Schizophreniac

Chapter 3

Seeing Things

Miles Prower sat on the gray sofa in the living room. Aunt Catherine was returning from the other side of the room with a dark green box of facial tissues. She sat down next to him, being careful to avoid sitting on his two tails resting mournfully beside him. Miles plucked a tissue from the box and dried his face. Catherine waited a moment, allowing Miles the time to compose himself. Soon, he had calmed down enough to talk.

"Last night, I remembered something," Miles began shakily. He hunched over and placed his left palm to his forehead, almost as if he was trying to hide his face. His other hand trembled in a clenched fist.

"What did you remember?" Catherine coaxed.

"I—I remembered a song. I think a man used to sing it to me—ugh, but I can't remember who!" Miles grunted in anger.

Miles wiped his eyes once more with the tissue before throwing it at the wicker stand to the right of the sofa. His face full of anger, he stared down into the floor with purpose, as if by merely concentrating at one spot on the carpet he could cause the floor to buckle and cave-in. Catherine had seen that look on his face only a few times, but it was nearly always followed by some kind of rash decision. She carefully took her young companion's hands in her own and tried to look him in the eye. This would required tact.

"Miles, that you remembered anything at all is a very good thing."

"No. No, it's not," he said, sulking.

"I can almost see his face. I—I can almost recognize his voice. It's right there, b-but—at the same time—it's not!" he stammered, pulling his hands from Catherine's grasp. "Aunt Catherine, what if—what if everyone forgot about me—like I forgot them?"

With gritting teeth and eyes shut tightly, the boy leaned face into his open hands in dejection, failing to keep the tears in abeyance. Catherine slid her arm around him, drawing him up until he rested his head on her shoulder.

"Do you remember that box of letters and birthday cards you found under your bed?" she asked, pushing him out from her side enough to see his face.

"Yes—"

"And the notebook full of the sketches and drawings you made of your friends?"

Miles nodded, his temper cooling a little as he tried to figure out where she was going with these questions.

"And what are those things that you keep in frames on your mantle, your tables, and your walls?" Catherine asked, bringing her left hand to her chin and looking up at the ceiling as if the answer were written above her head.

Miles closed his eyes and mussed the fur on the back of his head. Catherine had made her point, and now he felt a little foolish.

"The photos—yeah, I get it. If I've got all that stuff, then they probably have those things too."

The fox leaned back to rest against the sofa cushions, hands folding in his lap. Catherine sighed in relief. The boy seemed to be coming out of his strange mood.

"Your friends can't forget you. They were like family—especially Sonic, right? In those letters he said that you were like his little brother," she reminded him, patting the back of his hand.

Miles nodded again. He was feeling better. He still hurt, and still felt silly, but at least he was coming out of his depressed and angry funk.

"And it's impossible to forget Amy," Catherine added with a grin.

Miles could not help but smile. He playfully nudged Catherine's arm with his elbow. It really was funny how many letters, cards, and gifts he had received from the pink hedgehog. She seemed to really like to give things away; Miles had received a gift and an elaborately designed, homemade card from this Amy girl for every full and half birthday, as well as a letter dated just about every month. Judging from the picture of her in his living room, she was probably the only friend he had close to his age.

Miles sometimes wondered why he had so many older friends. Maybe the other children were afraid of him. Maybe he was just a popular guy, and only the cooler, older crowd could "hang" with him.

Secretly, Catherine believed that Amy may have had a crush on Miles since she paid him so much attention when he did not have any other friends his age. Catherine held back a chuckle. She would not dare to mention it. Poor Miles always became embarrassed when she talked about romance. An awkward expression would grow on his face, and he would pull his gloves on tighter and blink much more often.

Suddenly, Catherine was beckoned from her mental wanderings by the voice of her nephew.

"Still," Miles said with a bit of melancholy, "I wish that I had more of my parent's belongings. I wondered if they had died, and maybe that is why I never kept their stuff around, but--"

Miles breathed in deeply and let out a sigh as he gathered his thoughts.

"I guess—It's just…Something tells me they're still alive."

His voice trembled faintly as he continued.

"There's nothing to remind me of them—no photos, no keepsakes, not even a note. What could have been so bad that I would try not to remember them?"

The young boy searched the older woman's eyes for an answer. To his disappointment, her reply did not suggest a reason.

"I don't know. The important thing is to remember how you feel right now, without any memory at all of your parents. When you do figure out why you removed all of their belongings, you won't allow yourself to do it again."

They both rested their heads back against the sofa. Catherine grasped Mile's left hand with her right, interlacing their fingers and giving a squeeze.

"You know," Catherine began, looking out the window across from her, "sometimes, I feel like this too. I've missed my home so much, and I wondered if people were still looking for me. But, when I thought about how much my family and friends loved me, I was absolutely certain that they would never forget me."

Catherine leaned into Miles and gently kissed his forehead. "They'll never give up looking for us," the older woman assured him. "Besides, when I disappeared, so did the house, and I really don't think my husband can go that long without his John Wayne movie collection," she quipped. Catherine giggled, causing Miles to smile too.

