He ran barefoot across the field, breathing excessively. His hands were still tied but that was fine, he didn't need them to run. But of course it would have been ideal to have them by his side maybe then he could actual defend himself if they caught up. What was he saying? WHEN they caught up. After all it was an army of killer robots built to run up to twenty five miles per hour that were minutes away from his position, he was a man looking much like a mental patient dressed only in a velcro-strapped, hospital gown and armed only with a three foot long piece of rope he could not free his hands from.
The grass in the field came up to his waist, pretty ideal for ducking and hiding in. To no avail that would be however when night-vision and thermoscope goggles were your enemies specialty. He would know, he had spent seven long years working under that fat, psychotic waste of skin.
Despite the terrible circumstances the night was refreshingly cool, the sky like a dark sheet of light silk and the stars were little pinpricks in the fabric, the essence of the night itself. Calm as it was it did not make up for the utter eye saw that was Metropolis. It's towering buildings donned a shade of metallic gra , a robotic city full of such sickening law it would rot your guts, a concentration camp for animals like him and he had lived there for the past seven years and eight months.
This sickening thought had just entered his mind when the next thing he knew he landed nose first into the dirt. A splat, the snap of bone, the taste and smell of blood at the back of the throat. His eyes watered in pain as they screwed into a not so water tight dam of skin. He had to try his hardest not to yell out in pain, if he was heard he'd be toast. A metallic slice of roboticized toast that was.
Instead he lay still with his eyes now open watching his own watery blood drip out his own nose. He could now see what had tripped him. One protrudent root stuck out of the earthy soil in the shape of an upsidedown arch. Its curve almost looked like it was creasing it self into a mischievous smile, mocking him.
"A root?"
Surprised at his own voice, his pointy ears twitched in nervousness, heavy approaching foot steps. Mobion foot soldiers, it had to be they were too heavy to be anything else.
And now he lye still. Playing possum.
("I'm just a little dead fox here, nothing to concern you. Just walk past and leave.")
His hospital gown had rode up his back and revealed a bald patch on his lower back. There was a scar the sized of a golf-ball, it looked like it had been done cleanly, almost alike to a Guillotin wound. The foot steps were slowing down but maintained their heaviness. They got closer, closer, nearer, nearer.
"Halt."
The foxes breath stopped on a dime at the sudden command. It was that cold robotic voice that was devoid of life and emotion. A now soulless vessel, formally a living being most likely. Had he seen him and looked through his goggles to check if he was still warm and, more importantly, alive?
"This is the great forest, he must be hiding in there somewhere. Contact east side team."
Sounded like they couldn't even see him lying in the grass five feet away.
"Contacting east side team."
There had to be three at least and just as suspected your everyday foot soldiers. A seconds silence then a distant crackling voice as if through an intercom said.
"This is east side team, Sargeant 890327 speaking."
"This is Corporal 623924, we have secured the west side and have gone no further than the outskirts of the great forest. We have reason to believe the suspect has entered and is now hiding there. Requesting permission to enter."
Another seconds silence. The fox began breathing as shallow as possible as he could no longer hold his breath. But it was apparent that he was not to heard. At least as of yet.
("This pain is too much! Why? God freaking damn it! I'm about to get caught and taken back to that hell hole! These will be my last moments of feeling before I'm turned into one of them, so why do they have to be pain from a broken nose?")
The pending order seemed to evaporate in the silence until...
"Negative."
The voice finally replied.
"Search the area and then report back to base. We have reason to believe that freedom fighters reside in the great forest. We can not afford to lose any more soldiers."
"Understood. Over and out."
The intercom made one last screech of white noise and hushed to nothing. The freedom fighters. He had heard of them many times and rarely in any positive way. Any mention from anyone, except for Robotnik, of Sonic and his pesky friends would result in severe punishment.
"Private 1254, 2374 and 3286 you will scan the premises using any and all means necessary but by no means will you approach the great forest by more than fifteen feet. I will report back to Metropollis to give our report back in person. "
"Understood."
And with that the giant, metallic footsteps began again, shaking the floor a little as they increased in speed and faded away in the distance. He now had a good estimate of three robots who had easy access to weaponry and backup, this was not looking good. Even if it was a fair hand to hand combat fight he'd get himself caught and maybe even killed, not to mention he was still in great pain.
"Starting thermoscope scan."
("This is it.")
He gripped onto the ground hard.
("That cold, lifeless voice of a former living being is going to be the last thing that this fox hears... I didn't even carry out reasoning tasks for attempting such a stupid thing.")
The earth was cool and the wind was peaceful but not without enough force to whoosh through his ears. He loved that feeling it reminded him of a simpler time. When pollution was nil and wildlife thrived, when he had a house of his own, a wife a son... which he'd never set eyes upon again. His tears mingled with his now cold blood that still dripped from his crooked nose. Amadeus real did love these cool summer nights...
