Statistics. Calculus. Electrochemistry. Neurology.

I would love to be reading textbooks on any of these things right now, but a job's a job.

Even if that job is cleaning toilets.

While I would love to grandstand and tell everyone the truth behind one of the most brilliant and powerful individuals on the planet, circumstances prescribe me to act contrary to that pattern. Many people use aliases on a professional basis. I, ███ ████████, shall use one as well.

You may refer to me as... Infrared. I will refer to two other individuals using aliases as well.

████████ █████, the son of a GUN officer stationed at a research facility unnamed, shall be known as Antitank. A military alias for a military man.

██████ ████████, my grandfather, shall be known as The Surgeon.

And it is my hope that the story that follows would never be repeated.

We begin at the cosmopolitan metropolis of New Babylon, named as such by the colonial citizens noticing how similar the ruins looked to the hanging gardens of the Old World. Additionally, Babylon was the first recorded city in human history, so it was effectively christened as the first human settlement of the planet. Tangentially, the place is covered in desert, and the only people there are bandits and nomads barely eking out a living on the sands. Once we landed, we weren't treated as gods but as equals, which contrasted with the way that other nations treat us. Angels, sirens, or demons. I was around five years old at the time, but the natives were eager to engage in dialogue with us. The only problem was we didn't share a language.

They were somewhat avian, sentient, and at the same time still humanoid. Convergent evolution appears to have given them hands, but the more surprising feature was the fact that they have footwear similar to the stuff humans used.

Even more surprising was the fact that they are only a subset of convergently-evolved humanoids that shared anthropomorphism but also imitated animals around them. The common features are - they don't need to wear pants to maintain decency, they have arms, hands, and feet, and they have shorter necks than humans.

Regarding the name "Mobian", it was an apparent mistranslation of what the Babylonians called their neighbors (many of us made an effort to share our autonym with them quickly - we want to be "human") combined with the image that their nearest neighbors associated themselves with - a mobius strip. Those idiots have a fatalistic religion which stated that every artificial system is a deviation from the norm, and will always be "corrected" in the end. It would not disappear, it would instead fade into the background, waiting for someone to come across it and interpret it for their own uses.

I personally, and regrettably, found this idea to be full of clout. But archaeologists on the planet have noted a disturbing trend playing out on civilizations that step foot in it. A large and rich culture constructs life out of complicated and dangerous wonder technologies, only to be consumed by their own tools. It was after 50 or so years when I learned the truth about why the Babylonians sought trade relationships with us, long after the events of this story. And by that time, I already long known about seven legendary gems with the ability to warp space and time.

But before, all I assumed was that Mobius somehow became a dumping ground of ancient technology from long-dead civilizations. That was my best guess, coming from the physics at the time, and it was terrible.

Not that I would let any prophecy stop me.

The heat is unbearable, and the stench overwhelming. My uncle tells me to work, as my legal guardian after the death of my parents in a fatal car accident. He holds particular disdain for his sister - my mother, calling her someone who marries "weak" men. Me and my cousin, five years younger than me, have lived under him while I was trying to make enough money to "pay rent". I resent him for good reason. My cousin also had dead parents, but both of them were military.

To this day I believe that all four of their deaths should have been suspicious.

There is no way I could make enough money to live on my own at that time. I have no relevant job skills, and no connections. So, I work as a minimum wage janitor clearing toilets for junkies to destroy five seconds later. Robots should be doing this stuff. And yet my uncle insists I keep working terrible jobs because it "builds character". I'm a smart person. I should not be working these garbage hours for garbage pay. I should be studying nuclear physics at my age.

"Infrared, stop checking on inventory and start fixing those toilets, you worthless sack of-"

I slide open the door making as much noise as possible whilst not actually breaking everything. The whole restaurant, to undignify the name of gastronomical establishments worldwide, cannot hear anything over the noise. They can only hear plastic wheels, whirring against the aluminium tracks restraining a few planks of wood that I can find at an unscrupulous hardware store. I wear gloves to work not for sanitary purposes but to avoid splinters. The device makes a solid clunk sound against the other end of the door, and I pull out the cart holding a large garbage bag, some brushes, and a questionably effective chemical solution.

I open the door, only to find the usual. A large mass of tissue paper in the seat, and stray hair littering the tiled floors I stand on. I get a plunger, and start making noise. Customers started to leave. I start playing obnoxious rock music to drown out the noise. I flush. Once I was done, I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess on the floor. The guy on the next shift can take care of that. I want a raise, but being a contractor, I have no bargaining power. This is the closest thing I have.