A curious expression began to grow upon the fox's face. Catherine was beginning to worry about the boy. Sometimes it seemed that his emotions changed too quickly. Adolescence is different for everyone, I guess.

"Aunt Catherine?"

"Yes?"

"If we do get home, we won't be able to see each other anymore."

"That's right," Catherine responded with a hint of concern in her tone.

"Isn't there a way that we could both go back to the same place?" Miles hoped.

"I wish that were possible, but one of us would still be missed. Besides, I'm not sure people would like me where you live," Catherine said, looking away.

"Why wouldn't they?" Miles asked. He could not think of a single reason why anyone would not like Aunt Catherine.

"I don't have a tail." Catherine sighed ashamedly, then looked at him sideways and gave him a wry wink.

"Maybe you could borrow one of mine," Miles replied with a chuckle, brushing one of his tails across her arm.

Though the comment took her by surprise, Catherine was glad that Miles was not sensitive about his additional tail. She had always been curious about the fox's extra appendage. Was he the only one of his kind with that sort of—condition?

Catherine's mind then recalled something that Miles had said. It got her thinking.

"Why can't we just go home?" she wondered aloud, her gaze wandering to the green floral wallpaper beneath the window across from her.

"How could we?" Miles asked skeptically.

Catherine looked back down to Miles. She looked as if she had made a decision.

"Miles, have you ever gone camping before?"

"I think so. Why do you ask?"

"I just think it's about time we explore a little. Maybe we can find more people, or a way out. Anyway, why should we stay here and wonder when we can try to answer some of these questions ourselves? At the very least it will be something new to do, right?"

Miles studied her face for a moment. Aunt Catherine seemed to be very eager. Miles saw a light in her eyes. Well, he thought, it will be something new. The boy hopped from the couch to his feet.

"When can we go?"

--

They had been in the middle of the story when the young human had joined them. The nurse had helped him to the small waiting room, but had kept him behind the main group of children. Fortunately, only a few children even noticed the visitor.

The children had been completely enthralled by the tale because the hero was a child too. As soon as the words "the end" were spoken, a dozen hands flew into the air, straining to reach higher than the others. The young lady at the head of the group set the book down on the empty chair beside her, and then pointed to a little white mouse in the center of the group.

"Julie, what's your question?"

"Why was the rich man so mean to everyone? He wouldn't like it if someone took his house and tore it down," the little girl whispered in a very raspy voice. It was so quiet that a boy next to her, a bear cub in a wheelchair, relayed her question to the storyteller.

"You're right. He wouldn't like it at all. But he wasn't thinking like that. He was being selfish. He didn't stop to think about how other people felt. Because of that, he ended up with no friends."

The young feline looked over the group again and chose a deer from the front row whose eyes and forehead were covered with bandages.

"Percy?"

"Percy R. or Percy H., ma'am?" he asked, tilting his head and grinning sheepishly.

The storyteller smiled and shook her head.

"Oh, I forgot there were two of you! Percy Reynolds, go ahead," she replied, her black tail fidgeting next to her.

"If the rich man was such a big jerk to everybody, then how come the little boy was so nice to him? I would have been angry at him, or scared, or something."

"A very good question—I probably would have felt the same. But we aren't supposed to do things based on how we feel. I know that if I only acted the way I felt all the time, I'd get myself in a lot of trouble, and nobody would want to be around me. If I get angry, and I take it out on everyone, then I just make more people angry. That will lead me to become angry again, and things become worse and worse.

"Of course, I couldn't act just on good feelings either. Something that makes me feel good but hurts someone else will still turn me into a very lonely person. Besides, selfishness never really makes you happy. Just look at the rich man in the story; he was miserable!

"The little boy was kind to the man because he knew that it was the right thing to do. He wanted the rich man to be kind to him, so he figured he should do the same to the rich man. If he hadn't, the rich man would have never changed and made things right--he never would have built new houses for the poor townspeople. You see, you can never know how much one small good thing that you do can shape someone else's life."

"You mean that I could do something really small, but it could help a lot more than I thought it would?" a tired-looking gray squirrel interjected from the back of the room.

"That boy in the story didn't expect to help the entire town, just the grumpy man. But it still happened, and that was just one time of being nice! If someone did it all the time, he could change a lot more."

"But that's just a story. How could any of us help that many people?" asked a bull-dog with a cast on his arm and a bandage on his head.

"The Freedom Fighters do it all the time. Many of them are just a few years older than you. Who knows, maybe you'll be the next hero of Knothole. Stranger things have happened."

All the children began whispering amongst themselves in excitement, wondering which among them would one day become one of the great heroes of Mobius. Quickly, the young woman stood up to regain the attention of her audience.

"Well, that's all for today. I know that it's naptime for many of you, so I'll have to come in later this week to check on you again, okay?"

"Okay," the children answered in unison.

