In a vastly different environment than that in which the last sentence was set, a calm breeze bristled against a field of bushes. Actually, looking at the field from the right angle, it looked slightly more animated than a calm breeze...
"You're it!" Turds.
No, actually a pack of cheeseheads were running low on ideas to pass the time during their "business trip" on the border of two bitterly rivaled provinces (at least when it came to sports). Being avid sports fans themselves, they settled for a half-hour round of freeze tag because they lacked the equipment for anything else.
"Twenty-EIGHT... twenty NINE... THIRTY!" shouted a maroonish, lavender-haired cat, eventually. "Ready or not, I'm moving to Canada!" Needless to say, she was "it".
"Time out," one of the opponents abruptly yelled.
"Danny, stop calling time out. We've got nothing else to do."
"Yeah we do!" replied a fox of the unnatural color of jades, sporting a curiously familiar pair of spinning tails, obviously trying to spoof the 'tude sported by the blue dude with the 'tude. "You saw that guy on the news, right? He has to have something up his sleeve!"
"And what do you plan to do about it?" retorted the cat.
"I'm gonna find out what it is and use it against him!"
"Not so fast, Dan Brown," a red-haired hedgehog girl had to interrupt. "If you're really thinking that you wanna pull off something like that, you're gonna have to get plenty of backup. I still haven't seen the stuff you can do, and I highly doubt three is enough."
"Well how much is enough, Molly Hatchet?" Game show reference and Southern rock band reference not intended.
"I don't know. Couple hundred, maybe."
She suddenly noticed a meteor-like object rushing down towards them.
"LOOK OUT ABOVE YOU!"
The three cheeseheads immediately split up, fleeing as quickly as possible in different directions, just barely evading certain death.
"DARN YOU CHAOS CONTROL!" shouted the cat, suddenly furious at the emerald she'd found while playing The Game, which she just realized had fallen into destructive hands. Five seconds.
"What's wrong with Chaos Control?" asked Molly, more to herself than anything, now faking heart palpitations.
"Wait a minute..." Danny interrupted. "What IS that?!"
Molly, still showing signs of the reaction a Phillies player might have after avoiding a Mariners player's pitch above his head, her concentration suddenly blurred, looked ahead and in the distance noticed the crimson object that had taken a face-first dive into the GROUND twitching repeatedly as if having a seizure.
It had to have been a living creature...
"Don't tell me they keep sending those fakers from Earth here to botch up our perfect society, right Dan Brown?"
"I still think we should help the guy," replied the fox in jade, scratching the fur part of his left ear. "Maybe he... or she... I don't know. Let's just say it's some kind of alien-type thing."
"Whatever," sighed the redhead. "I'm all out of ideas. You guys just have fun without me."
"You're coming with!" shouted Danny, grasping harshly the left hand of his annoying-ass partner-in-crime, because he wanted to make her feel her own effects on his social awkwardness after all those years. (A/N: And I thought I was the only one.)
My God, another one of those nights.
Apparently Sonic's notorious bit of falling face first into the ground had passed on to me, because that was where I found myself as I came to: hardly able to breathe, choking on the bitter dirt, and altogether bruised to an unrecognizable degree at first.
It didn't really matter that much that other folks were around to try to help me out of there and end up looking at a face beat up similarly to that of the Yankees shortstop who made an exceptional running catch against the Sox way back when. I actually felt like I could escape that dirt road prison myself, but apparently ain't nobody got time for that.
After I was pulled out, I brushed off the dirt from my eyes so I could get a closer look on them. It was as if setting foot on a foreign planet. The black-and-jade-shaded fox, the maroon-ish cat, and a redhead, all towering in size compared to myself, sported interesting appearances such that they looked familiar, and yet I couldn't pinpoint where I'd seen them. All of them except...
"Bridgette?!" I snapped, suddenly remembering that I'd met the maroon-ish cat within The (God-awful) Game.
"Zenith!?" snapped the other two. Apparently they also knew something I didn't.
"Who the hell are you?!" I snapped, of course reviving that extreme suspicion I'd always had whenever someone I didn't know knew my name.
"And... where have I seen your face again?" inquired Bridgette.
The fox in green facepalmed, allegedly having the worst idea as to where this was going.
"Awkward," I moaned. I immediately noticed we had all moaned it at the same time. Suddenly, pineapples.
"I know," the other three snapped without me. "That happened to all of us. STOP COPYING ME!"
Then they got the shivers. "Oh no..." they continued in unison. Then they started to huddle in fear. "The curse... it's descended upon us!"
Then they lost it.
I tried to back away as slowly as possible, hoping to go unnoticed.