The day remains slow, and I leave without having to do overtime. I am thoroughly miserable and I don't want my uncle to notice me coming home early. I activate a rootkit I plant onto the security system a few nights ago, deactivate the alarm, unlock the backdoor, enter, and then reactivate the alarm.

The kicker? I am only 15 years old.

I see a set of documents on the table. Tax receipts. Profit forecasts. Marketing project proposals. All of it to the same restaurant chain that I work at. And all of it addressing my uncle, and his kids, as top executives. Divorce papers involving his wife can also be seen in the mix, as the two try to divide their assets while hiding them behind their personal agents. And upstairs, I start hearing a quite frankly disturbing noise.

"NO! Get away from me!"

"Come on, █████, you know you like it. Now get over here while..."

That is my uncle forcing himself onto my cousin.

I have enough. I'm going to make sure that he can never set foot anywhere near the two of us again. Clenching my fist, I...

No, I don't have a plan. I can try to kill him, but even if I succeed I will be in prison for the rest of my life. I need a plan to stop him completely.

Looking at the divorce papers, I think of one. If I record the incident and submit it as evidence to the lawyer representing my aunt, he'll not only lose his case but also will be jailed himself. I can be free of the sociopathic rat for good. All I need is a camera - my phone.

Quietly, and quickly, I moved to capture the incident while still remaining hidden.

"Get your hands off me, please!"

"Shut up and stop struggling!"

"Ack! Ow!"

My cousin is sobbing, prompting my uncle to plant his hand over her mouth.

"Shh..."

It feels like years, not seconds, watching him do the deed. I can't bear to witness it anymore, but I record enough evidence to support my case. I tread carefully downstairs, and open the door.

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Stupidly, I forget to disable the alarm. I make a mad dash outside, running as far as I can away from the place. Even more stupidly, I forget he has a car, and I don't.

I can hear the motor starting up in the distance as I try to crawl into the manhole a quarter of a block away from the house. Stupid thing won't budge. I dive behind a bush to wait out the storm that is to come. Even still, the car comes to a stop as I hear the brakes squeal. I hear the door open.

Why do I always wear red?

I let instinct kick in and call the cops. Throwing my cell phone into the bush, I turn around to face the man who raped my cousin.

"Listen here, Infrared, I don't appreciate the fact that you came home early, but I also don't appreciate that you came at a stupidly early time at that. What the fuck are you doing, coming home and running the hell away not even a minute after you came? What's going through your mind, huh?"

I remained silent.

"Answer me!"

Thinking about the papers that were strewn on the table, I come up with the best response I can.

"Where's your wife?"

That provokes him to slam my face onto the car's hood.

"The hell you say to me you fucking brat?!"

I go limp, trying to ruse my uncle into thinking that I'm unconscious.

"Oh yeah, real fucking funny. You're still breathing. Get the fuck back up, you pussy."

Of course, I didn't. He kicked me in the groin. I try to hide my pain.

"Bitch, I saw that! Get the hell back up!"

Responding with a big fat nothing, I felt my uncle's hands grab me and throw me into the trunk.

"I don't have time for your bullshit. We're going home."

A few minutes later, I feel my uncle throwing my body against a wall. The next day I wake feeling pain in every bone in my body. I swear from that day forward, I will prove to my uncle on his terms that it is he who's a meaningless parasite in the family. His toxic machismo will be his undoing.

In the evening while at work (since my uncle will not let me take a day off even when I can't feel my toes) I notice a piece of letter-size paper someone just folded neatly in the sink. The toilet is clean, despite the boss saying that I need to fix it. I close the door and open it. The message inside said...

███ ████████,
It has come to my attention that you required the help of a police officer last night.
Please come to the station after work. Address and directions displayed below.

I served overtime, then followed its instructions.

At the police station, I was greeted by a regular customer to the shop. Human.

"Hey, it's mister toilet man! The person who wants to see you is taking a break, he should be around in a few."

I felt a hand placed against my shoulder. I reluctantly turn around. It's a face I never seen before, and also mobian. Reptile-like in appearance.

"I'm right here, you know."

The receptionist looked up, then she darted her face back down to the papers in front of her.