An older nurse, perhaps a ferret, stepped forward, motioning to a group of about a half-dozen other nurses on the opposite side of the room.

"Alright, kids, let's all thank Ms. Hershey for coming to see us today," she crooned with a smile.

"Thank you, Ms. Hershey," rang out their sing-song response.

"Your welcome, everybody."

The nurses began to take the excited youngsters back to their rooms. Each child was promising to himself or one of the nurses that he would always be nice and that one day he would be a hero. Nevertheless, there were a handful of young ones who stayed behind. They were more interested in meeting the strange-looking, new person who was hobbling toward a chair nearer to the storyteller. She remained standing after he took his seat. The children immediately gathered around him, one taking a chair on either side of him and three others standing in front of him.

All were silent for several minutes. The storyteller waited for the human to say something, but he seemed content with simply looking at the children one by one. Eventually, the three standing children sat on the floor in front of the visitor. As the moments dragged on with no movement, the young cat fidgeted nervously. This was beginning to get really creepy.

Just as she was about to say something, the man rose to his feet, stretched out his arms in a dramatic gesture of welcome (at least, as dramatic as he could manage with his left arm in a sling) and then exclaimed, "Hello!" to which the children giggled various greetings in reply.

Bowing as low and formally as he could manage, the animated young man introduced himself. "I am Allan Perry of Lenexa, Kansas. Who have I the pleasure of addressing?" he inquired with enthusiasm, indicating with his open hand palm upwards a scruffy groundhog boy directly in front of him.

The boy was a little surprised to be thus singled out, but eventually found his voice.

"Uh, Nicolas, sir—uh—of Knothole Village," he sputtered nervously and a moment later, remembering Allan's earlier gesture, himself bowed, though somewhat clumsily.

Allan grabbed up Nicolas' trembling hand and shook it warmly. "I am most pleased to meet you Nicolas of Knothole Village. Would you do me the honor of introducing your friends here?"

"S-sure. I mean, the honor is mine, sir. Uh, this—" he began, indicating the stocky-looking badger child seated to Allan's left and continuing clockwise, "this is Mitch; he's from Knothole too, down by the creek."

Mitch raised closed a fist to his chest and nodded his head weakly, a kind of salute, before lowering his hand to his stomach again, a look of discomfort plaguing his face.

"Down here is Aubrey," Nicolas continued. "Her family's got a tree-house not far from here. And, um, this is Cali; she only came here last week, so I forget where she's from."

Cali, a small kitten possibly named for her calico coloration, quickly chimed in: "We lived near the river until a few weeks ago. We're staying in Knothole until I get better." She and Aubrey, a smoky gray colored rabbit of rather small size, rose and curtsied low with a seemingly practiced poise. A reciprocated nod from Allan sent the two back to their seats cupping their hands over their mouths to stifle excited giggles, apparently having delighted to find a proper use for their make-believe rituals usually reserved for playing princesses or tea-time.

"Oh, and he's Jad," Nicolas suddenly resumed, having recovered from his perplexity over the girls' odd enthusiasm.

Allan could not even begin to guess what Jad was. He appeared to be some sort of a cross between a weasel and a cat, having brown fur spotted with white on his back and lighter brown coloration on the front of his body. His appearance was strange, but not ugly. Though he was just now learning to think about things like beauty from a new perspective, Allan was confident in his opinion that Jad appeared to be one of the more interesting what-do-you-call-its he had ever seen.

Nicolas sneezed, and then quickly continued his introduction.

"Jad's originally from Downunda. But he's lived here in the hospital for a long time."

"Then you may be just the person I need, Jad. If you have been here as long as Nicolas says, maybe you can help me find something better than soap operas to watch on TV," Allan said with a grin.

Until this point, Allan had been surprised at the familiarity of the names of people and places and even of the language shared with the Knothole villagers—even more shocked by the marked contrast between that familiarity and the totally foreign Mobians themselves. Finally, here was a name that sounded just as foreign as the person appeared. Allan prepared himself for the heavy, unintelligible accent he expected to hear from one of the alien race of Dow-Nunda.

"I can do ya' one better, Mr. Perry. I can tell you which nurse to talk to if you want ice cream for desert instead of a fruit cup."

–Perfectly understood English. Allan felt like an idiot. Downunda! It was obviously Australian. The accent was not even the over-the-top variety like the Crocodile Wrestler on TV. No one knew his embarrassment, though, because he was quite accustomed to thinking on his feet, or what his friends back home liked to call "B.S.ing it."

"Well, Mr. Jad," he began with genial emphasis, "I would be eternally grateful for any knowledge such an expert could offer."

Hershey smiled, crossing her arms and shaking her head. It seemed rather obvious that this Allan person was used to dealing with children. All of them were smiling and laughing. Aubrey had even gotten up on his lap. It was hard to tell who was enjoying it more, the kids or Allan himself.

"Ah, Nicolas, I think we may have left someone out of the introductions."

The feline storyteller suddenly realized that Allan was looking directly at her.

