The sky was too grey, he decided. The ground was too brown, the trees were too blue and the walls of the buildings weren't so much dull as they were dismal. The air was sickly, too. Smelt and tasted of exhaust. No wonder so many of the people riding such ancient-looking bikes were wearing face masks. Yet everything somehow felt right.
But how could it!? It was so dull and dark yet so bright and sunny at the same time...
Two minds walked the same path, watching the same sky and one saw night and one saw day. Two minds saw different things through the same eyes. The same large, triangular, black-as-coal eyes.
He shouldn't have underestimated the big man's ability to fix his machines, nor should he have not expected there to be some kind of back-up power source. And he was paying the price for that now.
Was he meant to turn left, or was he allowed to turn right? He mused this as he reached the crossing. Was he just supposed to follow this new voice merely because it seemed to know where it was going, or could he go exploring like he wanted to do? Where was he even headed, anyway? It was like his feet just wanted the thrill of carrying him where they wanted to go instead of listening to his head and turning back.
They were staring at him, as if he were the strange one. Well, maybe he was here. After all, one long tail, a pointy muzzle, huge eyes, uniquely-coloured fur and a gun on his belt? Of course he looked strange. And they were all only humans, after all. Back home, they were the oddity, but this planet here was their territory, not his, and he looked positively alien.
Home. Where was that again? Was it here or through the anomaly?
Ugh, never mind... He continued his tense stroll through the city streets, eyes upon him growing wide as they realised what he was. The only clues to this other mind inside his head was the damaged, half-brimmed top hat in his hand and the itching of his right eye for something to go in front of it. Apart from those things, he had nothing.
The question right now didn't appear to be who he was as much as where he was going. The streets were doing their best to look bright with artworks every few feet up, down and sideways, and the characters that resembled letters spread around must have been trying to enliven people with encouraging words, right? Maybe the whole point to the amazing decoration of this place – the strange pictures even appeared on the sides of vehicles – was to keep people happy within their dull world.
But, the nagging foreign voice in his head told him, they were there simply to advertise. It was the effect of commercialisation.
Well, didn't that ruin his moment of clever thinking.
He turned down an alleyway, if only to keep the eyes off him for once.
MKMKMKMKMK
"For Aurora's sake, hurry up! We need to get that Emerald back!"
"I'm going as fast as possible, but we completely trashed this thing the last time we used it and I needed to do some maintenance anyway. Just be patient, okay?"
"Pfft. Patience is for losers."
"Patience wouldn't have lost the Chaos Emerald."
The first speaker glared at the newcomer. "Oh, and this comes from Mister 'Charge the Guy and Allow Him to Get the Emerald through Sleight of Hand'?" he remarked snidely, shooting a grin in his direction.
The other crossed his arms. "Oh, right, like I was supposed to know he was a magician."
"Well, the white suit, the top-hat, the cape, the gloves-"
"Shut up!" Knuckles pounded the table, sending a shockwave through the floor that knocked over the stool the second speaker had been standing on. He fell over onto the front of the machine, knocking the whole thing down into the floor.
The first speaker shot him a definite look. "Look, do you want that Emerald back or not?"
The red alien begrudgingly nodded. "Yes, I do, and fast. Eggman's little show last night in Metropolis shouldn't be repeated."
"Well, then." The first speaker stood up, brushing back his long spines. "Don't argue with me." He fixed his gaze upon the second speaker. "You're right, I should cool it, but Eggman's not gonna take too long to recharge that energy core. We have to get the Chaos Emerald back as fast as possible, so just do a quick fix job so that we can get out of here and find that kid." He walked out of the door, fists clenched.
The second speaker stood up, having only just managed to right the machine. "Ever since the scouting robot washed up on the beach, he's been really tense," he said. "At first I thought it was because we're not supposed to be able to go to other dimensions unless something bad happens, but last night must have made it a lot worse."
"A lot happens to be an understatement," Knuckles growled. "Eggman nearly killed a human, and deliberately. Then somebody else gets attacked and disappears, the Chaos Emerald goes missing into the hands of a kid from another dimension, not to mention the energy coming off the portal just doubled."
"Right, so don't antagonise him." The other, much younger alien dived back into his toolbox. "He says he doesn't want another casualty on his hands, especially not one of a human."
"Not our fault humans are weaklings. Most of them get by using their intelligence, and even that doesn't come in spades."
"Right. But you know how he is," he continued. "He blames himself for everything that happens to everybody he can't save. Besides, I wouldn't like to see anybody get hurt either."