"Oh, sorry, sorry! Look, he'll escort you inside and you could answer a few questions."

I think I know what this is about, but I'm still nervous. I open my mouth. "I'm not a suspect or anything, right?"

The chief has trouble holding in a laugh. "No, but even if you were we'll still say that. Relax and come on in. I made you some coffee."

I frown. The job has been all about coffee, donuts, and other tea-time garbage made from cheap ingredients and warmed up in the microwave. I don't even want the "premium arabica" stuff. On earth, it was the most common type of coffee worldwide, and it's a known marketing tactic to slap "premium" onto everything.

"I'd like some soda. And maybe a sandwich. All I eaten this week was minute rice and canned beans."

The officer raises an eyebrow, and reaching from the compassion in his heart he nods his head, and turns toward another member of the force to get the goods for him. He then brings me inside a closed room and sits down across from me.

I tell him everything I could.

"Your food."

Opening the door, I saw the other officer - a very, very young fox-model mobian, walking in with the goods. Called himself Talus Prower.

"How's it like being a mobian in the police force?"

I can't help being curious at that age. The two looked at each other, frowning slightly. Talus replied.

"Its... hard. Humans are surprisingly hard to catch, despite being taller than us. Even if you outsmart them, they're endurance runners, have sharper eyesight, and our human colleagues can work much longer hours than we can. Only thing we really have is muscle."

I went quiet for a bit. I probably let a frown show up on my face.

"It's not too bad though. There are high risk jobs that humans need a lot of equipment for, but I'm able to do by myself. Breaking up fights is something that I do all day, and I rarely get as much as a scratch. Kind of wish I had more to do than work as a meat shield though, which is why I taken on this case."

"Wasn't it because your fat ass wasn't able to get to the fight scene in time, Talus?"

"You were there too."

"But you wanted to get..."

The police officer's voice trailed off as he shifted his head to me. I wasn't really able to see his expression.

"Dude... are you okay?"

The fox-like mobian stood up and grabbed a paper handkerchief. Turns out I was crying.

I lift the handkerchief from my face. It was stained red with blood.

"Call an ambulance, Talus."

In hindsight, the two bumbling buffoons probably only had police work to look forward to. I mean for crying out loud, I my face was likely covered in bruises and scabs. Miles definitely got his intellect from his mother's half of the family. And then Sonic somehow was able to get at his developing mind. Granted, he made the most out of the little prodigy, but I sometimes wish I was able to come to his aid first. I tried to investigate what exactly put Tails into the situation he was in on Westside Island only after Shadow tried to plummet the ARK into the planet in genocidal rage. In this day and age the treatment he endured made no sense to me.

Perhaps...

I remain conscious while being sent to the hospital. Talus absconds, and the only people who are left are myself and the reptile mobian. Wondering what his name is, but not wishing to speak to him in this time of crisis, I stare at him for a few minutes. Well-kept uniform. "Strict, blue, and corrupt" as my grandfather has the habit of saying. No name tag. His piece has an enlarged trigger guard, presumably because his hands are far too large for human-sized guns. Interestingly, he carries nunchaku instead of a stun gun. He's carrying a body cam, but the device is not on.

I move my glance over to the paramedics beside me. Only one mobian out of the three humans. Rabbit appearance. His colleagues are viewing him suspiciously.

"For once, someone else is taking up a hospital bed besides Keol. When they heard your voice I thought you needed stitches again to keep your arms on your shoulders."

Keol? One of the human paramedics was speaking, but in very hushed tones. Each of them have hair nets but I can clearly see blonde hair underneath it.

"Well if Mr. Lamana ends up with another rifle round in his chest his premiums will spike. Can't blame him for ducking with his tail between his legs. Literally."

I noticed the female paramedic's eyes dart toward the cop. So his name is Keol Lamana... The sirens are blaring in the background. I am able to hear the two speak but my senses are sharper than normal. I mean, I could be a musician if I really wanted to. So I can't blame them for thinking that Keol can't hear them. I do however wonder how the two paramedics are able to communicate like that. They should have hearing damage from the environment that comes with their jobs.

I'll probably find out soon enough.

We reach the hospital, and I am sent to the emergency room. Two doctors came to treat me for my concussion, and then I got into an MRI for a brain scan.

"Lots of internal bleeding. We're going to have to do some surgery."