"Oh! Sorry," Nicolas exclaimed, standing up and running to the young woman's side. "This is, uh, Ms. Hershey. She reads stories to us twice a week in the afternoon. She's really good with the voices."

He glanced up to her with an appreciative, though slightly embarrassed, expression on his face, making it appear from above that the only visible features of his face were his two large yellow-brown eyes. Hershey always thought it was adorable and would give him a little hug from the side and muss his unkempt hair until it actually looked neater. Often Nicolas was able to innocently manipulate the affectionate gesture out of her, and today he succeeded again.

Allan smiled. "I thought so too. Can't find too many people who can do the voices right."

"Ms. Hershey's a Freedom Fighter too," added Mitch excitedly.

Hershey tensed a little. Her role as a Freedom Fighter was a touchy subject. She could not really blame the kid for being proud to know her, but she had not felt truly satisfied with anything she had done in more than a month—not since she had mistakenly nearly killed the princess.

Allan was still unfamiliar with what was going on in this world. Since freedom fighting sounded like it referred to war, he thought it might be better to avoid that subject until the children had left. So, he kept his greeting brief.

"It is very nice to meet you, Ms. Hershey. I would stand, but I think both Aubrey and I have become rather comfortable," he said with a chuckle, glancing down at the diminutive rabbit in his lap. Aubrey giggled before erupting into a brief coughing fit, Alan patting her back carefully until it passed.

"So," the young man began again, "what are you in for, Aubrey?"

Aubrey shifted in his lap before grabbing her throat and slowly shaking her head. She looked to Jad, and then to Hershey, motioning to both of them. Jad spoke first.

"Aubrey's got a queer bug in 'er throat. It makes her cough a lot, so her throat hurts. That's why she's leavin' the talkin' ta' those that know. I can't pronounce the name of it, though. What's it called again, Ms. Hershey?"

Hershey shifted her stance, then pulled a chair closer to the group and sat down.

"It's a form of pertussis. Really bad if you can't get the right medicine. Thankfully, Aubrey lives in Knothole, so her family brought her here very quickly."

Pertussis—why does that sound familiar? Allan wondered inwardly. He thought he might have heard it on the news once, or seen something about it at the doctor's office. Suddenly, his memory recalled where he had heard that word.

It was his older cousin; he had just taken his first child in for vaccinations. He said there had been an outbreak in a local school in his home town. Officials sent everyone home for a few weeks and vaccinated all of the children for free to stop the contagious virus from spreading. They had called it whooping cough.

Allan hoped his abrupt revelation did not show in his expression, but he was shocked that any doctor would allow a child with an active case of whooping cough to be anywhere near other people, especially vulnerable children. Allan suddenly became aware of a pressure on his chest. Little Aubrey had inclined her head against his chest in complete relaxation, and it appeared that Allan, preoccupied with his previous thoughts, was the unwitting cause. Upon glancing down at Aubrey, whose eyes were closed though she visibly was still awake, the human's cheeks flushed with embarrassment; he had begun to stroke and scratch the back of the rabbit's head and neck in the same manner he would a domesticated pet.

Aw, great-- they'll probably think I'm a pedophile or something!

There was no hiding his thoughts now, but only Hershey seemed to notice his dismay. With a questioning look on her face, she moved her chair nearer so that she now joined the circle. Before Allan could ascertain whether she had seen what had happened, Mitch spoke up with a raspy, tired voice.

"The reason I'm here is because the crud in the creek near our house made me sick. My parents told me that the Swatbots dumped a bunch of stuff in the water when they took over the village. The doctor has me take medicine everyday until he's sure my body can fight off viruses again. He says my emu system isn't strong enough yet."

Jad laughed heartily, holding the side of his head as if it had begun to ache. "Sorry, mate," Jad began, wiping his eyes, "I think you mean immune system."

Mitch's eyes widened and his brow shot up in revelation. "Oh! Like the shots? That makes a lot more sense!"

He paused for a moment. Then, with a puzzled expression he asked, "Wait, so then what's an emu?"

Hershey could not help but giggle, though she covered her mouth in an attempt to contain it.

"It's a big bird that can't fly, like a small ostrich," Jad answered jovially.

"Oh." Then, after a moment, "Oh, Emu system—ha!" Mitch, the good sport that he was, laughed at his own mistake. It soon escalated into hysteric laughter, one of such a strange but pure sound that it was more infectious than any illness in the whole of the hospital. The circle of children giggled riotously, and even Allan's guffaws could be heard down the hallways. (He had some regret later from the soreness this had worked up in his already injured body. One might say he had experienced true and literal "side-splitting laughter.") Down the hall, the nurses on call, shaking their heads, reminded each other to reduce the dosage of medicine distributed among the loopy bunch.