But then they all pointed at me. "How come you weren't affected? You said something with us!" And then they stormed towards me with every backwards step I took. "What did you do to us?!" Apparently one of them had the idea to go blaming me after meeting me for the first or second time. Or maybe it was, just as possibly, all three.
"You're a wizard! You must be executed!" And now they were making stuff up. "Seize him!"
Now I could've ran away like a little kid who couldn't stand up to the class bully, like I'd always remembered doing way back when, but that was way back when. I knew right then and there (that I had) to fight for my right (to party).
With the formation that these fools made in their attempt to obliterate me for ridiculous reasons, switching positions over and over again, it was infinitely difficult to tell who was going to attack first. I was inclined to let them attack first, since their villainous sides were insignificant. What can they possibly do to me? They don't know my strengths/abilities/powers/whatever.
But then a ridiculous animal instinct kicked in.
As the freaks storming towards me settled into a straight line, I reached out to these losers without the chance to lunge back first, and I slugged the freak to my left and the freak to my right... at the same time.
Wow. I did not know I could do that.
That's it. I must have Ultimate Fighter in me.
They only faltered back a touch, however; clearly unfazed, they continued their zombie-like motion towards little old me. I had no hope of defense save for what I'd just done only five seconds ago.
What the hell have I gotten myself into all this time?!
The growing shade that overtook us, that seemed to turn daytime into nighttime in a heartbeat, even though it was still light out, didn't faze me at first. All I had in mind was getting these freaks off my tail. Almost literally.
They proceeded to rush towards me, still in unison. I used most of the stamina I'd recovered since being blasted into the middle of nowhere to jump - higher than that of which I ever thought I was capable - just barely dodging their outstretched hands, ready to clench when proper contact was made. As I fell, I began to contemplate my impending end in all ways imaginable except by repeated attacks from these freaks.
But then - a split second prior, I could've sworn I'd seen traces of green and yellow tattooed onto the left arm of the fox already in jade, as well as a really big G on his right - the second I hit the ground, a flash of light beamed just four feet in front of me brighter than I could handle wearing my coolest shades - not even a bolt of lightning, I meant the kind you'd see in alien invasions, as if they existed - and only a second after it had turned on, it disappeared - all three of those freaks who'd been going after me only seconds earlier having vanished with it. Not Top 10 for sure. Only it was so much more unbelievable, so much more nonsensical than two Florida footballers blocking each other, or a Clippers guy spilling his water on the only Warriors fan sitting on the court sideline, or the Packers and the Vikings playing to a tie at 26, or even the butt fumble, that I literally broke down. This was what I got. This was my reward for almost completing The Game but not after all hell had been released into the real world as we knew it.
And then another beam of light struck me down/up.
I instantly realized upon the moment of impact that it was only a matter of time before Packers guy resumed trying to destroy me in that zombie motion of his. I also wondered if they were still under the "stop copying me" curse.
Tickets to the Packers-Vikings game: $20
Authentic jersey: $36
Temporary tattoo: $3.50
Hot dog & drink: $8.50
Teaching your son to hate the Packers by age 5: priceless.
When I realized to just where I'd been teleported, images of that fat firetruckery of a video game came rushing into my mind like crazy, and I could no longer concentrate on whatever task I had at hand just two minutes ago. I'd gotten so beat up over the time I'd taken to play it through that I could no longer be sure of what I was doing, or why I was doing it.
"Draw," a low voice bellowed slowly, surely, evilly.
"I don't have a gun," I muttered maybe-sorta quietly, but loudly enough for this guy to hear me.
"Man, this Etch-a-Sketch is more fun than ever! Where did all those childhood memories go over the years?!"
"You're a lucky bastard, you know that?" I moaned. I turned to walk away from him with the idea of dropping the conversation and exploring this peculiarly familiar environment.
He just continued to blab on about his draw. "Boy, have I been working on that draw. Fastest knobs in the West! Am I right, or am I right?!"
I turned around to face the perp. "Is this high noon?" I asked him. "Because I believe I already said that I don't have a gun."
"You don't have to, dude," he said before strolling casually towards me as I was already headed somewhere else, "and besides, it's uh, 1:08 pm."
"That's one less thing I have to worry about," I retorted, rolling my eyes.
"I don't think there would be a shootout in this junkyard they call a space colony." The REAL space colony. Ok, so that alien-like thing they call a laser beam shot me at the real space colony instead of some game simulation.
As we strolled along, the familiarly twin-tailed fox stretched his left hand out towards my further-from-his-reach right. "I'm Danny," he said.
"I'm Zenith," I returned, careful to use my corresponding hand to firmly grasp his.
"I know."
"I know you know."
