By Rahan Akero
Characters in the story all belong to their respective creators, et cetera.
Author's Note: This story has been kicking around in my head for about… five or six years. So, the story conditions in the world of Mobius are anachronistic and elseworlds-esque, at best. There is no Bunnie Rabbot-D'Coolette, et cetera. The aims of the story have been scaled back somewhat -- initially, it was meant to be a multi-branched darkfic exploring the theme of integrating a "new character" the hard way -- not through Mary Sue absorption, but through diligent work. Seeing as I've planned this story for years but never quite put it to paper, I'm not sure how close to my original grand vision I may come. This'll be an adventure, and it's an honor to have you along for the ride.
0 - In which we meet the new guy, and learn that Little Planet is a nasty, nasty place.
"This is life, isn't it? You live, you do your job, you die. Just, my job happens to be helpin' everyone else hit the third part." - Cayanne Artanis Blade
I hate Mobotropolis. It doesn't matter how many months Robotnik's been in hiding, the place stinks of lies and deceit. It almost feels like they build up this great public image of a virtuous capital for all Mobians to live together in splendor. The utopian mask has some severe cracks in it, though -- I've never been to a town that was totally clean or safe. The filth and the criminals just manifest themselves in different ways, further away from what the people can see.
I walked through the city like a gigantic bloodstain in a lily-white sheet. Apparently, this job I was on was a big-money one, so they thought they'd provide me with the best urban camouflage the company could offer… which happened to be the least-natural, least-inconspicuous getup a guy could ask for. While all the citizens milled around either nude or in jackets and pants, I was wandering the city wearin' a blood red cloak that covered up most of my body, complete with a nice big cowl that kept my face and head hidden. I looked like a leper -- which, now that I think about it, doesn't feel too far from accurate.
My issue with the gear was that it was silly to think that someone could wander a city unnoticed while they're dressed up like some high priest in an obscure death cult. Still, I tried my best, scouring the outer edges of town for information. I liked the outskirts better -- they weren't as pleasant-lookin' as the parts of the city closest to the palace. It felt more honest, like how I felt about the city was justified. Out here, I can see the bums sorting through trashcans lookin' for food. I can look down the back alleys and witness some poor mug get shaken down for his wallet. That really went above and beyond the call of duty in showing the hypocrisy in this town -- the center of it was a beautiful city with guards everywhere and newly-restored buildings and shit. The outskirts still reeked of machine oil and still looked like the fat man was in charge. Everythin' for the elite, right? Still, there was a job to be done, and I had to start digging dirt out here with the rabble.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself, aren't I? Some introductions are necessary before I go rattlin' on about the worst week of my life. My name's Cay. I am -- was -- a hick from the quartz mining district in Dust Hill, on Little Planet. At least, I was until our war started. A lot of people seem to think that Robotnik's influence on Little Planet was nothin' more than him messing around with the time streams, trying to rewrite our history. The hedgehog came up, chased him off, and everything was all happy-ever-after, right? Wrong. He didn't stay away. After the hedgehog left, he came back in full swing. He decided to mess with us in our own time period, instead of screwin' with our ancestors. So, we fought him off, without any foreign aid from Mobius.
I went into the war a smilin' teenager, all in one piece. I left the war a broken fox-wolf with a frightening body count, minus a few flesh-and-blood limbs. The limbs are a pretty bad story, themselves… we didn't have the technology that Robotnik had. So, when a mission went sour and I came back home missing pieces, they had to make do with what they salvaged. So, they grafted on a new left arm and a matching set of legs. It took a while getting used to 'em -- I spent all of my life with feeling in those limbs, and now there isn't any -- but they work better than no limbs whatsoever, right? After an adjustment period, I was back on the battlefield, helping wipe out the robotic menace. Once the war was actually over, society didn't have a place for a guy like me -- There's no mine that could honestly hire a killing machine that packs a robotic arm and has legs so heavy that wooden support platforms would buckle underneath it.