Everyone calmed down after a few minutes of chuckles and catching breath. Jad recounted his own hospital adventures to Allan and company. The other four children had heard his stories before, but they always enjoyed hearing them again. Jad was almost a veteran in hospital affairs, at least in his friends' eyes. He had been in the hospital for twelve weeks, the long stay a necessity for the delicate head surgery he had undergone. Jad had suffered from a tumor, and with medical resources being so low in Downunda and with Knothole being taken by force just after his family arrived, it did not look good for the boy. It was fortunate that Robotnik was overthrown before things had become worse. The way that the boy told the story, you would have thought Sonic the Hedgehog saved him personally.

Twelve weeks in the hospital had made him popular among the rest of the patients in the children's wing, as well as a number of the nurses. It helped that he was several years older than most of the other children—a whopping twelve years of age (his birthday had been two weeks ago) which practically guaranteed that the youngest would idolize him. The boy also seemed to have an uncanny amount of good luck. He had been temporarily roomed with the son of an influential leader in another Freedom Fighter group far to the south. In exchange for some tips in a sport entirely foreign to Allan, Jad was able to convince the other boy to ask his father for a few favors. That week, a large collection of children's books and movies were donated to the children's wing, freeing the children who could not enjoy the gardens from the mundane boredom of staying indoors all day and doing nothing. Timing like this seemed almost providential when considering that Robotnik had nearly completely eliminated such entertainments from the lands within his reach and that industries of that kind had been forgone long ago for more practical needs in wartime.

At the conclusion of his account, Jad stopped abruptly, and then he shivered, reaching his hand to his head. He quickly turned to look at Cali. Cali held her hands firmly over her ears, pressing them down against her head as if to shield herself from some overpowering noise. Her eyes were clamped shut and tears streamed from her eyes; pain and terror were evident in her expression. She suddenly found her voice, and gasped deeply before sobbing out, almost in a shout, "I can't hear! It's so loud, Ms. Hershey. Help me—it won't stop! It won't stop!"

Jad jumped forward and pulled Nicolas out of the way, shouting "Nurse Susan! Nurse Susan!" as Hershey rushed to embrace Cali. The girl clung to Hershey as if she thought something were trying to pull her away. The young woman dropped to her knees and held the girl tightly, stroking her head and rubbing her back.

"I've got you, Cali. You haven't gone anywhere. You're still with us," Hershey virtually shouted.

Allan was confused and terrified, wanting to help but unsure that he could. Perhaps they sensed his distress, but the children quickly piled into Allan's lap and the chairs on either side of him, keeping as close to him as possible. Nurse Susan, the older ferret lady he had seen earlier, darted from around the corner with a syringe in her hand. With one quick movement, she jabbed the needle into Cali's thigh, and almost instantly the child relaxed, her head dropping onto Hershey's shoulder.

Standing up, Hershey looked sidelong at Allan and the children. They seemed petrified with fear and shock, save Jad, who sat to Allan's left with a tearful, knowing expression and his hand stuck to the side of his head. Nurse Susan took the kitten from Hershey's arms and quietly shuffled from the room and around the corner. Hershey felt her eyes welling up as they left. Quickly, she rubbed the tears from her eyes, a vain attempt to put on a brave face for the children.

Unfortunately, that particular thought appeared to have never entered Allan's mind. Nearly all color had gone from his face, and he held Nicolas and Aubrey so tightly that they seemed uncomfortable. His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came. He continued only to stare with wide, unblinking eyes at the hallway, as if he saw something that was not there.

Finally, Nicolas wiggled in Allen's grasp.

"Mr. Allan, please let go. You're hurting my arm," he said carefully, perhaps trying to avoid embarrassing him.

Hershey was nearly at their side before Allan came out of his trance, apologizing to both the groundhog and rabbit. At Hershey's advice, the children went to their respective rooms to prepare for dinner. She herself remained behind. Judging from his stunned expression, the human might need some questions answered.

But just as she was about to ask if he was okay, he suddenly blurted out, "Dear God--you saw that, didn't you?" first looking toward the hallway, and then looking back to Hershey with that still, fearful expression.

"I was here when it happened to Cali last week, just after she came here. And it's happened to others before—"

"No," he interjected apprehensively, "Didn't you see the face?"

Hershey did not say anything but only stared at him for a few moments.

She could not help worrying for Allan's state of mind. Many of the Ultimate Annihilator's victims were suffering from mental stress. Some only endured mild anxiety and nervousness; others had begun having delusions, or thinking that they saw through people and walls, or having "episodes" and headaches just as Cali was experiencing. Allan was probably just projecting his own trauma and confusion into this frightening experience, according to what the nurses had said before. Hershey searched his eyes, not knowing what to look for but hoping that she might see some sign that the friendly person Allan had seemed to be was not on the verge of suddenly disappearing.

Allan suddenly became rigid, and his face showed a confused mix of fear and anger, his eyes narrowing just slightly and his chin extending even less. Hershey took a step back. Her fears seemed to be confirmed. Then she realized that the human was not looking at her; he was looking at something behind her. She turned and saw nothing. Apparently, Allan noticed her confusion because he sharply asked "What the hell is going on?"