"So why'd you introduce yourself?"
I rolled my eyes again. "Don't you think it'd be inconsiderate to not return an introduction?"
"You have a point," he replied. Then we shook. "So you played that game, huh?"
"Don't even get me started on that," I snapped.
"Geez, sorry." As we crawled low to avoid being spotted by security guards, separated from us by a wall with open windows, the silence that ensued felt more awkward than two Florida footballers blocking each other, or a Clippers guy spilling his water on the only Warriors fan sitting on the court sideline, or the Packers and the Vikings playing to a tie at 26, or even the butt fumble. It was only after we were sure we'd evaded them when he retorted, "Brett Favre."
"Randy Moss," I retorted back.
"Ew, gross! You actually like that guy?" It was still in a loud whisper type thing, because you never know.
"He mooned YOUR guys," I boasted in the up-yours tone.
"No, I mean, he played for the Patriots and the Raiders and stuff."
"Oh yeah? Brett Favre played for the Vikings!"
"But who did he win the Super Bowl with?" he taunted. The first thing that came to my mind after he said it was just how in the name of he knew that I was terrible at comebacks. I was forced to improvise.
"What's 4 + 84?"
"Um, none of your guys..."
"You MOSS be kidding me!" This was the punch line. "4 + 84 is simply FAVREulous!"
"What did Moss do for you again?" He was partially clenching his left fist with only his index finger left wiggling in his left ear.
"Fastest, most explosive WR, period. Case closed."
I opened the door. He rushed through the doorway before I could get a foot through it. "Remember that game where our QB threw the ball and it bounced off your guy into the hands of our guy?"
The unfamiliar stench surrounding the background of a real laboratory that threatened to distract me reminded me of ideas of events I'd studied in that God-awful history class. Why we were in here in the first place was way beyond me. "Remember that week 17 game in which Blair Walsh kicked the winning FG to clinch a playoff spot?"
I found myself following Danny, who was walking backwards, as if he knew this place inside and out. It didn't bother me that much. What did bother me was our constant comebacks. "Remember that season where you went 15-1, but lost to a wild card team?"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" I had no idea that had happened, but I wasn't about to give up there. "I didn't know we had to live stuff down!"
"Oh, you didn't know?" he gloated. "Every Vikings fan has stuff to live down."
"Every Packers fan remembers their veteran QB... BRENT... FAV-RAY!"
"Yaaaaaaaawn." He mimicked the yawn gesture with his hands. Then he dug into his left pocket. At that sight, I dug into my left pocket. He grabbed his wallet as I grabbed my wallet, and then we simultaneously pulled out and showed off our financial, football-themed shards of plastic. Just where did he keep that thing?!
"Huh," he retorted.
"Huh," I repeated only a fraction of a second afterwards.
"Now it makes sense that you're a (Packers/Vikings) fan," we then said in unison. You can guess which one of us mentioned which team.
"Oh no..." he said in a suddenly horrified tone. "Is the curse back?"
I slapped him in the face. "No. Get your marbles together."
"Thank heavens..." You could tell how immediately relieved he felt. "Now I remember what I was gonna ask you."
"Lay it on me."
But he'd apparently seen something that I didn't, because before he asked me, he tackled me to the far corner just before we reached the next doorway. When I looked up momentarily, I saw just what he'd seen: an industry-variety anvil attached to a string, on which I'd apparently stepped to send it crashing down towards me.
Then lay it on me he did.
"Were you once a human?"
And right then and there, I became uncomfortable with the direction in which this conversation was headed.
"Uh..." I was thinking of all those Minnesota references I'd made over the years. "I have no memory whatsoever of my past..."
Danny interrupted my train of thought. "I used to live in this town known only as Station Square. That's over in New York." His voice became dark. "I had some really cool friends..." What was that supposed to imply?
"Don't tell me you don't have any now."
"They were far less annoying than Molly..." His girlfriend, presumably. "She's not my girlfriend." Whoops. "Now all of a sudden, I'm a complete and utter nerd..."
"What happened to you?" I asked, as if I had nothing better to ask.
I wasn't even sure if he knew what I implied with that question until he replied. "Car accident." Then he began to tense up. "Why did it have to be me? I really miss those guys!"
"Why don't you just come out and show/tell them about..."
I was about to finish my sentence when he interrupted me. "I have no way to get back to Earth! I'm stranded here for... who knows how long!" He dropped to the cold metal floor, evidently unaware that there were other freaks still here. "Why must life hit on me?!"
"Wait a minute," I snapped, now walking towards him. "You're from New York, and you like the Green Bay Packers?"
