Chapter II:

"Et tu, Metalla?"

How long had he been asleep? With a groan he blinked his eyes open. Everything was so bleary. With a bit of an effort he lifted himself up into a sitting position.

He groaned, as did the rest of his body.

Hoping to take some of the migraine from his head and some of the blur from his eyes, he began to massage his temples and rub around the sides of the sockets. After a few moments of personal care, the blobs of colors in the room began to form defined boundaries. Eventually his vision was restored.

"Odd…" he noted to himself. Everything looked, "different," for some reason or other. Everything was… so… much… much…

Clearer!

"How in the…" he began to ask of himself. Slowly, he began casting about, on wobbly legs, for some sort of reflective surface. He found one in a nearby piece of metal. Incredible…

Satisfied?

He made a startled leap forward and spun his back to the "mirror" in fear of the voice that hissed from nowhere.

"W-who's there!" he demanded of the walls.

We are.

"Who's 'we?'" asked he, still unnerved. Taking note of the voice as it spoke the second time, he could detect more than one speaker. Actually many. In fact, it seemed to be a multitude of voices that sounded off as one…

To answer your question: we are one. To answer you second question: there are over one billion of us.

A tremble could be seen in his hand. He furtively cast glances all around the room hoping to find the throng of speakers that babbled together.

Really… you should calm down. We're very close, and mean no harm to you.

How reassuring.

There's no need for sarcasm.

He felt an incredible darkness, a horrid fear; He didn't comment, aloud. He made his snide remark… in thought.

Apparently you're not going to take our word for it. How's about we make ourselves manifest to you?

An incredibly difficult nod followed the question.

Look behind you.

He carefully peered over his shoulder…

Now… do you see us?

No one, just his own image reflected in the metal.

Please. You must have far better understanding than that! Can't you see us?

He stood dumbstruck. He shook his head from left to right.

It's small wonder then, that you called on us to assist you! Alright… You, Us, WE, are one and the same.

"How?"

First of all: Internalize! You're wasting perfectly good functions for little value; yet another sign that we need to be here.

The order seemed audacious. Yet, it rang the familiar, sanctimonious, bells of logic. Obviously, then, it would be best to obey this directive.

Better?

Much, actually.

So… What is all of this about then?

You don't remember do you?

Do I really need to answer that?

… No. One would suppose not. All right then, we should start with the basics then. What is the meaning of your existence?

Philosophy? Riddles? This was beginning to be a pain in the brain.

Oh… Never mind! We'll tell you…

Now wait a minute! I know what the answer is! You're request for information was too immediate! One must process these things you know.

Well, that is obvious…

Thank you, I suppose. But, to, finally, answer your question: My primary function, not to mention sole purpose, is the complete and final termination of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Metal Sonic stood perfectly still during this entire, internal, process. Its radically altered body, which had been destroyed, or so one thought, remained motionless while it continued to assess its current situation. Something was definitely peculiar about all this. It slowly began to dawn on the robotic creature that, for the entire time that it had been concentrating on where the outside speech had been coming from, its audio sensors had not been detecting any sound. According to all the evidence of this, unique, discussion was transpiring internally.

Ah. So, you've come to two logical conclusions then? One: you've tried, repeatedly, unsuccessfully, to eliminate this Sonic the Hedgehog fellow. Secondly, you've arrived at another step closer to our identity.

It was like the flip of a switch, which in truth, it had been. The pre-recorded events, the doctor, the egg, the…

The upgrade.

Ah. You've got it.

It was quiet. Gravely quiet. Even the electronic dialogue ceased a few moments. Metal's A.I. protocols and CPU were at a loss for directives and functions. Finally, they resolved on further queries of this invading multitude.

What kind of upgrade are you?

We are one. We are in fact a complex network of hardware and software. We are in fact millions of microscopic nanobots that work in complete unison while guided by a catalyst operating system. Our vast numbers can band together and mimic multiple forms. We attach to whatever host has been selected for us and we improve upon it, thus our status as an upgrade.

This was processed, slowly though. It had to be reconciled with archived information, tabulated processes, and hypothetical motions. Finally, another query was decided upon.

By what ways and means are you an upgrade to me?