Quickly, Hershey sat next to the human. She was not sure what to do exactly, but she wanted to help, to calm him down before the nurses came to tranquilize him too. Carefully taking his good hand in hers, she looked into his eyes again. There was no doubt in her mind that the only thing that could pacify Allan was the truth.

"Allan, I will tell you what I know, but I want you to promise me that you'll listen no matter how strange it sounds. And I want you to promise me that you'll let me help you any way I can, okay?"

The human nodded, that look still set in his face, almost a kind of determination. Hershey looked into his eyes once more, trying to gather her thoughts, when something in them abruptly changed.

There, in the glossiness of the young man's eyes, Hershey saw reflected a wicked face with a twisted, fanged grin and yellow-green eyes with narrow pupils. Startled, she wheeled round, and suddenly, she both saw and heard the creature laughing. It was faint, but she knew that it was real and that it was approaching them. A maddening screeching noise filled the room and grew in volume, punctuated spontaneously by thunderous booming. In panic, Hershey backed up into the chair until she was standing, nearly toppling over the back of it as she held her ears in pain. Allan slumped forward, falling to the floor almost unconscious.

Then, for no apparent reason, it disappeared.

The quiet seemed almost as loud as the previous noise had been. Allan cried out for help at the top of his lungs, unable to hear anything with the ringing in his ears. A troop of nurses dashed into the waiting room to find Allan crumpled in the floor screaming and leaning on his broken arm and Hershey standing up on a chair so bristled with terror that she looked almost feral. The young cat leapt from the chair, landing between a nurse with a needle and Allan moaning on the floor.

"Do not touch him!" she exclaimed loudly as much for emphasis as it was for her own inability to hear anything. "Bring the princess here immediately, and bring Dr. Quack too. I saw it. It's not a delusion."

Seeing as in a fog, Allan only made out Hershey's wild form standing over him and a shadowy mass lead by a spectacled creature, the light from the hallway glinting off an object in its hand. Hershey stood with wide stance and slightly crouched, her left hand balled into a fist at her torso and her right hand extended outward protectively, palm facing the injured human. Allan suddenly recalled a childhood memory of watching his favorite superhero cartoon. The hero had made the very same stance and gesture as the figure above him—even facing off against a gang of back-alley goons with knives! Bewildered and awestruck, all that Allan could manage to say before he slipped into unconsciousness was "wow."

"Wow," Sonic the Hedgehog whispered to himself as he quickly peeked around a corner, "major metal meltdown over here."

Sonic recoiled from the heat of the chemical fire burning several hundred yards from him. Even twelve stories up on one of the many catwalks among the buildings of Robotropolis the heat from the blaze at one of Robotnik's many factories was beginning to melt away access to their target. The narrow bridge that linked to the power plant across from him was already red hot, and even wearing the protective Hazard Suit, he knew that this route was much too dangerous.

Remnants of what used to be pavement dripped from the bridge supports to land sizzling and steaming on whatever obstructed gravity's pull. Sonic's face was similarly dripping, only with sweat which stung his eyes and sometimes left a salty taste in his mouth. He resisted the urge to remove his helmet to wipe his face as he scanned his surroundings looking for another way into the power plant.

At that moment, a timer in the hedgehog's Hazard Suit sounded pairs of low beeps in quick succession. It was time to check in with his Salvage Operation partner.

"SO-2 to SO-1. Mandatory check-in. Please respond to receive report. Over."

A moment later, Sonic's message was met with an exhausted British voice over the communicator.

"SO-1 to SO-2…I am ready to receive…your update. What is your status? Over."

Sonic relaxed a bit now that the formal prompts were out of the way. Protocol could be annoying sometimes, but it was also very necessary when operations were conducted in dangerous environments such as these.

"I'm good, at least for now. I don't think I'll be having barbeque anytime soon, though."

Sonic tried to sound like his usual jocular self, but it came out feeling forced. Events of late weighed heavily on the young speedster—so much so that he even began to volunteer for mundane and boring assignments just to get his mind off things. He knew that Rotor had noticed his funk and had sent him on this salvage mission in part to give him something more interesting to do.

He also realized that he would never have worked willingly with his current partner only a few months ago. However, a great deal of selfishness had been scrubbed out of the both of them, and now Sonic and Geoffrey St. John worked together without the bitterness that had formerly been between them. Still, their relationship remained professional and very little more. Their attempts at friendliness were uneasy and half-hearted, a side-effect of the number of betrayals both had experienced recently.

"Yeah, starting to feel…like a foil dinner myself," Geoffrey replied with his own awkward attempt at joviality. After a brief uncomfortable pause, Geoffrey returned to business.

"So, how goes it topside? Over."

Sonic walked back around the corner from which he had come and fell to a sitting position. Just putting another wall between him and that fire made such a difference.

"It's no good up here. The maintenance bridge is already superheated, and the smoke is getting thicker. Visibility is getting worse. Over."

"So either our suits burn…or…we take a bad step off the catwalk. Well, I'm having rotten luck—geh!—forcing open this grate too. We may not make it inside before…the fire catches us. Over."

