AN: Some people remember this story. It was one of my first dabbles of "serious-type" fanfiction that I was criticized for years ago (those same readers should honestly read the stuff I write now, it's way darker than this). In retrospect, however, I just don't like this story and didn't expect too much from coming out of it. I guess in a way I'm glad I stopped it when I did (even if people were incredibly rude to me and told me to "never write again" even though this story seems incredibly tame to my recent stuff).

I seriously improved so much after I wrote this, so it's kind of nice to see how far I've gone since then.

He can remember it. He remembered it so clearly. The dark green walls, the people's faces, the feel of getting those injections. He remembered himself staring upwards at the ceiling, seeing the tiny sparking camera that watched him, and looking outside with the chain link windows, reminding himself of how great the sun's rays felt on him and to see a clear blue sky. Sometimes the windows would show trees becoming golden and red and the leaves leaving them behind or nothing but a clear white blanket with those trees with bare branches, sometimes having white crystal dust falling behind those windows or making it frost. He then remembered on how he had to spend Christmas there, alone, without his family or his girlfriend coming up to see him. In fact, after he got out, his girlfriend no longer spoke to him. She left him without saying a goodbye. And his heart still hurt.

He glanced outside the window to see the red desert around him, cacti springing to his eyes, with cliffs and the glinting aureate sun glaring. He didn't even remember what he came to this bus for. He felt like he had to go somewhere, to get away from his life, to have a little adventure. He thought he should travel as far from his house as he could get and live out in Las Vegas for a while. He had enough money to go out for a vacation. He was a writer, after all, and he sold many books about how to hunt demons in your home.

People looked at him conspicuously, all stares on him, and he thought he could hear their voices. He was a mind-reader too. He could read minds.

Lunatic.

Asshole.

Moron.

Freak.

Crazed motherfucker.

But they couldn't hurt him. He heard it all before.

He also wondered how many demons he would see in Las Vegas. Probably many, since it was the city of sin, after all.

But it seemed like no one wanted to go to Las Vegas. People were beginning to be dropped off the bus, to some other cities in the desert. And then he wondered for how long he was here. He was thinking of all the different types of demons, and wondered if everyone here was a demon in disguise. But he restrained himself. More than those restraints could.

It was until he was the only one in the bus, except for the bus driver. He thought how weird it all was that no one wanted to ride to Las Vegas, especially in the summer. But maybe because it was of the summer's heat coupled with how hot it was here. Or maybe they all knew he was a demon hunter, so they left.

He sighed, and counted his money. He counted carefully, and when he was done counting, he learned he only had $213 and 43 cents. This certainly wasn't enough to go to the MGM hotel. He didn't even have a credit card.

But maybe he would get a job here. It is a big city; there are a lot of opportunities.

Including selling his organs, if he needed to.

Or prostituting himself. To gay men if he had to.

Even to people who would probably restrain him.

And he hated that, but he thought he would do it anyways. If he was paid enough, anyways.

Then the scenery stopped, as if someone paused the movie. Paused the bus. But he was still moving, and this bus driver was beginning to get out of his seat, this overall wearing mustached guy with the gaily colored Hawaiian shirt that made him laugh a little.

"What the fuck are ya laughin' about boy? Do ya have a problem with me or somethin'? Speak up!"

He was confused. He didn't remember laughing at him, but he looked in his eyes innocently. "Excuse me?"

"Ya laughin'. Ya laughin' at me, aren't you boy? Am I funny to you? I said, am I fuckin' funny to you boy?"

Then he remembered. His Hawaiian shirt. He was laughing about that. Apparently he didn't even know he was laughing loudly, as if he couldn't suppress his snickering.

"I just think…your Hawaiian shirt is funny, that's all. No need to get angry at me, dude."

"Ya fuckin' laughin' at me, is that it? Do I look like a fuckin' faggot to you, is that it?" he hollered. "It's fuckin' hot, that's why I wore this shirt. And look at ya, faggot, with your red spiky hair and baggy pants, it must be fuckin' hot for ya, ain't it boy?"