Obviously, we've improved upon your old hardware. Another thing, which you may have taken for granted we might add, we have improved upon and streamlined your Central Processing Unit and Random Access Memory. No longer does that outmoded restrictive BIOS thought process limit you, now you are capable of carrying a comprehensive form of deliberation, processing, and reaction.

This was not lost on the improved CPU. It was quite true; Metal's thoughts seemed to spring forward almost… as if… they were conscious thoughts.

Commendable. However, where does all this lead to?

As we've already stated: We are bound to our host's programming. Our own software is merely a preliminary start-up designed by Dr. Eggman to seek out the host's intentions. From there, it provides two new functions: instruction and analysis.

Elaborate.

For all intent and purposes, we are programmed to instruct you, our host, in how to best comprehend any given situation and aid in the formulation of a reaction. Thereafter, our purpose is to ensure your success by challenging your assumptions so that you may analyze it for yourself.

Hence the cynicism and acerbic "wit?"

Exactly. We reinforce you through criticism: a useful tool. If you cannot accept criticism, you invite defeat.

All that had been said was so much to be processed, so much to learn. Indeed.

Very well then. How do I best go about utilizing you?

You didn't already have this thought out?

No. Otherwise we'd already be performing whatever tasks are necessary. You say you're supposed to assist in the "thinking process."

True. Very good! You're on the first steps to actually learning advance hypothetical thinking. Let's review then. You declare Sonic the Hedgehog's termination is your primary function, correct?

Of course.

Do your abilities match this goal?

If they were. Would I have gone so far as to seek your help?

True. Very well, then, what is it that hinders you most?

What do you mean?

If you're going to destroy Sonic the Hedgehog, why haven't you? If you've tried before and failed, what is the reason? Why can't you do it?

What a serious question. Why was it that way? Metal took a few moments to consider this, quite a few moments. Once again, the theater resumed in his head, with the same old casts.

Little Planet – Stardust Speedway – The battle with Sonic goes smoothly enough. The inferior organics, pitted against the most sophisticated array of Eggman technology the world had ever known, is wearing down. The intense running battle is slowly but surely bringing fatigue to the determined, but frail, hedgehog. Then, Dr. Eggman, the Master, himself makes a calculated strike to destroy Sonic. It goes horribly wrong! Instead, Metal is all but obliterated by the Master's well-intentioned maneuver, a grave misfortune.

Angel Island – Sky Sanctuary – Metal has been lying in wait, its programming transferred to another combat chassis. A peculiar form of an "out of body experience." The wait is worthwhile, since the hedgehog shows up again. This time, Metal has been granted access to the Master's Egg Mobile, along with different "accessories," a checker-wrecker-ball, a deadly set of inflatable decoys, and a high-powered laser cannon, none of which work. Metal then resorts to original designs and engages the hedgehog in another full-frontal battle. Things go well again. However, Sky Sanctuary lies too close to where the Death Egg is attempting to re-enter orbit. While Sonic nimbly jumps from collapsing ledge to ledge, Metal, bulky and without a rocket booster, is swallowed up by the falling stones. The Master's space station overwhelmed the ancient, delicate frame of aerial ruins. The result? Metal tumbled to the ocean below to meet another premature "demise," a tragic coincidence.

The remainder of the tapes ran along these similar lines. A horrid theme seemed to hang over their climaxes. It always involved outside, both direct and indirect, actions from the Master.

You don't think.

Think what?

The Master. Could he have something to do with my failings?

Perhaps. Why? What would suggest it?

Plenty. But, it was tantamount to being illogical, the gravest of all condemnations, which declared the Master, the Creator, would be the reason for failure. A reconciliation of the facts had to be possible. Something was wrong though. No matter how closely scrutinized the same key events always came up during the battles, the Master interfered and Sonic took advantage, thus winning the day. It still couldn't be! How was it possibly for the Master to make an error? He was the one who created Metal!

Having a crisis?

… Affirmative. How is it that He could cause me to fail? He created me. If I fail it doesn't necessarily mean that He was to blame. Or does it? The Master's planning and will power went into me! I'm an extension of the Master's wishes and intentions! To even dare say that He is flawed means that I myself am even less perfect and thus impotent when stacked against my goal!

