GolfUniformNovember: Wow. High praise and execution-based wordplay? Color me impressed. As long as "impressed" is some shade of lime green, that is, otherwise I'll be fine remaining my natural colors, thanks. But seriously, though, thanks pal. It means a lot.
Guest reviewer: Thank ye, thank ye. My talking clam often tells me I am a genius, but it's nice to have a second opinion.
Glad to see I've got a couple of peeps enjoying things. Last time I actually had an audience, I had tied them to their seats in a theater and they were really keen on screaming through their mouthgags while I read them fanfiction, and it was really impolite.
Oh, and I also just noticed that the name of this story became OMEGA instead of #OMEGA, which slightly ticks me off. Oh, well. I'm not a hashtag person myself but it seemed appropriate at the time... bleh, honestly a pretty garbage working title anyways. Maybe I'll change it to O.M.E.G.A. instead. Anyways, here's the fic, but be careful; it's still leaking a bit of radiation.
The big red robot tried his luck at taking a single step onto the eight-lane highway impeding him. In what was surely mere coincidence, a single car in the lane nearest him zoomed by as his foot made contact with the road, almost hitting his leg. Putting the motion into reverse, Omega returned to simply standing on the sidewalk with one greasy burger clenched upright in his mechanical hand.
"ROAD VEHICLES TRAVELING AT A DANGEROUS PACE," noted the walking piece of heavy metal (no, not the musical styling) as more cars flew by. "CONSIDERATION OF THE MENTAL CAPACITY OF THE HUMAN FLESH-BUCKETS THAT ARE MORE THAN LIKELY UTILIZING THESE INFERIOR DEVICES INDICATES HIGH CHANCE OF COLLISIONS AND DEATHS IF THIS UNIT SHOULD CROSS INFRASTRUCTURE."
Omega watched as more cars continued to pass by along the lanes of the obstructing highway. This construct in front of him made no sense to him. It was a flat plane of concrete, implying that it should be crossed easily, but the large devices called 'cars' came together to form an intangible wall and halted any advance.
Why the humans enjoyed designating areas for a conga line of fast-moving steel with the potential to smack into their own young at high speeds was beyond Omega. Perhaps they secretly enjoyed the idea of children being exterminated? If so, these flesh-bags must actually be suicidal on a genocidal scale... E-123 questioned for the twelfth time that day how in the world humanity survived long enough for something as advanced as him to be manufactured.
It was as he stood pondering the logic behind infrastructure in general that Omega caught a glimpse of a tiny squirrel with the intention to cross the road. It wasn't a real-world squirrel, however, nor was it an anthropomorphic one; it was a Ricky squirrel, a sort of cross between anthro and normal that could be found in many of the classic Sonic games (and Lost World). The Ricky sat on the corner of the sidewalk a few squares of concrete away from the comparatively massive E-Series death machine, its large blue eyes and button nose inspecting the road as though it intended to cross for some reason or another, probably to get over to the small park that someone had thoughtfully built a gas station directly next to. Ain't nature preservation important?
Omega's eyes flattened. Was this beast going to risk its life in such a trivial fashion? Was this supposed to be a joke?
Apparently not, because the tiny Ricky actually did try its hand at crossing the busy road. It dropped onto the first lane and crouched down as an unsuspecting car drove over it and barely missed smashing it with the wheel.
"YOU ARE GOING TO DIE," droned the machine spectating the squirrel. From the side of the sidewalk behind Omega, a passing, elderly heron woman with a walker gave him a sad glance. His whole torso rotated about 138 degrees on its axis and he apathetically returned the look to her. "YOU TOO," he said. She wisely continued to walk onwards.
Apparently the Ricky heard Omega's taunt and decided that it was unjust, because the next car that came went not over but under the squirrel. With sudden steel staining its eyes, the fluffy little critter jumped unnaturally high, bounced off of the vehicle's windshield, and continued to string several backflips together, springing across the roof of varying speeding automobiles and...
Okay, what do you mean 'an extreme parkour-practicing squirrel doesn't make any sense'!? We are talking about a world where a three-and-a-half-foot tall humanoid hedgehog can split apart a military grade robot several times his size while unarmed! And you mean to tell me SQUIRREL BACKFLIPS are insensible? No. Just NO.
Anyways, the GUN Semi happened to be making some rounds for no reason and Ricky flew into it on the second-to-last lane of this little interstate and every bone in his body was broken before he slid off the windshield in agony and was crushed under all of the tires on one side of the truck.
"I TELEPHONED IT," called the walking arsenal. Omega did give Ricky credit for making as much progress as he did, however, and permanently upgraded the E-Series' threat status of all small animals by two ranks, allowing them to overtake frying pans and heavily armed GUN infantry.
After paying those respects, E-123 decided that he would succeed where the diminutive forest denizen had gotten himself brutally squished. Deciding that his even metallic exoskeleton may not be able to handle the car wrecks (assuming his wide frame would no doubt suffer one in each lane), Omega quickly formulated a different plan of action that he felt was less taxing to his person.
