Prelude: Confession
To those I startle by communicating in writing, I apologize. It's been…quite a while.
There were events that you might tend to think me crazy for. Events that none of you-thank whatever being is watching over me-will remember happened. I'd like to think I don't have to tell you, but confessions are mainly about things we never wish others to know. This is for the benefit of all those involved (you don't know it-again, thank the superior being), and for all those I love or have ever loved, and for all of my friends, who unknowingly worried till they were sick about me. You're more than I deserve, especially after this confession.
It was a short time ago. Although plenty years have passed since the Great War, where most of us lost our families, at this time, the Great War was all too real…at least to me, and all others involved. Of course, many of you weren't involved, and those from newer or unaffected generations won't know, but I shall attempt to explain.
The Great War is something we don't like to think about as an intellectual animal species. Especially those-many in number-who lost the lives of friends or loved ones. There were two centers at this time, like looking at a very large yin and yang circle. The white side of the circle represents the main hero of our time; me. There were many who stood by my side, and they are the black circle shrouded in mystery, who aided me when I needed it.
At the time, I knew I was the most insurgent of our little group. Not only had the opposing force ruined my life but also my home and the lives of my friends. It was a very personal grudge. The fact that he existed was like a splinter in my eye. It was irritating to me that he existed to cause torment. That, and-now that I wonder about it-isn't it that opposites attract? I'd hate to think of it that way. To even write the words places a permanent scar on my very soul. Oh yes. The man I speak of scratches my very being.
Dr. Robotnick. Sometimes, he will call himself Dr. Eggman, the name my friends and I branded him with, for he is the chubby yang-the evil-pushing against me. He in himself is insurgent, so we fight against each other. The white circle on the giant representation of yin and yang is the scar I placed upon him. Yes, for although he has been successful at conquering most of the known world, there are parts I keep him off of. Wherever I go, he cannot touch because I will beat him. I am determined to do so until the day one of us dies. The scar I leave with him are his defeats.
The fault line in the middle of us? You. Namely, all the people not directly involved. Those ignorant to the war, those who come and go, and the… the victims. If my pen slips, forgive me. These words are harder to write than any others.
Perhaps it is best to continue on. You shall decide for yourself what is truth and fiction in this confession, for only I still know the truth of what happens upon the night of the blue moon.