Well, here we are again. It's always such a pleasure. Remember when you tried to kill me—oh, wait, wrong character. Ahem, uh, sorry about the wait. Graduated college, got an internship that's been keeping me busy, and of course the sonic comics getting cancelled didn't exactly boost my morale for this story. Also working on an actual book. But we're back now! So let's get to it then.
Among the ranks of G.U.N, there were things commonly known about Major Patrick Jones. There were of course the basics; he was an average height man of 42 with a neatly cut head of reddish orange hair and a chest you could grind meat on. He was stern, firm but always with an air of snide humor that made the men and women under his command appreciate him.
Those closer to him knew slightly more specific details. He walked around with a red plaid bandana wrapped around his neck, but when combat broke out, he always pulled the cloth up over his mouth and nose, like the legendary "cowboys" from the back-when times. He was a scholar of ancient human culture; the works of Tolkien and Gaiman, and the art of Picasso and Kirby. He was an advocate of the preservation of history; the rise and fall of the nation of America, and the triumph of the "one earth" movement.
And the closer still knew even more intimate things. How he hated sugar on his strawberries, how he always says he'd write a memoir one of these days, but whenever he would actually sit down to write, he would simply stare unblinking at the screen. And how every April, on a day like today, he would drive from the G.U.N headquarters in the coastal city of Apotos to a small grove outside city limits, carrying a picnic basket full of food for one, and share what had been keeping him busy the last year with his wife's gravestone.
But most of all that was known about Major Patrick Jones was this: he did not worry. To worry about something was to be afraid the subject of the worry is out of your hands to prevent, control or fix. And Patrick knew that was nonsense. He didn't believe in no-win situations. If he couldn't find a way to spin a scenario to his favor, then that was his fault, his incompetence. Something he tried to instill in Sonic throughout his life.
Patrick chuckled to himself as he looked down at the wine glass in his hand. "I've said it before, I'll say it again Emily," he said to his wife's grave. "You would've loved him." The kid was a handful, especially after puberty. If you told him not to do something, not only would he do it, he would have someone follow him around with a camera, live streaming him doing it to the entire world. His powers imbued him with a need to see everything this world had to offer. And yet, he would always come home at the end of the day.
Patrick looked up at Emily's tombstone. Upon the clean white marble, the epitaph read thusly:
Emily Jones
August 4th, 3041-December 6th, 3065
"We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."
Emily's favorite proverb, like with a lot of human culture from the back-when times, had outlasted the man or woman that originally said it. Though many works had retained their creators, some were simply absorbed into common human consciousness while the originator slipped away into the obscurity of time. No one Patrick could think of embodied that phrase more than Emily. A cynical shell that harbored one of the most optimistic and forward thinking minds of her generation. A generation that was sorely lacking in both of those virtues.
Patrick downed the wine in one gulp. "Wish I could say things are getting better," he said. "The war is technically over, but it's a temporary peace. The reason for it is still there: the bigotry, the distrust, the disparity, all of it. We just don't feel like shooting at each other right now." Patrick paused. "I really think the kid can change all of it, though. Don't ask me why, I just…have a feeling." A soft clearing of the throat came from behind him. Patrick turned to see Lieutenant Madonna Williams, short red hair, loose uniform, looser posture, standing there with a manila file under her right arm.
"Major," she said. "We've got an update."
Patrick sighed before packing up his lunch back into the picnic basket. "Give me the report."
"So you really think this thing can fly?" Sonic asked while leaned against the fuselage of one of the many planes Tails was working on. This one apparently had tails especially fixated. He named it "The Tornado", and while it was certainly better held together than the other planes, that wasn't saying much.
"Sure it can-socket wrench," Tails said, holding out his hand form under the fuselage. Sonic reached into the tool kit and handed Tails the wrench. "Just needs a bit of elbow grease. And a proper engine. And a rudder. And a propeller that isn't made of wood. And some tougher metal for the fuselage. And a-"
"I get it," Sonic interrupted. He looked to his right, where, sitting on a work bench, were the blueprints to the plane itself. Sonic sped over, grabbed the blueprints, and sped back to Tails' side in time to take the socket wrench and hand him a blowtorch. "Gotta say, man, not seeing how this is gonna work." Sonic squinted his eyes at the blueprints. "The wing shape would make it almost impossible to take off."
"Yeah, but when she does, she'll handle like a dream."
Sonic shrugged. "Hey, you're the genius."
"Yes, I am."
Sonic's chuckle was cut short by an elbow leaning on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Sally, clad in a more casual white button up and khaki shorts. "I trust you boys have been getting along?" she asked.
Sonic flashed her a wry, toothy grin. "As if there was any doubt," he said.
"He's a bit rough around the edges," Tails said as he rolled out from under the fuselage. "But I can definitely see ourselves making use of him."
"That's all I needed to hear," Sally said. She lightly swiped Sonic on the back of the head and cocked her head toward the door. "C'mon, rookie, time to impress me. We're going to robotropolis."
Sonic tenderly rubbed the back of his head as he followed behind her. "You know, I keep hearing about how I have to "impress" you. What, having super speed ain't enough for you?"
