oracle said. When he said that, Manic's medallion sparked and began to shine. "The song of my heart? What does that mean?" Manic looked up and saw the Oracle was fading, disappearing. "Wait!" Manic cried. "Wait! What does 'song of my heart' mean? Come back!"
The Oracle's voice drifted back to him. "Play the song of your heart."
Manic looked down. His medallion was still shining brightly. "Play the song of my heart," he repeated softly. "Summon them."
So... How do you like it? If I get enough reviews, I might update faster!