From his perch atop the Master Emerald, Sonic traces the white scar a jet cuts across the sky.
He grasps an invisible receiver to his lips, feigning radio crackle. "Major Blue to ground control. Come in, ground control: we have visual on the cow-nabbers."
The jet (transformed, according to his vivid imagination, into a sleek UFO) dips behind a cumulus cloud. Oh, no, he cries at himself, they're mounting their offense. Enter Scissors formation.
Mimicking the pew-pew of theoretical lasers, he jumps to his feet. "Bandits have opened fire! Time to show 'em who's boss!"
"But, Major," the Master Emerald conveniently protests in his lower-pitched register, "we're gonna lose those cows."
He heroically shakes his head. "Not today, boys!" His imaginary cockpit, which is really just him aiming finger pistols and tutting at the sky, discharges machine-gun rounds as he pretends it's raining cows. "How those sirloins taste, Martians? You mess with the cattle, you get the horns!"
Such pandemonium; such horror. Only one hedgehog can fly fast enough to save them. Ensnared by his daydream of rescuing mooing Bessies as they plunge toward certain doom, "Major Blue" doesn't notice his feet have edged him toward the altar's precipice. He deals the UFO its death blow when he miscalculates his victory leap and tumbles down the altar stairs.
Every step stings defeat, and the ground at the altar base rewards him with a sloppy, abrasive kiss. Approximately three and a half seconds pass in silence before his eyes crack open. He sits up wincing and wedges his fist between his back spines, rubbing the stiffened knot already forming there.
Footfalls crush the grass, and the fallen Major Blue offers his visitor a sheepish grin.
"Hey, there, Knuckles. Back so soon?"
"Cow-nabbers?" Knuckles snorts. "I left you alone for five minutes, Sonic."
"Hey," he says, "that any way to thank a decorated hero?"