"Not particularly, no." Sally stopped at the door and turned on her heel to face Sonic. Her hands were held up in front of her head, which was tilted to the left while she gave a mockingly fake grin. "Oooh, look at me, I'm Sonic the Hedgehog," She said in an intentionally bad impression of him. "I'm too cool for last names, or even plausible first names. I smirk literally all the damn time as if only one side of my mouth functions properly. I can run around at the speed of sound on a whim, which totally doesn't make me instantly deserving of intense scrutiny because I'm just so cool!"
Sonic grimaced, his cheeks flushing slightly. "That's a terrible impression," he grumbled.
"But not an inaccurate one!" Shouted Tails from across the garage.
Sally laughed and patted Sonic's shoulder. "Look, you do this right, and I'll ease up a bit, agreed?"
Sonic sighed. "Agreed. So, what is this job?"
Sally opened the door and the two walked out of the hangar. They made their way down the hill the hangar was perched on into the main town below. Knothole village was a crossroads between a military compound, refugee camp, and fantasy elf village. While the ground was littered with a mix of tents and makeshift huts of wood and mud, the trees-larger and wider than Sonic had ever seen in his life- had been carved out to make room for more elaborate housing and weapon encampments. Sally continued as they walked. "It's a simple hit and run. There's a swatbot factory that Robotnik's been neglecting in terms of security. We're gonna go in, make him regret that oversight, then get out as fast as we can."
Sonic shrugged. "Sounds simple enough."
"Oh yeah, sure, easy peasy. Until that place goes nuclear, thereby kicking the proverbial hornet's nest and bringing down the entire city on our heads." Sally and Sonic walked outside the main city to find an armored jeep waiting for them. "So you know, simple."
Sonic gave his most charming smile and took sally's hand in his. "Well don't you worry, I'll have you out of that city before the alarm even starts blaring," he said with a wink. Then Bruin's gargantuan paw fell on his shoulder.
"Six. Feet. Pup." Bruin growled, tugging Sonic back from Sally. Sonic chuckled nervously, while Sally rolled her eyes.
"Yes Bruin, we're all very intimidated. Now, if we may get a move on?" she asked. Sally hopped into the driver's seat of the jeep, while Bruin climbed into the back to mount his rifle on top. Sally looked back at Sonic. "Get in or follow behind, your choice."
"I'll follow," Sonic said, stretching his legs. "In fact, just assume that's my stance on this sort of thing from now on." Sally shrugged and ducked back into the car.
"You're giving him too much free space," said Bruin as she got in.
"Your concerns are noted, considered-" Sally strapped herself in and closed the door behind her. "-and ignored." Sally pressed the ignition button, and the jeep growled and sputtered to life.
Bruin rolled his eyes. He hadn't heard the end of what Sally said, but he could make an educated guess. She always did this when a new recruit fascinated her. With luck, the kid wouldn't end up the same way those other cases did.
The twin wooden gates in front of them creaked open, allowing the jeep to drive through and out into the forest. Sonic bent low to get ready, placing his fingertips on the ground, then took off after the jeep, kicking up a cloud of dirt along the way. Sonic caught up with the truck in no time at all, running alongside Sally's side of the vehicle. Sally rolled down the window to talk to him. "There's a cave not too far from the city we use for our vehicles," she shouted over the truck's engine. "Follow close, and try not to kick up too much dust!" With that, and a quick salute from Sonic as acknowledgement of her orders, Sally rolled the window back up, and the three made their way out of the forest and into the desert between them and Robotropolis.
Incipere, like the other settlements far off from the capital, mostly went ignored by the nation's new lord and master. As long as it was obvious that no one was throwing in their lot with the rebellion, or otherwise trying to build any kind of united formal government, Robotnik was content to leave them to their mud hole. Today was not one of those days. As anyone still alive in the saloon could tell you.
"Where did they go?" Krueger asked the bartender calmly. The bar was awash in the blood of the patrons, and the walls were peppered with bullet holes from missed shots. Krueger was completely unharmed, while the bartender was barely clinging to life, sat up against what remained of his bar by Kruger so they could "chat" easier. Through his bloodshot eyes, he could barely make out Krueger's chrome claw reaching for him, resting three of his five cyborg fingertips against his face, while his index and middle finger positioned themselves right in front of his eyes. "I've asked everyone in this bar, you are the only one left. Shall I take my questions elsewhere? Perhaps someone else in this backwater hellscape has an idea."
The bartender's eyes drifted for just a moment to the wall behind Krueger. There, with a bloodstain from the waitress slightly obscuring it, was a framed photo of his family. There was no hesitation to what he said next. "They didn't say," he said. "B-but I saw the hedgehog leave with a war vet and a kid."
"Would this veteran be a bear, by any chance?" Krueger asked, his fingers getting a bit closer.
"Yes-yes, and a coyote too. I overheard them talking, I think they said something about a resistance. But that's all I know, I swear. No one else in this town knows anything, honest."
Krueger nodded. "I believe you," he said. Without warning, the talons on the ends of his index and middle finger shot out into long, silver knives which ran through the bartender's skull, killing him instantly. "However, treachery such as yours cannot simply be pardoned…" Krueger retracted the claws and stood up, walking out of the bar. "As this hedgehog will soon learn."