"My family moved there from Madison when I was very young." So he used to live in Wisconsin. "Granted, I had every reason to go for the Giants or the Jets, but they play in flippin' New Jersey." I never knew that was a legitimate ground to dislike two teams who played in the same state in which one lived. Now I remembered that they shared the same stadium, but of what he'd just said I had no idea. "I would not go out of state to watch either team play football. Besides, my dad was always huge with the Packers."
"What about baseball? Does that mean you went for the Yankees?"
"Nope. The Mets."
"DAMMIT!" I reacted.
The baseball case was different. All over Mobius I'd heard cases of freaks liking one team who played in some random state over another team who also played in said state. But when I'd thought of all those Minnesota references, I couldn't recall when I'd started liking all of the AL and none of the NL.
"What, did you like the Yankees?" I could not tell whether that was a taunt.
"No," I muttered. "I've always liked the Twins."
"Huh. You must be from Minnesota." Nicolas Cage. "Have you ever been to Target Field?"
"No, just the Metrodome. I remember the only time I've ever gone to the Metrodome, was back in October of 2009, between the Twins and the Tigers; they played game 163 to determine the AL Central champs and who would play the Yankees in the playoffs."
"Game 163, huh?"
"Yeah. The last regular season game ever played at the Dome."
"What happened?" he asked.
"The Twins won." It was perhaps the greatest moment of my life. "But then they were swept by the Yankees. They went on to win the World Series that year. Fuckin' Alex Rodriguez."
"I know!" He really seemed to be getting it, while at the same time seeming to not care about my language.
"Don't the Vikings still play there?" I assumed they did, but I wanted to be sure. I didn't really care if he was a Packers fan; I still figured he would've known.
He sighed. "I hate to break it to you, but... it was demolished months ago."
"What?" I could feel myself about to lose it again.
"Yeah. They tore it down after the end of the season. The Pack won the division again, but they were stumped by..." he pressed his thumb and index finger as close to each other as possible without actually letting them touch, "that much." Then he changed the subject. "When's your birthday?"
"See, that's another thing I can't scoop out from the back of my head. My past is so twisted that I end up with fake answers."
"Well, what kind of answers are you talking about?"
As I'd lost track of the exact date well into the third level of that cursed endeavor people called a video game, I was forced to use my most consistent answer, which I'd established as early as I could remember: "June 6." After a moment of awkward silence, I clarified, "That's my birthday."
He stayed silent, blank-faced for the longest time. How uncomfortable he was getting by continuing this conversation was way beyond me.
"Never been to Target Field, huh?"
"I'm sorta mortified to guess how many fans would recognize me the moment I step foot through that gate."
Do NOT think I didn't understand the reference he made when he said, "Come on, old sport." He slapped my back. "It'll be fun." Then he winked at me. It was an interesting sight, seeing as not all Mobians had two separated eyes. I was also relieved that I wasn't the only one I knew who was doing it.
"If you say so..."
Then the rumbling noise came back. I did not hesitate to grab Danny's hand to try to scramble out of this "arena". The cloud of what looked like another round of Chaos debris busted through the back wall like tipping over a 12-oz aluminum Pepsi can.
"Wait, Zenith! I have an idea."
Of course, my little old selfish self had other methods of dealing with it, but his words were being forced into my motion-enhanced ears like filling up a 22-oz cup with fountain Pepsi. When they couldn't handle any more of his blabbing, I grumbled, "Just do what you gotta do!"
He dragged me to one of the intact walls (well, more like he ran towards the wall still holding my hand, so I was forced to follow him) and then stopped. He used his index finger to make a square motion around a particular area of the wall. "That's the sensitive spot," he explained. "If you spin-dash against it, you'll find a secret exit."
The only problem: all those times when I'd went on random speedruns to train my short little legs to almost catch up to Sonic's, I'd never learned how to spin-dash.
I quickly looked around to find an alternative to this predicament. There were no trapdoors on the floor. But there was a small gap between the wall above us and the ceiling. I pointed up there and shouted, as it became very hard to hear anything else over the impending disaster waiting for us, "Can't we fit through that hole?"
"We don't have time!" he argued.
"We have plenty of time!"
I grabbed his hand again and proceeded to zoom up the wall as if wearing anti-gravity shoes. But boy, was he hard to carry.
"Use your tails!" I shouted.
"My what?!"
I suddenly felt his hand slip from my grasp. Given no time to react, I instinctively continued my climb up the wall before reaching the hole, through which I was just small enough to fit, and furthermore crawl. None of the debris followed me up here. I continued to take cover anyway.
When it seemed to me that the worst of it had passed, I quickly got up, once again thankful for not being dead, and then looked around. "Danny?"
Danny was gone.