Author's note: this is a World War 2 based Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction. Basically, the idea is a what-if scenario. Instead of Sonic being warped to a near future of Earth, as seen in Sonic X, Sonic and co. are instead warped to Earth during its most bloody and tragic time. This fanfiction is in no way an endorsement of any ideals seen during WW2. This fanfiction is in no way created to make light of the tragedy that was WW2. I will attempt to make all events as historically accurate as possible, however given that I am no expert, errors are bound to exist. That being said, this is still a Sonic fanfiction with the backdrop being World War 2, so an obvious suspension of disbelief is needed.

Rings Around the Sun

Chapter 1: Approach

March 11, 1938

Omaha Boy Writes Upside Down with Both His Hands

Omaha, Neb., March 10.—[Special.] —William Costello, 12 years old, broke his left arm three years ago. He was left handed, and when he tried to write with his right hand his first attempts were upside down. After his arm healed he practiced writing upside down with his left hand and then with both hands at the same time. Now he can write inverted nearly as well as in the orthodox manner.

Sonic's face slid over dirt and grass while pebbles shot up into his ears. Given his speed, and the smoothness of both his face and the ground, Sonic slid for quite a distance. From behind, his legs flew over his head as he began to somersault forward in the air uncontrollably with his legs and arms flailing searching for unfound traction. Mercifully, Sonic came to a halt as he crashed through a simple rustic wooden fence, back first, crashing through the two horizontal beams perpendicular to the posts. The splinters would crash all around him, but Sonic was nonetheless pleased the be stopped, for once. He laid motionless for a second, with his head facing towards his newest piece of collateral damage, before finally opening his eyes.

Directly above Sonic was the blue sky he'd seen all his life. Much lighter than he would have expected for this hour. Looking around, Sonic took notice of the lonely gravel path he must have flown over after breaking the fence, as well as the larch trees which only had just started growing its needles back.

Taking a slow breath, Sonic focused on a sole cloud passing overhead. Sonic saw no special shape in the cloud.

Barely audible, Sonic muttered to himself. "Where'd Eggface send me this time?" Throwing his hands back behind his head and towards the ground, and swinging his bent legs towards his chest, Sonic lurched himself forward to spring to his feet in a kip up motion. Suddenly upright, Sonic blasted up the tallest tree within view. Out from tree flew out abnormally large and dull flickies, which scattered with no real sense of camaraderie. Even with his recent tumble, dodging tree branches was still a breeze for the blue hero.

Now standing like a weathervane at the top of the larch, Sonic began to examine his surroundings. Sonic put his two arms out, formed L's with his two hands, and brought them together to make a square. Slowly, he began to pan around focusing only on the area in his makeshift non-magnified spotter.

"Yep, I'm in a forest alright. Must be halfway across the planet, it was nearly night when we left. Ha, we. Hey, Tails! You out there! ...Didn't think so." Eventually, Sonic did scan his whole horizon, and confirmed to himself silently that he was, indeed, in a forest. "Oh well, we had him beat with or without me. I guess I can't have all the glory all the time." Figuring there was no time like the present, Sonic jumped off the tree, walked over to the gravel path, made a mental note to pay for repairs, and took off north towards nothing in particular.

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"Du Deutsch!?" Rubbing his bald head, and feeling for his glasses, Eggman hardly noticed the men with guns drawn towards him shouting questions at him.

"Vous Français!?" Stabbed by a shard of dark glass, Eggman found his glasses. Coming to his senses, he put on his new two prong monocle.

"Sei Italiano!?" Eggman looked up, and saw, for the first time, it was him looking down the barrel of a gun. "Er muss Italiener sein, sieh dir seine Figur an!"

"You English?" Eggman's exposed eye widened, his mouth moved barely agape. For a moment, utter clarity. A timeless thought, unbound by the fourth dimension, with neurons pulsing through his brain at incredible speeds as to overtake all current and previous cognition.

"I, where am I? These men, they are men! Are they not? Gloveless, spineless, clothed men! And those are weapons, yes they are. Metal and wood, a beautiful clash of nature and man. They are prepared to shoot me, do they not realize I am one of them? We are not alone! Have I returned, or have they invaded? Do they seek to conquer, be subjugated, make dreams reality? Turn lead to gold and bread into grain?! Leave the universe and seek the unknown to the known! WHERE AM I!"

"I would not call myself English, for I only speak the language." Assessing the situation, Eggman held his hands up feebly and began to stand to his feet. The men continued to aim at Eggman, the rifling visible to the scientist. "I have not the faintest idea where I am, my fellow man, could you be burdened to take me to your home and welcome in a stranded traveler?"

"Not a Englishman? American must you be then, yes?" Gyrating his head to see his full surroundings, Eggman took count of the three men aimed at him. Their weapons were dissimilar and old, or at least having the appearance of age to them. Caked with dirt and lined with rust, Eggman was more worried about the tetanus he may contract if hit with one of the guns, which he deemed more realistic than being shot. Their shirts were collared, but dirty. Their pants stopped halfway between the knee and ankle, and were held up by an "X" shape which crossed over the shirt from front to back. Out of one of the men's pocket stuck out a tattered glove, which likely was to prevent against blisters rather than the elements. Behind the men laid two hoes and a shovel, with equal dirt and rust as the guns. Eggman deemed it strange that farmers would have rifles in equal numbers to tools and so readily accessible. One was missing both socks, or two were fortunate enough to have socks. None wore glasses, all were squinting.

"Yes! That's it, I'm an American! Now would you please lower your guns, and tell me where I am?" The shortest one, the only one who seemingly spoke english, thought for a moment, and then brought his gun up to eye and took an even more steady aim, as if to say 'I will shoot you'. The other two followed suit.

"Er sagt, er ist Amerikaner, ich sage, er ist ein britischer Spion!" "Dann schieß! Lass ihn für die Wölfe." "Ich bin kein Mörder. Mach du es." "Dann bringen wir ihn zurück in die Stadt und lassen ihn in einer Zelle verrotten."

Eggman had not the slightest clue what was going on, but he could tell from their body language of suddenly tightening their grip, to slowly lowering their guard, that things were going his way.

"Ja, you lucky man, egg man. You, come with us" Shorty said with a smile. Not exactly a toothless smile, but also not exactly a toothful one either.

"And where would that be?"

"Igis"

"Igis what?"

"Igis, Igis Schweizerische. Or Switzerland, since you English only speak it." He looked up, cleared his throat, and spit on the ground. One by one, the men picked up their tools on the ground and looped them to some unseen device behind their backs. With their guns still aimed at Eggman, though now at a waist level, they motioned him forward.