MKMKMKMKMK
He stopped, standing out at the very edge of the sandy orange cliff that pulled out from the side of the land. Before him stretched an impressive ocean, almost as blue as his fur, and the Angel Island hovered in the distance as if nothing had happened. In the air, a few miles off the coast, was a small floating green object, the only sign of trouble.
He sat down, swinging his legs over the edge and kicking the rock lightly. The world around him was so horrifically peaceful and calm. Even the waves weren't as high as they were last night. The whole sea was as a giant mirror...
His fingers unconsciously wound together.
"When that portal appeared," he mused silently, "I thought the tournament was on again. But it's only been a few months since then..."
A few months, and that wasn't really a lot. So much more had happened in the last four years compared to the last four months. Everything, from the first day that Doctor Ivo Robotnik had taken it just a little too far and unleashed several of his robots on the local islands. He was pretty lucky to have made it so far into his life considering how many times he'd been knocked about, blown up and drowned (the last not exactly the most pleasant of happenings, especially when one couldn't swim too well).
He stared the pipe down. "Wonder if that kid's alright..." I mean, yikes, he was bleeding from the back of the neck. And if he didn't end up where he wanted to, it was only a short while until he passed out .And if medical attention didn't arrive on time... that doesn't even bare thinking about. He glumly rested his head on the ball of one hand. We've gotta get up there and get to that kid fast.
MKMKMKMKMK
A vehicle pulled up beside him as he emerged from yet another alleyway in this bustling city. He turned his head, scanning it over.
The local law enforcement division, was it? It didn't look as bad as the military, though maybe it was just a minor division or something. The human (male, medium height for a human, blue jacket, black tie, thick dark hair and rather exotic-looking eyes) exiting the car was carrying a weapon, after all. But that didn't prove anything if you considered the revolver he was carrying himself.
They stared each other down intensely, the other humans stopping and staring at them. Then the man raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth, other hand hovering over his weapon just in case things got hairy – no pun intended.
He began speaking in some strange language. The creature perked his ears up, trying to understand; some words were more distinguishable among others, but it seemed the voice in his head only spoke Human Standard, while these people used some strange local dialect that didn't even seem to have a similar structure.
A female voice echoed back from the speaker in between short bursts of static. The man looked down at the thing with an exasperated expression, and then knelt down.
He held his hand out. The creature crossed its arms, his crooked tail twitching behind him.
The officer switched on the speaker and spoke into it again. The response came back, snappy with a touch of confusion, if not anything else. The man jumped, before sighing and getting up.
Approaching him? With his hand still over his gun? Not likely.
The creature raised his own revolver, targeting for the hand and shooting twice. The pistol fell on the floor. Screams went up from around and he scarpered as the officer dropped, clutching his wrist with his face contorted in pain.
He hurried down the street, stuffing the gun back into its holster again as he did so; the other humans didn't look quite as threatening. He turned several corners and then stopped to catch his breath, leaning against the cream-coloured stone wall, before he looked up. He was standing next to a big manor-type house, with a super-modern architectural disaster right next door. The gate to the manor was perfectly fine, but the unkempt grass behind it made the place resemble a haunted house. Meanwhile, next door had a distinctly clinical appearance to it, with a yellow round... thing parked up in front, and the path was clean, possibly freshly-swept.
He knew where he was going.
The doors opened up into a large main hallway, with doors branching off in different directions and a spiral staircase near the back. The floor was slightly dusty, but compared to the front, this looked cleaner, more... lived in? Was that the phrase for it? The collection of slippers, trainers, football boots and black formal shoes beside him told him that, yes, somebody did live here, or at least had done until recently. They were a family, at that, if the varying sizes were anything to go by. And they were probably still in residence as well.
The voice in his head told him to take off his shoes. He glanced down at his large feet, and then at the scuffs, which were a few sizes smaller and a lot flatter, before smirking. Like he would ever fit into those. The voice was an idiot.
It was the middle of the day, and humans often went out in the morning to their workplaces, so the place seemed deserted for now. He crept in, searching all the doors, and finally located a kitchen.
So people here stuffed their fridges with some kind of noodle food packed into plastic packaging and labelled with lots of weird letters... it didn't look very appetising. He'd kill for some pika, and by that he meant kill something other than the pika. (Obviously.) But since there wasn't any pika around or a person to kill for it, and because he didn't want to dare eat the clearly uncooked noodles without knowing where the microwave was, he closed the fridge door.
His stomach complained at him for doing so. He hadn't had a meal in a whole day.