Soon came opportunity in the form of a cheap-looking, camouflage-paint covered, open-back truck rumbling down the way with a load of beer-guzzling college 'dudes' of varying race and species hanging around in the back. (totally legal, no law-breaking to be had here). As this joy to society zoomed past the E-series bot's sidewalk spot, Omega reached out with his free, non-burger holding hand and gripped down on the transit's open tail gate.
Thanks to the force of going from 75 to 0 in .5 seconds, all of the passengers promptly went flying forward over the roof of the truck, while the driver of the vehicle-who happened to be a Mobian porcupine guy with extra-long quills who was only giving the deadbeats in the back a ride because one of them was his roommate-were flung straight through the windshield. The inevitable result was a plethora of purportedly innocent people painfully impaled in an impromptu pile on their perplexed porcupine pal.
And as those dirtbags screamed from the fall with the elongated, hooked spines of their chauffeur digging into them and not coming out because that's what porcupine quills do, Omega took it upon himself to throw the gripped pickup high into the air, and watched as it flew down like a metallic meteor and landed in the center of the highway with a resounding 'CRRASH'. It was slightly more entertaining than a non-resounding 'CRRASH'.
As was Omega's prediction, the cars on the road stopped moving in both directions when a random truck fell out of the sky in front of them. A few of them crunched together when the drivers in front slammed their brakes together, but the robot responsible for this road-block couldn't care less about the plight of the populace; he was more interested in the fake crosswalk he had crafted with his own ingenuity.
One brave (idiotic) man wearing a high-class (tacky and overpriced) suit stuck his head out of the driver's window of his slightly wrecked sports car (life compensation) and shouted (tried not to whisper) at Omega, "Dude, what is wrong with you!?"
Another driver-a Hispanic woman driving a minivan-fully removed herself from her vehicle, looked at the pile of guys that the ex-Eggman robot had left in his wake. She shouted with worry on their behalf while her much more proactive husband rushed to their aid, inspiring others to also abandon their vehicles in a great display of unfathomable human kindness.
Well, that happened. In a much more interesting part of this scene, Omega had safely walked about halfway across the street towards the gas station. His goal to drizzle fuel across his cheeseburger was close to being fulfilled.
When Omega had cleared all but the last two lanes of the highway, however, his sensory systems detected a Volkswagen filled with varying children who had likely been commanded by their elders to stay in the car for safety. Normally, Omega wouldn't have cared, except for the fact that his other set of sensory systems also detected the presence of that insidious eighteen-wheeler owned by GUN.
The driver of that devilish truck (whom anyone to have ever seen the vehicle in any Sonic game can easily assume is drugged, drunk, and clinically insane) had decided to pull a completely and utterly unnecessary ewe-turn after he had used his windshield wipers to clear Ricky blood from his FOV. Now he was moving his government-issued screaming, metal death trap in the wrong direction on the road, heading directly for the the aforementioned Volkswagen and the severely unamused war machine who happened to be standing between them and the truck.
Omega turned to face the semi with an aura of anger and the sound of several explosive devices being primed. He took two steps backward and, without looking, lay his food down upon the hood of the car, earning him strange looks from the kids inside.
"THE FEDERAL INGRATE DESIRES TO PUT ME TO THE SAME TEST AS THE SQUIRREL," observed Omega. He stepped forward twice the distance he had stepped back, arms lowered into a fighting position and claws clenched into fists. "THIS WILL REQUIRE TWO HANDS," he stated, an explanation for his setting down of the burger.
The truck was becoming dangerously close now. The children saw it and began screaming in unison. All except for one chubby little guy who was too busy salivating over the unobtainable junk food on the other side of the windshield to care about his own life. The semi then rolled over a hybrid car on its psychotic path, sporting so much torque, weight, power, and other truck-things installed that it hardly even lost speed doing so. Nothing would stop it.
A quartet of perfectly round circles opened on Omega's chestplate in response to this threat. "TWO HANDS AND SEVERAL GUIDED MISSILES," he corrected himself.
With that sentence uttered, the GUN truck covered even more distance. It was only twenty feet away when the missiles burst forth. A massive salvo of flying warheads got sucked under the wheels of the semi, detonating one after another until their combined explosions threw the multi-ton truck up into the air, flying just over Omega's head. With metallic claws, he dug into the long, steel bumper above and flung it around with a hard twist of his torso.
The GUN semi, by force of Omega's grip, went sailing sideways over the heads of the mass of adults who had just finished saving the multitude of idiotic drunkards, twisting and turning and barrel-rolling above the crowd.
Many of the women and men in that crowd made the mistake of looking up as the semi soared a rough seven inches above their collective heads. And on that day, many full-grown adults simultaneously crapped their pants.
Aaaaaaaaaaand SCENE.
I just want you to know that if you're somewhat confused by some of the goings-on that transpired in this chapter, then you should probably 38y49u%*Q29 because if you don't, then you might (D*DUSUJJW )! and that might cause your cerebral cortex to JDQEWRTYUICOMKWATSOMOCHAOGARBLEBLORP all over your cat.
And nobody wants that.
