Just so you all know, this is a rewrite, so while some parts will be similar to Counterfeit Manic, it is not meant to be a cookie cutter imitation of the original, as the story itself will take some very different turns than in CM. It will also be much longer, since this one has a bigger storyline with more content.

Chapter 1

Slowly, I crawled up the stairs of the basement, each step like a mountain with the condition I was in, but the light ahead was enough to keep me going. However, the higher I climbed, the weaker I felt. I was losing blood, and fast, but if I was going to die, it would at least be in that bright warm glow I had been denied for so long.

Up I went, digging into each step and hoisting myself up over it to repeat the process, if only to be free of the cage I'd known for so long. Finally reaching the basement's door frame, I almost hesitated, fearing that I was at my end, now that I'd made it to what had motivated me up the small mountains I'd just crawled, but I wasn't going to stay in the cold hard room I'd been trapped in since forever, so I grabbed the door frame and feebly pulled myself forward, rising out of the basement like a long buried corpse re-emerging from its tomb.

I was finally out! No one else around to abuse me or throw me back in the basement. Just me, and a brightly lit kitchen I'd only gazed at and smelled through the crack beneath the door, many times. Now, there were no boundaries before me! I was free at last!

I don't remember how long I remained there on my hands and knees, fighting to stay upright as I struggled to breathe amidst the pleasant but overwhelming smells that assaulted my nose, but once I gathered enough willpower, I raised my head to see a phone on the wall, an old model attached by wire to a mounted receiver. Remembering that no one else was around to stop me, I got an idea. The phone was too high and too far away for me to reach, but if I could stand myself all the way up, I might actually have a way out of this, after all.

I don't remember much of anything besides being locked up in a basement, but I vaguely recall something about the numbers 911. Maybe they could help me?

Bracing for the worst, I kept one hand over the gash in my chest to prevent more blood from seeping out as I hoisted myself up onto my knees and gasped loudly as the wound stretched and burned, despite my best efforts to comfort it, but that did little to stop me, since the alternative was staying here and possibly dying when I had a way out.

Using every last bit of reserved strength, I slowly, carefully stepped up onto my feet and staggered toward the phone, each step a battle against gravity. With my temperature dropping, I felt like I was climbing a snowy mountain, each step carrying the potential of a fatal slip, but with each one I took, my ticket out of here got closer.

Tired, weakened, and slowly getting colder, I kept up my grueling pace, painstakingly pressing on toward my only means of calling for help, moving nearer and nearer, until at last, I reached out to touch it.

How good the plastic covering felt in my hand...

I finally pulled it back toward me, leaning against the wall to maintain balance since my other hand was applying pressure to the wound. Putting the device to my ear, all I heard was an electronic buzzing. I knew I was supposed to do something else, but couldn't remember what- at least not until I looked at the numbers on the phone and remembered the 911 code. Dialing those three magic numbers, I placed it to my ear, once more, and waited with baited breath.

Three agonizing rings later, I finally heard a click, followed by a strong male voice announcing, "911 Emergency Services!"

So I was right about the number! Too bad I couldn't remember where I learned about it.

"I…I've been stabbed," I stuttered, my voice weaker than I'd expected.

"Is this a medical emergency?" asked the voice on the other end.

Gee, let me think about it.

"I'm dying!" I sputtered.

"Where are you right now?" the operator asked.

"I…don't know," I replied, really not sure, since the basement was the only place I clearly remembered being.

"I need an address so the paramedics can reach you," the operator pointed out.

"I don't know where I am...I've been kidnapped," I blurted out, remembering my original plan.

"Wait," the operator paused, "what's your name?"

I racked my brain for the name I needed.

"It's Maurice," I replied, "Maurice Hedgethorn."

After a moment of silence, the voice came back and asked, "You the Hedgethorn kid that was taken 5 years ago?"

"Yes."

It was a lie, of course. The only name I'd been given was Scourge. Might have been because Robotnik just didn't like me since he loved to remind me I was, and always had been a scourge, before preceding to lash me with the belt for whatever sin I'd allegedly committed, but while the name I'd given to the phone operator was a lie, Maurice himself wasn't. I knew, because I'd read about him. Rummaged through some boxes that had been left in the basement and found some newspapers and magazines. One of them contained an article spilling all sorts of details on a young hedgehog named Maurice Hedgethorn, or Manic, as his family sometimes called him, because of his hyper active personality, and he'd apparently gone missing at the Riverdale Mall on June 6th, 2006- a mere 17 days before his 10th birthday. The article had many pictures of Manic and his family, a blue brother nicknamed Sonic, a purplish sister named Sonia, and two parents named Jules and Aleena who resembled them. The pictures showed them doing stuff like blowing out birthday candles, riding a boat, playing in leaf piles, and other such things which looked strange to someone who'd never experienced any of that, though the smiles on their faces gave all of it a certain appeal that I couldn't place my finger on, but wanted to experience anyway. And I was willing to do anything to make that happen- including pretending to be the lost child they were looking for.