Or a drink for that matter. He could survive without the food for a while, he guessed, but water was a necessity if he wanted to make it further than a week in this world. He dipped back in and fished out a plastic carton with a picture of an orange on it, bit into the top with his sharp teeth, and tipped the thing back, letting the juice drip down his parched throat.
Finished, he put the carton onto the work-surface and walked back into the hall.
He needed a hidey-hole. Of course, the problem with that was that he had no idea where such a hidey-hole was.
MKMKMKMKMK
During lunchtime, Conan settled himself down at the bench outside in the schoolyard with some food. The others had followed him, of course, much to his chagrin, but he'd agreed to their accompaniment anyway. Their eyes were now trained on his back while he observed his surroundings with all the concentration of a magpie, hugging himself slightly. His heels kept striking the wood of the bench leg.
"He looks like he's not listening," Ai said. They were sitting at a bench behind him.
Mitsuhiko tipped his head sideways. "He looks like he's not himself. Did he ever kick the bench like this before?"
"He didn't, no," Ayumi mumbled. "Maybe we should ask him what's wrong."
"I don't think that'll help much," Genta answered, effectively shooting that plan down. "Hey, what's that in his hand?"
The little boy was indeed pulling something round from his pocket. He placed it to his ear, bowing his head with his other hand up to his mouth.
"That's the earring phone we used to save us and TWO-MIX," Ayumi noted. "I haven't seen that thing in a long time. But what's he got that for?"
Conan suddenly stiffened all over in his seat. The others blinked as he pushed himself off the seat, turning slightly. His grip had tightened into the microphone, and he seemed almost hunched over.
"I'm sorry, there's some interference," he was saying. "Can you repeat that? ... You're kidding me. Are you sure about that?" He curled the wire around his finger involuntarily. "...Did something blow up again, hakase?"
At this the others all pricked up their ears. "He's talking to Agasa-hakase?"
The boy shot a quick glare at them. They exchanged anxious glances, before Ai walked up to him.
"Edogawa-kun, what is it?" she asked in the politest voice she could manage without sounding too suspicious.
The boy stepped back from her, shrinking a little into his shoulders. "Haibara-chi... Haibara. It's nothing. Hakase just called because there's something he needs to show me as soon as possible. I'm just going to be leaving school now-"
He was cut off by the sharp look in her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked, tone still neutral. Her fingers digging into his shoulder told him otherwise.
"...Agasa-hakase spotted something moving inside ni- my old house," he spluttered. "He wanted me to come over and check it back straight away, b-but ... I just need to go."
"Does it concern the organisation?" she asked. Ah, yes, the organisation responsible for their transformation. It was still a touchy subject, what with Haibara's origins in the group, and Conan usually tended to excuse her from any conversation involving the group. Needless to say, when even some out-of-town second rate high school detective was allowed in on the delicate parts but she was hardly given the bare details (unless he wanted to pick her brain exclusively, but Conan had a very misogynistic opinion when it came to who to trust), that reeked of conspiracy.
He shook his head, caught off guard for a second. "No – yes – I don't know, alright? That's why I want to check it out!" He tugged himself out of her grip and ran off. Ai was left standing there, colour swiftly draining from her face.
He had used 'boku'.
MKMKMKMKMK
"It's ready!" He came running out of the shed-like building, down the long runway. "We're ready for take-off!" He ground to a halt. "Hello?"
The spot on the edge of the cliff had long been abandoned. There were scuff marks across the dirt; he looked over his shoulder and saw how they stretched out far behind him.
Sighing, he turned around and looked out at the ocean.
"What did you say?"
He jumped. The missing was now right behind him, having approached without a single sound. "What did you do that for!?" he cried exasperatedly, coughing from the extremely lagging dust clouds.
"Just needed a little jolt to get me going. Don't worry, I'm okay." He put his hands on his hips. "Well, come on, then! " He began his – incredibly short – run back to the garage. The younger alien watched him as he went.
Dark blue fur with peach-coloured arms, stomach and muzzle; pointed, catlike ears bent forward with determination; shimmering forest green eyes; long spines flowing back from his head. He was through the door within milliseconds, his feet a blur, arms flung behind him. All the while, a large cheeky smirk was plastered across his face. But it only served to mask his real inner turmoil. The world had never been kind towards the hedgehog, particularly not recently.
Grinning, Miles 'Tails' Prower span his twin namesakes and accelerated towards his mechanics garage.
A/N: It's very difficult to write a character and not reveal who he is, especially when you realise it could be obvious simply from the way he talks.