He also remembered that many people out in Las Vegas were like this, especially menial workers who had to work out in the blazing sun that had no mercy to beat their backs with sweltering heat. He knew he should've kept his mouth shut. He should've at least made an effort. That was probably why everyone left, with them scowling at him. He was probably muttering to himself again too! He was the stereotype crazy in this bus! He was embarrassed, he wanted to let him know that he wasn't going to do this again, he just wanted to go to Las Vegas and live out his life, whatever he had left of it.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I must've acted up when I was in this bus and I apologize for that. I promise to be quiet, until we get to Las Vegas, okay? No need to get upset…"

His face was now red. He thought because of the desert's heat, but his eyes began to bulge too. "How about ya get the fuck out of the bus? I don't get paid enough for this shit, to take ya crazies to this fuckin' city. Ya just get the fuck out of my bus and try gettin' there yerself, is that fuckin' clear faggot?"

He was getting angry too. He wanted to show him how he can really fight, as he fought all these demons like him before, and drive this pocket knife he had into his heart. But when he was face to face with him, he could get a taste of reality, and he knew this wasn't the "sensible" thing to do. This man might've been just a regular man, who flew off the handle at his random laughter. And if he wanted him off the bus, there was no point to talk reason to him or fight. The best thing he could do was get off. And he walked away, stepping down as the bus driver also roared after him, "And don't think about takin' ya money back, it's mine now fucker!"

And he was left in the heat on this empty road, as the bus sped away from him. He wondered how a bus driver like him got hired, but maybe the Las Vegas standards were low.

He glanced at the street sign that blew gently in the wind, as he shivered as the sun went down: Misfortune Rd. He wondered why this road was called that, but maybe something in history happened that made it earn this name.

But this road was empty, nothing but plain desert sand all around him, and what seemed to be a bus stop seat. At least he could sit and wait for another bus to arrive here, he thought. One that didn't had someone as crazy as that guy behind the wheel.

And he knew this was the only thing he could do if he wanted to go to Las Vegas: just sit and wait for the next bus. Even if the night's chill would freeze him to this very seat.

And he sat here, shuddering as the sun began to sink completely. The night was black, black ice that would make him huddle and rub his fingers. He could see many stars, while Las Vegas' faint glow was in the distance. He thought he could see animals scurrying around here too, maybe a rabbit bouncing along, but he didn't see any headlights or cars passing by either. It was eerily silent and eerily black.

He wondered if he had to wait an hour for a bus to come here. Maybe two hours? He didn't know of the schedule. He just found a bus and was somehow determined to make it to Las Vegas to live in the big city, even if he abandoned everyone else back at Flint, back at Michigan. He somehow had this idea of going here, back at Misfortune Road, somewhere in Nevada, wherever the hell he technically was at. He didn't even left a note that he left. He thought no one gave a damn about him anymore. Ever since he was admitted at Havenwyck Hospital, no one probably wanted to know his name. Not even his parents wanted to see him and hear of what happened, even if he was admitted there for six months before he could see a real, sane face from the outside world. Other than those doctors and nurses he hated, the ones who would tell him that he had to change his life. Fuck them. He wasn't going to take the medicine that made him into a zombie, to someone who might as well be dead. He liked the sudden burst of energy and adventure he would feel, and when he took that medicine, the only thing that kept him smiling was taken away from him.

His girlfriend was gone. For good. His parents rarely talked to him. And he had to be honest with himself, using the terms his doctors used to describe him on these papers; he was "manic" and "delusional". A delusion that lasted for many days. He only had 200 dollars and he thought he was rich and wrote successful books on demon hunting. He thought he was a demon hunter. He thought everyone around him were demons and he was a mind-reader. He couldn't live in Las Vegas. It was too much for him. This kind of behavior he had would most likely get him killed out there. He finally had a sense of reality, a gulp of fresh air, and he knew this was crazy, like himself. He had to find a way he could get back, before his ass was glued to this seat because of this damn cold.

In the corner of his eye he saw two glowing orbs, two white beaming eyes that were getting closer on the road, towards him. He thought instantly of a demon, but his rationality came clear as he realized that it was a car, a car that finally drove on this road and could get him out of this godforsaken place! Maybe it wouldn't stop for him, but he knew he had no choice anyways, unless he wanted to wait for a bus that would take him back to Grand Junction in Colorado. He gave the driver a thumb up, and he prayed silently that he would stop for him.

It increasingly got slower, until it careened a little off the road and rolled down the window. God answered.