"Okay, we'll give the vent one last shot before we move on. I'm coming down to help. Over."

Sonic could hear the breathlessness of his partner. That grate was the last option if the maintenance access did not pan out, and if Geoffrey's strained grunts were any indication, that too was a dead end.

Slowly and carefully, he began climbing back down the wall to the sixth story ventilation shaft. The fact that the maintenance bridge had heated so quickly had unnerved him. He was no metallurgist, but he did not think that it was natural for a fire so far away to have already affected the walkways. Usually he was not one to worry so much, but nothing had made sense since they had entered the city of machines. Everything was failing, falling, or flaming, and the heavy concentrations of temporal displacements caused by the Ultimate Annihilator made even walking through the streets a laborious process.

With a scuff, Sonic finally was back on the paved streets of Robotropolis. Geoffrey was knelt next to a drainage grating at the base of a wall about 20 feet away. Sonic could see that he had tried everything possible to force the grate short of blasting it. The contents of an open tool kit had its contents splayed on the ground around him, including a heavily scratched pry bar. The skunk himself leaned against the wall, using his right arm for support, trying to catch his breath.

Geoffrey heard Sonic's approach and flipped himself over so that he sat with his back against the wall. Sonic sat down next to him and waited. Both sat for a moment without looking toward each other. Finally, Sonic took a glance at the grate, a wrench still caught around a bolt that Geoffrey had been trying to loosen.

With an exhausted, nervous chuckle, Geoffrey indicated the drainage grating with a weak wave of his hand. "Think they'll miss that spanner? It's caught on that bolt tight as—I don't know. But it's bloody stuck for sure. Unless you can work it loose, mate, it's not going anywhere."

With raised eyebrows, Sonic crawled to the wrench and examined it closer. "How did it get stuck like this?" the hedgehog asked, heaving on the wrench to see for himself.

"Your guess is as good as mine. It fit perfectly when I started, then suddenly, it seemed to have shrunk and fused to the grating! I tell you, nothing makes sense in this place. It's like it's got a mind of its own, and it doesn't want anyone to find something. I say we give that shaft a try, and if that doesn't work, then we come back later when we can hazard a torch or a couple of charges. I would have brought some with us if I didn't think the gas leaks would blow us faster than you could outrun."

"I'm sure I could challenge that statement if I didn't have to wear this thing," sighed the hedgehog, tugging at the sleeve of his Hazard Suit, "but I like breathing too much to take it off. You know, part of me wishes we could just blow it all sky-high and all the bad memories with it. But we could sure use a lot of these parts for our generators."

Sonic pushed with his full weight once more on the wrench to no effect. Exasperated, he lay down to examine the bolt more closely. They could not afford to leave behind a tool that might be needed later.

"Whoa."

Geoffrey crawled over to see what the matter was.

"What is it? What did you find?"

Sonic pulled a flashlight off the utility belt on his Hazard Suit and pointed it at the bolt. The wrench had not shrunk, but rather the bolt was expanding into the wrench by taking pieces from it.

"Whoa," Geoffrey echoed.

"That is way past uncool. It looks like it's using the wrench for spare parts, just absorbing it. What could do that?"

Geoffrey read worry in his partner's face and guessed that he carried the same expression too. The skunk leaned across the back of his prone companion and grabbed the pry bar. Geoffrey quickly scraped the flat end against the head of the bolt-wrench object. Reaching to the tool kit, he removed a specimen container.

"I don't know, Sonic, but we'll let the brainy types find out for us."

Just as the scrapings were sealed in the small box, they both heard a humming sound. The two looked up in alarm. It sounded like a hovercraft engine!

Sonic immediately began packing the toolkit, placing Geoffrey's specimen in the bottom of the box for safe keeping. In the meantime, Geoffrey had loaded his arm-mounted crossbow and jogged in the direction of the noise, ducking behind the remnants of a crashed flatbed maintenance transport. He peered over the top of the broken vehicle's treads just in time to see a searchlight shine out from a side alley approximately twenty yards ahead. Cursing under his breath, the skunk dropped down and motioned for Sonic to join him quickly. In a moment, Sonic was at his side and affixing a crossbow to his own arm.

"Let's hope I don't have to use this thing! I'm a decent shot with it, but it still takes too long for me to load it," Sonic whispered sharply.

"Fat lot of good it'll do either of us. Arrows and darts may hurt you and me, but these rigs aren't meant to propel these through metal. Under better circumstances, I'd have brought grenade rounds, but with all this gas in the air and fuel lying about, we'd be just as dead as our enemies."

Geoffrey clenched his teeth and searched the surrounding area, praying for a moment of inspiration. Meanwhile, the hovercraft turned in their direction, scanning the road and its intersecting alleys with its spotlight. Sonic looked around the side of the overturned vehicle only to quickly jerk back a second later.

"Geoff, it's a fully equipped Patrol-Scout. It might be the lead for Swatbot Transport or a patrol formation."