That abusive lowlife. I would love to pay to see his sorry ass beaten and enlarged behind the cold steel rods that hold him in his cell. Can't pay for anything though if I have no money. And it's highly probable that whatever money I sue him for is going towards my hospital bill. Either I'm getting this treatment for free or I'll only be able to work as a guinea pig for the rest of my life.

"What do you mean we only have one brain surgeon in this district? We can't let him operate on someone this close to him!"

"We don't have much choice. Send him in but blank out his name."

One of the surgeons walks up to me and gives me a tap on the shoulder.

"You. Do not. Speak. Got it?"

"Uh, what if I end up mute?" I really don't want to lose the ability to speak.

The doctor clenches his fist, but turns away from me.

"Fine. Don't tell your surgeon what your name is. This procedure is going to be free of charge. Stay still so you don't take up a hospital bed."

As he left, I notice a mobian figure walking past him, with a very strong cyan blue coloration. Hedgehog-pattern, adorned in nurse's clothes. The door closes, and he reopens it quietly. He is carrying a knife so large that no surgeon should be holding it.

"Help!" I gasp. To no avail.

"You..." His voice is crisp. Cool, like ice cubes in lemonade. "The future has no place for people like you..."

I am helpless. He's stronger, faster, and tougher than I could ever hope to be. I'm not a religious man. My light would be snuffed out permanently by him, and afterwards I will experience only darkness. I get out of my cot regardless of the facts. I'm not going down without a fight, especially to somebody I don't know.

"You think you stand a chance against me without your toys?"

I grab a metal tray. The mobian makes his first move, slashing horizontally. I respond by throwing the piece of metal against his neck. He doubles over, but not without getting a slash across my stomach for my efforts. I scream. He struggles to breathe after my stunt, but recovers astonishingly quickly.

"Throwing your only weapon away. Not very smart."

I act in the fraction of time given to me by his gloating. Using my paltry momentum I grab his face with my right hand and smash it against the wall, and use my left to disarm him with a press of my thumb. I stupidly kick away the knife, cutting my toes in the process. Once my opponent regains his senses he immediately kicks me in the chest, and as anyone can tell you, it feels like you were stabbed in the guts by a splintered two-by-four.

I double over, and he drops gracefully down to the ground. The knife is underneath a cabinet full of laboratory samples. He crouches, and then hammers the piece of furniture with the full force of his body. Such strength is a new, frightening experience to me. The cabinet is in pieces, and the monster slowly stands up, wielding his choice weapon in his hands once more. I am scrambling towards the door on my backside, making squealing sounds with my rear end. The door opens with a slam. Seeing a witness to his crime, the hedgehog wastes no time switching targets. He dived straight for the man at the door, but was sent reeling backwards with a strong punch.

"Alarm 47! Trigger Alarm 47!"

Screams and the siren song of electronic panic fill the room, supplanting whatever noise the hospital had before.

"I got no time to waste on you."

The hedgehog darts his eyes in my direction, only to find me gone again.

"Well that's just amazing. You morons are clueless."

He starts smashing up the furniture again, hoping to get my corpse in the collateral damage. He gets a solid kick in the face to convince him to do otherwise.

"I guess I have to go through you first!"

Swiftly, and ruthlessly, the enemy delivers a sweeping kick to the legs, and follows up with an elbow drop to deliver the full force of his spiked backside to his chest.

While in the air, I make the decision that saves both of our lives. I grab the metal plate I used to smack his windpipe, and uppercut his shoulder with enough force to send him spinning sideways. Another friendly walked into the room. Seeing the three of us, the assassin got up into a crouched position.

"Well, this reeks. Leaving."

Throwing the knife into my direction, my first ally stops the weapon with his arm.

"Keol!"

Keol tries grabbing the assassin, only to find him doding out of his grasp and smashing a wall to bits.

"Too slow, bacon breath! Next time, eat a salad!"

He jumps out of a window, and will not be seen again that day.

"Shit!"

Slumping down, Keol removes the knife out of his arm.

"And he was wearing gloves too. At least there's enough hair to get genetic evidence, but I won't count on it to do anything in our favor."

The other nurse was helping the cop up. "Why didn't you tackle us to the ground instead of hurting yourself like that."

Keol points at me. "He has a concussion. We can't get more brain damage than what we already have. Speaking of which, get him to the operating table and get his procedure done first. Don't worry about me. My mother gave deeper scars than this."

Nodding, she rushes me to the operating table.