Sonic sat in his room, awaiting his 13-year-old son to come and have their weekly chat. Sonic had heard the music that came from his son's ipod, and no son of his would listen to gangster related tunes. The boy came in. He had the quills of his mother, and the love for running of his father. His name was Samuel, but Sonic had always called him Spot, due to the massive white birthmark on his quills.
"Dad," said Spot, "you wanted to see me,"
"Yeah," said Sonic, sternly, "don't think I don't know about your sneaking out,"
"What're you~" he began, but was interrupted again,
"I know you're trying to join a gang, and I won't hear of it."
"They're my friends,"
"What have they done for you?"
"They insisted that I have a beer,"
"Not insist; force, so they're not your real friends. Friends don't force friends to do bad things. Son, I know what you're going through. I've been down your road."
"You have?"
"Yeah, and it wasn't pretty." Sonic recalled his story.
Sonic felt he wasn't fitting in. He had all A's, many friends, and was on Track. But something was missing. A group of people came to him and offered a place to fit in to. Sonic snuck out a lot, doing very evil things. One day, just after school, his "Friends" told him,
"Just one test left; Shoot Amy Rose." Sonic's heart skipped a beat. But before he could say anything, they ran at her and grabbed her, yanking her towards him. How could Sonic kill someone he loved? He couldn't. So he threw the gun on the ground, attacked the gangsters, grabbed Amy, and ran to the police station. The gangsters were arrested, and things were never the same.
"Really?" asked Spot,
"Yeah, and if I hadn't done what I did, you wouldn't be here."
"Boys," called a voice, Amy, "it's dinner time." Sonic and Samuel left the room, a better bond between them.