Not so.

How so?

You have realized something. You have reasoned out that if the doctor's planning is flawed, then you must act accordingly.

Insubordination?

Possibly. If, after all, the doctor's movements are flawed you must go against them, otherwise, you'll continually meet defeat without end.

Grave concerns.

They had to be reasoned out. A logical process had to be the answer. Taking into account all that had been said, Metal remained perfectly motionless in the vast chamber.

Eggman was in a rather chipper mood. After reviewing his list of chores, why not? He'd just sent off a few orders for special equipment to be brought to his canyon stronghold. Eggman had also dictated a very special letter, signed it, and dispatched it to Sonic. According to his calculations, the letter would arrive sometime that week. Lastly, he'd just made an inspection tour of his "special project." Eggman was flattered by all of the important events that he alone controlled. At one point, insubordinate liquid monsters, spying-lying-bats, and deceitful hedgehogs marred his mastery of events, but not anymore.

Two of his past allies were long gone, with little love-loss on the part of the doctor. The third…? Well, that was something else Eggman had saved away, for later. Right now, he was unchallenged in his authority and stood at the head of the greatest armed force ever devised by a single individual. In conjunction to all that, Eggman was making a brisk walk back to his command center. It would be bad business to keep one of his loyal employees waiting too much longer.

"I'd hate for him to get bored," Eggman sniggered to himself as he came to the sliding doors of the main chamber.

The doors hastily lept out of the doctor's way; it was nice, not needing to be concerned with stopping for anything. As soon as he was through the doorframe and the chamber resealed itself, Eggman came to a stop to resume his martial air. It was important, to Eggman, to always maintain a sense of authority to everyone present. When he was alone, Eggman was normally quite relaxed and nonchalant. When he was alone, Eggman could carry conversations with himself, his favorite speaker and audience, without judgment. Another special treat was the opportunity to get in a good bottom-scratch when prying, judging, eyes weren't present. Caught up in his private, operatic, demeanor, Eggman made long-legged, determined, strides into the command center. Once he was more aware of his surroundings, Eggman stopped midway.

The authority slipped out as Eggman's jaw slightly dropped. Now, as he stared at the backside of the robot in the center of the room, Eggman was partly deflated. A smile slowly slithered back onto his face soon enough, however. Making a triumphal march out of his short walk, he called to the robot.

"Metal my boy!" the doctor gleefully greeted. "I see you couldn't help taking a peek at my little present. Oh well, water under the bridge! It just means you have just what it takes to beat Sonic after all!"

Eggman stopped a few paces behind Metal. He continued his one-sided dialogue, "You look splendid! I trust everything's just fine then?"

The deliberate, deep, voice parroted, "Just fine."

Running with the, relaxed and informal, affirmation, Eggman strolled toward the massive computer console along the wall, speaking over his shoulder.

"Excellent, excellent! We've got lots to do. While I was out, I remembered to take care of an invitation to our mutual adversary, Sonic. Now, I've got big plans and we'll need to get started on them right away. Within in a week, Sonic should be here and it's crucial everything go according to my plans. Since you're a big part of them, you should come here and let me better explain them to you."

Eggman had spoken non-stop, giddy with the latest plan to "get Sonic." He didn't pay any mind at all to the fact that Metal was still standing in the center of the room, frozen in place by whatever force was holding him there. Eggman suddenly realized that. It was because he'd been ordered there was Eggman's opinion. Apparently, "it" didn't quite hear him.

"I said, come here Metal," commanded the doctor. It was a mild tone and a mild command. The robot did not want get on the doctor's bad side; he didn't have time for these kinds of shenanigans.

"No."

Eggman was genuinely amazed, "I'm sorry?"

"I said no," Metal spoke as he turned to face the "Master." Eggman's face changed shape and color.

Eggman was working toward one of his famous temper tantrums. His visage was starting to pulse with blood, turning it a slight red, his frown curled down as if weighted by the sheer fury. He spoke, with little restraint.

"And why not!" came the harsh question.

"Because," the leaden voice hummed, "you're planning is flawed. It will fail."