"It's unlikely to be leading a Transport, but it might be a full patrol running on its last transmission of orders. Let's hope this bugger came alone; we might be able to avoid him."

"No, he'll be on our tails in two seconds flat if he comes this way. Our wrench is sticking out of that grating just waiting to be seen. And if that doesn't give us away, the tool marks made around the grating will. They'll start looking for whoever tried to break into the power plant and bring backup with them."

Geoffrey scowled. He was glad Sonic had the presence of mind to think ahead a little, but he knew that he should have remembered it himself. Sweat dripped from his nose into his mouth as he looked up in frustration, racking his brain for a way of escape.

Suddenly, Geoffrey got his inspiration. One of the main power lines from the plant traversed the gap directly above them. A risky idea occurred to him, one that might get him and Sonic killed, but with the Scout creeping closer every second, they would be dead for certain if they did nothing.

With his bow-mounted hand, the Freedom Fighter pointed out to his blue comrade the large tube which housed the power line. "Sonic, that may be our only chance out of here. That tubing appears to be undamaged, so there still might be live current. If I give a good distraction, think you can drop a line to short out the Rust-bucket Brigade?"

Sonic grinned, and with a wink and a thumbs-up, he was on his feet taking off the crossbow. "Just call me Sparky. Give me a signal when you're ready to boogie."

"Hopefully, my dancing partner will let me lead."

The hedgehog handed the weapon to his compatriot before placing a few tools from the kit in his belt. Sonic stood crouched on the opposite end of their cover as Geoffrey loaded a bolt into the crossbow now adorning his other arm. Each gave a nod to the other, and Geoffrey dashed into the open firing his first crossbow directly at the searchlight. The dart hit its mark, shattering the plastic covering of the beacon.

Immediately, the spotlight darted towards the fleeing skunk, laser fire blasting into the pavement just as the beam passed over. Seeing that the hovercraft was sufficiently distracted, Sonic took a running start from behind the destroyed transport and leapt into the air, arms extended, to catch an overhanging pipe. With gymnast agility he swung himself twice over the pipe to build momentum and then released, leaping to another bar some ten feet away. From this he flew towards the outer wall of the power facility and, planting his feet squarely for an instant, bounded off the horizontal surface up and out to the power line tube, landing with a slide in a backwards seated position straddling the tube.

He hugged the tube with his legs, throwing his hands against the tube to steady himself. Normally such a feat would be relatively easy for the blue blur, but the Hazard Suit significantly reduced his range of motion and speed. He had meant to land on his feet. Sonic sighed in relief as he pulled out his tools, thanking his lucky stars that the seat of his Suit had stopped the momentum of his slide.

Below, Geoffrey was reloading a fifth bolt into a crossbow as he dashed behind a pile of rubble. So far, only his first and fourth shots had made any noticeable damage in the Swatbot Patrol-Scout hovercraft. Regrettably, they had only broken the protective casing of the searchlight. Laser-fire blasted through the metal and brick the Freedom Fighter had ducked behind a moment before. Geoffrey St. John dove into the open street, loosing another arrow toward the searching eye of the hovercraft.

Rolling behind a storage bin, Geoffrey chanced a glance toward the power line to see Sonic's progress. He was pleased to see that Sonic was already working on it. The skunk leapt from his cover just as it was obliterated, a chuck of metal just missing his ducking head. The next shot, however, was nearly six feet further away then the last, and the next even further. With a grin of satisfaction, Geoffrey realized that his last arrow had stuck in the spotlight's vitals, causing the cursed beam to fade out as the circuitry fizzed and sparked.

He was about to hazard a rest behind a fallen satellite dish when he froze in place. There before him was another patrol ship, one of the full-sized varieties sure to be equipped with heat sensors and maybe even a missile or two. Knowing that running back toward the blind fire of the other ship would be suicide, he dove beneath this new craft, fully expecting to be shot through the heart as he landed. Strangely, nothing happened.

Geoffrey remained absolutely motionless, wondering if by some monumental stroke of luck he had evaded notice or if he had already died. When his ears stopped ringing and he noticed that there was no sound or movement (excepting his own, of course), he rose to his feet. He had never experienced such a level of perplexity and puzzlement. The patrol craft was suspended in mid air staring at its smaller counterpart, also frozen. Geoffrey could even see that the ship's exhaust had ceased to make its way skyward to meet with the rest of the poisonous smog. Swiftly, he wheeled around to see the smaller craft.

"What the devil is this?"

It should have been impossible, but his eyes did not deceive him. The Swatbot laser cannon had been discharged, but the laser fire seemed to be motionless as well. Somehow, Geoffrey was now moving faster than should be comprehensible. The thought overwhelmed him.

Then, it occurred to him that moving that quickly should have severely negative side-effects, and yet, he felt none. This had to be one of the temporal distortions about which Rotor had warned them. Now the skunk had two escapes to make. Escaping from beyond light speed would bring him into the midst of the previous battle, and he still was not certain that he and Sonic would survive that.

"Out of the frying pan—"