Being a danger to myself and to others, I left town. Some buddies from the war heard about a little military organization that was startin' up near the Stardust speedway. A business like that would make use of our talents a lot better than mining away in a cave ever could, or so our logic dictated. Not surprisingly, we were what they were looking for -- disenfranchised young men who knew how to fight and had no real care about what regional government they were sidin' with. Speaking of, that's another thing people seem to forget about Little Planet -- and about Mobius, too. Once you take away Robotnik, you're left with a gigantic power vacuum, which is where the politicians come in. Power struggles and oppression aren't just an Overlander business model, that's for damn sure. Once Robotnik was gone, all the politicians and factions on Little Planet were thrown into turmoil, and they relied heavily on grunts like me to keep law and order. Dissidents are a lot more quiet when they're under the barrel of a gun.
This brings us to today -- why am I on Mobius instead of back home, keepin' the oppressed down? Because a few weeks ago, I was contacted by a rather cryptic individual who insisted that he needed several soldiers to ensure the safety of the political state in Mobotropolis. Rescue work was a possibility.
I'd never been a hero before, so I figured that now was the time to make a change. I took the job, and I was told to take the next jumper to Mobius, where I would then be filled in further. When I landed in Never Lake, I was greeted by a little neurotic fox in a white coat. He told me that I had to find one Bunnie Rabbot, notify her that Princess Sally was in danger, and escort her to the location of a facility in the middle of the barrens left by Robotnik's reign over this planet; from there, I was to use my discretion and assist as needed. The story seemed fishy -- even someone who doesn't know very much about the struggles the Mobians have had over the years could see a lot of holes in it. If their princess was in danger, why wasn't there widespread panic? Why aren't I just going in guns blazing to save her, if she really is in danger? When will I get paid? Questions like that pulsed through my head, but they calmed down after he handed me my advance. I figured I could be open to the possibility that it wasn't all a pile of shit as long as my employers were willing to pay me. Besides, she was supposedly a hero in their war, so I knew I'd have decent backup.
So, that sets the stage, and puts me exactly where I don't wanna be -- millin' around the edges of a pearly-white city, scouting for information in the gaudiest outfit ever thought to be a disguise. That getup got me so many strange stares -- when the "nonexistent" homeless look up from their trash buffet to glare at your outfit, you know you're in trouble. It was the kids that bothered me the most, though. I know I'm not a nice guy -- it's not my job to be a nice guy -- but I don't like scarin' children. I figured it was time to lose the cloak and cowl right around when I scared this one poor little girl. She took a good, long look at me -- a giant red pillowcase monster, to be sure -- and shrieked for a good twenty seconds before running off to hide behind her mom.
I should've found it funny, because I figured the outfit looked stupid instead of scary. But when I saw her run off screaming and crying like I'd threatened to eat her family, it broke my heart a little bit. So, I ducked into an alley and threw the outfit into the trash. I might've killed a couple people in the war, but I'm not a barbarian. Now clothed far more comfortably in a blue vest and jeans, I could walk the streets with pride knowing that I won't be scarin' any more little girls because I look like a big red pillow-monster. Now I'll scare them by looking like a freak of nature, which is something I'm more used to.
I walked off to the seediest parts of town, where people were low enough to not care about what I looked like. The bums were my first dead end. Aside from explaining that I don't have food, nor do I have the money to buy 'em food, they lost interest in helping me. The orphans were much the same -- no food, no toys, no happy home, no help. I guess I'm not that great detective with a bunch of ragtag orphan sidekicks, eh? Eventually, I managed to get lucky the way everyone else in this part of town does: by paying some lovely, provocatively-dressed girl on a street corner. The girl seemed relieved when I told her all I wanted was information -- I guess money couldn't buy me love. She told me that Bunnie didn't live in Mobotropolis. She lived somewhere between the city and a little village called "Knothole". She also said the place wasn't too hard to miss. I thanked her for her time, and I was gone.
It took a couple more tries at information-gathering to find out which way Knothole is -- turns out finding a village is harder than finding a war hero. Nevertheless, I'd gotten directions, and proceeded on the path to the success, which wound up being a dirt road leading to a forest. After about a half-hour's walk, I passed what looked like a tree that had a house carved into it. It looked like the only place someone could call "home" in the area, so I figured that it was probably the spot I was lookin' for. I walked up to the doorway and knocked…