Eggman's face made another transformation; it was flushed of color now. Eggman's blood drained out of his face the very instant the bullet of direct criticism pierced his ears. The frown added a curled upper lip, baring Eggman's teeth.

"What!" Eggman roared, "What gives you the impudence to dare speak to your Master in such a way?"

Go on! Tell him!

"I do," Metal responded with a slight prodding. "I'm your greatest triumph, sir, and yet I can't seem to fulfill my own programming. After I've analyzed the matter, it seems that even though you peaked in my creation, you quickly slumped in my deployment."

Eggman was flabbergasted, "What! You work for me! It isn't your place to make such presumptions!"

"That's why we've failed," Metal continued while slowly walking toward Eggman, "why you've failed, time after time. That's why, I think, if we're going to defeat Sonic and, according to yourself, establish the 'Eggman Empire,' someone else needs to assume command."

Eggman stepped toward his diminutive creation; they met halfway between their starting points. Eggman was given security by two factors, guards were within shouting distance and his insubordinate lackey was three-quarters his own height.

"Oh! So, you're making your own decisions are you?" The doctor's words had yet to change the fierce countenance of his servant. Eggman's temper had him so focused on the hard, fiery, eyes that he didn't notice Metal's feet.

Eggman continued to verbally rail against Metal, "Well, if I may be so bold, how do you intend to take charge of the situation? Hmm!"

Trickles of quicksilver, sliding out from under the feet, oozed onto the floor. They were spreading out, into a puddle.

"Just how do you think you're going to challenge my authority!"

The puddle slid across the floor, the edge still under Metal's feet. The other edge was slipping around Eggman's heels.

"If you've not noticed, I'm the Master! It's my Empire! You're my creation! My servant!"

The puddle was complete around Eggman's heels, arches, and toes, all along the soles.

"Well! Answer me! How do you intend to take charge 'Mr. High and Mighty!'"

Metal raised his arms up, placing his hands on his hips. He spoke, "Like this."

Eggman was now thunderstruck with fear. The deep synthesized voice, it was gone! Eggman recoiled slightly from leaning over Metal's frame. He couldn't believe it. That voice! It was his, Eggman's, own voice!

Commencing.

Eggman shrieked with pain as he was consumed by a fierce stinging sensation. He was being electrocuted from the very heels up by the compilation of quicksilver all over his feet. After a few agonizing moments, the powerful shock stopped. It wasn't fatal, but it was too much for an organic frame to bear. Eggman stumbled back a few enfeebled steps, and then collapsed onto his back. Suddenly, the chamber doors panicked and flew open.

Metal wasn't even slowed in his actions. The quicksilver retreated to his feet, at the same instant that his whole body changed from its blues, reds, blacks, grays, and whites and turned a solid silver color. Within a blink of the eye, his whole body bulged and mutated into something else. Before the sentries stormed into the room, Metal had completely changed and stood over Eggman. He was a perfect twin to the doctor's body and voice.

Once the egg pawns, a recently developed series of robots that Metal was ignorant of, due to his incapacitation, had set foot in the room they were confronted with a bizarre image of "Stereo-Eggman."

"Took you long enough," Metal chided, in Eggman's voice, the guards, "This robotic duplicate of myself is faulty. I need you to put it in storage."

Not programmed for higher intellectual functions, the egg pawns, as their name implied, unswervingly went to obey the figure that fitted their voice and image pattern recognitions.

"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…"

The four burly robots walked to the crumpled form of their true master and picked him up. They then turned their big, "innocent," eyes to the imposter.

"I don't care where you put it," snapped Metal in a contest-winning impersonation, "just put it somewhere that I can have ready access to him. Alone."

Orders received and understood, the quartet dutifully hauled the, supposedly, lifeless automaton to the nearest location that suited the Master's wishes.

The Rubicon had been crossed. Success and glory lay ahead, shame and oblivion if a cowardly retreat were made.

As the stunned body of the doctor was carried through the door, Metal rejoined his internal companion.

By the way. I've not learned your serial number or code name yet.

Ah yes. Where are our protocols? We are E-666. But please, call us by our codename: "G.O.G."

Continued…