It was a little peculiar he thought when he walked to the window, talking to this stranger who decided to stop for him; the only parts of his face he could see were his eyes and nothing else. No other part of his face was discernable, not even a nose or mouth. And when the driver ushered him to get inside, he suddenly forgot the colors of his eyes, if he had any.

His car was dark. Almost darker than the night in the desert. No light flashed on when he went inside. The only light he could see was red, and it was only the end of his cigarette, as he took it in and breathed out a stream of wispy smoke before he said in a dark voice that might as well been darker than this car, "What's your name?"

This was all a bizarre and scary situation, he realized, but it was too late to get out of the car. He began to move it, towards the city of St. George. "I said, what's your name? Where do you want to go? We can't go somewhere being complete strangers, if you know what I mean."

He had to admit, he was a little nervous talking to him, and he could sense his voice shuddering a little like he was before this man turned the heat on as he said, "I'm Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog."

"Sonic the hedgehog, eh?" he replied gruffly, his throat seeming to be full of feathers. "You look odd, with your blue fur, your queer eyes. Where are you headed to? How did you get here?"

The smoke was stinging his nose, until the man knew he had to roll down his window, but Sonic still couldn't see his face or be able to memorize the colors of his eyes. "I came from Flint, you know, in Michigan. I just went through a lot of states, a lot of days, in hotels and buses. If you could somehow find me a bus that will take me back to Grand Junction and back, I would appreciate it."

An uncanny silence passes the both of them as the city lights grew closer, his face still dark, his contours not even showing, until he asked, "Why are you here in Misfortune Road?"

"Huh?"

"I asked, why are you here in Misfortune Road? It's a simple question. Answer it."

"Geez, lighten up guy, I wanted to go to Las Vegas, but then I realized it was a bad idea."

"Why did you think it was a bad idea? Answer that too. I don't have to lighten up if I don't want to, buddy."

Buddy was said with so much irritation and sarcasm that Sonic was a little afraid, but he continued to joke around with him. "How about you smile a little bit more, eh Smirk? Turn that frown upside down!"

"What did you call me?" he asked, viperous.

"Smirk. That's what I deem you. Because you need to smile more and not take this too seriously."

There was yet more silence, before he let his cigarette fly out the window, then he looked at him, and replied casually, "Oh. I see. Back where I'm from, I have no name. So I guess that's my name. Smirk."

Smirk asked Sonic many things while he tried to find the bus stop at St. George and a good hotel near it, such as the main reason why he thought about going to Las Vegas.

"I don't know why, but one day I woke up and thought I needed to go on some kind of pilgrimage, to a place where…demons reigned, and that I needed to preach to people before the demons took hold of them and they sinned at Las Vegas. So I took all the money I had and went on many different buses and went to many hotels. I was at Des Moines, Omaha, and Denver, just thinking this would accomplish something in my life. It was all just a big delusion my mind made up, and it was until then I realized that I had to go back. I don't have that much money anyways. I've been to a few sleazy hotels, trying to get by."

"Are you fucking crazy?" Smirk spat. "I mean, really, are you schizophrenic or something? Why the fuck would you wake up one day and think all of a sudden you had to go to Las Vegas and 'slay demons' or some shit, are you really fucking crazy, something wrong with your fucking brain to go from goddamn Flint to here?"

He hated how he worded it, but he knew he was right. "Actually, yes, I am. I am schizophrenic. And bipolar."

More silence, before he remarked, "Ah hell. Do you take medicine for it or something? Did it just not work worth a damn on those days?"

"I don't take my medicine. I…don't want to be a zombie. I hate it, actually."

He nearly made the car come to a screeching halt. "And why the hell not?"

"I already told you. It makes me so boring. I have no energy and all I want to do is sleep once I take it. It's like they're trying to tranquilize me. I'd rather be crazy than…that."

He drove into the Crystal Inn parking lot, Sonic still unable to see his face even when he looked at him, even when the street lights were shining on his face.