"I was stabbed," I continued.

"Who did it?" the operator asked.

"Robotnik's nephew, Snively," I replied.

The man who kept me in his basement, Robotnik, had left his nephew at home to watch the place while he went to work, wherever that was.

Snively, as Robotnik called him, came downstairs and decided to "have some fun with me." The kind Robotnik wanted when he "had needs" and used me to satisfy them. Noticing Snively's smaller and weaker frame, I tried fighting him off when he put his hands all over me, but he got angry and pulled a knife, threatening to gut me if I didn't cooperate, and then made another attempt at me, but even with a knife pointed at me, I still wasn't about to let him touch me. Unfortunately for me, Snively wasn't afraid to carry out his threat and slashed me across my chest.

Something inside me snapped and I can't remember what happened next, just that I came to my senses some time later to find Snively lying on the floor, slashed up worse than I was, unmoving and probably dead. I was losing a lot of blood from the knife wound, and might not last much longer. Robotnik would see to it that I didn't if I was still breathing when he came home and found out what I did to his nephew.

"Who is Snively? And who is Robotnik?" the operator asked.

"Robotnik took me," I lied, "He took me at the mall. He left Snively to watch me, but he cut me."

A convincing story for how I got to the fat man's house, and if Manic hadn't been found by now, then he was probably dead, so he likely wasn't going to show up and expose me. If I was gonna be Manic, then Robotnik would be the kidnapper. It's not like they'd believe a word he said anyway, and last I checked, Snively wouldn't be saying much of anything.

"Alright, listen to me, Maurice," explained the operator, "are you able to see the address number on the mailbox?"

Hope began to fade as I realized my only means of rescue might not find me, all because of a few numbers.

"No, it's too far away," I croaked, feeling weaker.

"Then can you get a better look at it?" asked the voice on the other end.

As in go outside and look straight at it? Wouldn't be a problem, except I could barely stand.

"I'll…try…but I feel so weak," I replied, faintly.

"I'll see if I can track the call, in the meantime. Just hang in there," he assured me.

At least he was trying to help, so I wasn't completely alone.

"Thanks," I whispered, setting the phone on the kitchen table and heading for the front door.

Last chance to make it out of here. I ignored the pain, exhaustion, and fear holding me back like invisible hands as I took step after step, fighting angrily to reach the front door. I could almost see the grass and trees I'd once known before I came to this place, which propelled me further toward the last barrier between me and a world forbidden.

Grabbing the knob, I gasped labored breaths. This was it, once I opened it, there was no going back. If Robotnik knew I'd made it outside, he'd never forgive me, so I was taking my fate into my own hands. But better the risk than to remain here and never know what might have been.

Turning the worn brass, I pulled the large door back, nearly falling as I stepped out of the way and gazed upon the forest surrounding the house that had been my whole world up to this point. Despite the foliage, I could tell the expanse went on for miles. So much space right outside my walls, and I'd never even seen it until now!

I wanted to run outside and bask in the freedom I'd discovered, but all that effort I'd put into getting past the front door had worn me out, and the exhaustion wasn't subsiding. If anything, I was starting to feel dizzy. Looking down at the blood now completely soaking the rags I called a t-shirt and shorts, it wasn't hard to see why. I desperately needed help, and the only way I'd get it was to get the code on the mailbox. However, my body seemed to have reached its limit. Even the invigorating forest smell did little to keep me going, yet I pushed onward, determined to get the address, but in the end, it was a losing battle, and I fell forward, tumbling over onto my back, too weak to even crawl at this point.

All my fear, all my pain, everything I had been subjected to came rushing out of me as I screamed to the heavens, every negative feeling inside me releasing itself through the broken dam that I had become. So much torture and humiliation endured, just to be done in by an elusive set of numbers. As my vision darkened, I felt a slight comfort in the back of my mind, knowing that I would at least be free of all that now.

For all my failure, I could take shelter in knowing that I had freed myself from Robotnik, who would never harm me again. Even if I never lived to see freedom, I had taken my fate into my own hands...