"Well, I'd rather be tranquilized than doing the shit you're pulling. How about this blue one, I'll give you enough money to stay in some decent hotels when you're trying to get back to Flint, and you think about what you're doing for a moment. I mean, come on, it sounds like you don't have a job, and if you had one, you'd be fired by now for suddenly walking away from your city and trying to get to Las Vegas. I mean…you can't do this. Go on with life like this. It's nothing but chaos, and you have to think for once that maybe it would be fan-fucking-tastic if things were in order, if all your ducks were in a row. Your girlfriend left you, right? And your parents want nothing to do with you? Well, that's sad and all, but this is exactly the reason why. Because you can't reason with your mind, and you need to go to a doctor or something and find a medicine that works. You can't do this. You have to get a normal life. Find a job, and stay in it. Try to get your ducks in a row, the ones that are just swimming and shitting all over the place, and pick back up your life. You need to think over these things. Maybe all you need, other than this huge reality check, is for you to think about it. If you continue like this, you'll just be miserable. Did I get that message clear to you? Because if not, I won't say it again, and I'll let you out of this car and into this hotel, and you won't see my face ever again and you'll continue to live your life in this chaos and delusional madness. Understand? Do I make myself clear?"

He mulled everything over it for a moment, gazing at the white light near the hotel that was shining over them, hurting his eyes and watching the moths dancing on it like some kind of moonlit dancefloor, before he said, "Like crystal, sir. Like the name of this hotel."

"Then you take my money, get yourself in some good hotels, not that sleazy crazy shit because you have enough craziness in your life, and you find the right doctor and the right medicine when you get back. Don't, and I'll never see you again and this conversation might as well be void, is that clear?"

Never see him again? Was he going to make a trip to Flint to see him? He didn't even know where he lived! What was he talking about? Was he just as crazy as him? But he still answered, "Yes. Clear, like the hotel."

Sonic couldn't see his hands, only a dark silhouette reaching into his pocket, getting a billfold of money, and holding it to him. And when he reached out and took it, he felt nothing from his palm, and if he did, he forgot about it. Even when he opened the door and the light loomed over his seat, Smirk's face was still ambiguous, and he shut the door and watched him drive off the parking lot and back into the street, and he watched until he was so small he couldn't see him anymore.

He wondered who this man was and why he wanted to help him. He said he had no name, he gave nothing about where he came from, and he couldn't even see his face or anything about his appearance, zero zip nada. But he wasn't so bad if he trusted him enough to give him money to go to some good hotels nearly across the country and to tell him some advice.

But yet he hated medicine. It always made him something he knew he wasn't. He felt afraid of losing his identity for one he knew nothing about, and he hated that he thought about trading his life for one that was so boring.

But maybe a boring life wasn't so bad after all. Maybe after his run-in with Havenwyck he needed some peace. But yet he couldn't imagine himself to be so plastic like the people he saw on medicine. To be so plain and gray he faded into the newspapers, and no one would know his name.

He went inside in the Crystal Inn, paid for a one night stay, got his room, crashed on his bed, and thought about it all he could before drifting off to sleep, and this time he didn't hear loud banging or screaming from a rough night with a prostitute. And he couldn't believe he thought he would live his life as one just to pay to be in Las Vegas. He was right. He was crazy.

Smirk returned home, watched as the night bloomed into early morning, its colors unfurling into a deep rich fuchsia and violet as the sun came up, and he clacked on his typewriter while he smoked his cigarette.

Sonic. Sonic the hedgehog, he calls himself.

He looked to be about in his 20s. Or he was 19. I don't know. Hard to tell. He looks like a damn blue hedgehog, after all.

The guy is crazy, and I don't mean "oh, he says a lot of funny things or does hilarious stuff", I mean, this guy was in a state institution. He actually traveled all the way from Flint, MI, trying to get to Las Vegas, NV. Now THAT'S fucking crazy. He just woke up one day and thought that would be where he needed to go, because of all the demons in Las Vegas or some shit. I told him to go to some good hotels (even gave him money to do that) and to get some medicine, something that would actually work with him. Because his life is in disorderly chaos. There's no rhyme or reason to it. His girlfriend dumped him, his parents want nothing to do with him, and that's kind of why. Because he thinks it's great to live in that mess he calls a life.

He said he got me though. He said he would do the things I told him. If not, I won't see him again. But maybe I got through to him and he will do what I said. And even though I said if he didn't, I'll see him again, back at Misfortune Road. I'll make sure he comes back by some means. It's my duty to do my part on this.

He crushed his cigarette in his ash tray, and as the last strands of smoke escaped from it, he typed:

I have to.

- Smirk, my new established name given by Sonic. And that is the name I will go by from now on