New Readers: If you haven't already, you might consider reading the original Onyx [ /s/3839272/1/The-Onyx-original] because there are going to be references back to it that might make things confusing. Also, be on the lookout for subtle references to the original Sonic X episodes and other little Easter eggs hidden in here! :)

Without further adieu, I welcome you to Book II. Enjoy, and please feel free to leave reviews and/or suggestions. It's readers and fellow authors like you that make stories flow effortlessly and also allow for inspiration to continue on or branch out to other stories.

Thank you all!

Sonic and all other various Sonic The Hedgehog characters are Copyright SEGA, Sonic Team, TMS Entertainment, and all other associations affiliated with the Sonic X anime/manga. All other characters belong to their rightful owner (me) and have no similarities with above-said characters whatsoever. Names used for other characters are random. Any people bearing the real name, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Onyx
Book II

Chapter 1

The annoying chirp of feedback suddenly buzzed from a speaker hidden within the ceiling of the adjoining hallway where it could never be silenced, rousing the inmate from what was supposed to be a decent slumber, albeit restless as a grim environment around him would dictate.

Slowly, he rolled to an upright position, gingerly scraping his feet upon his too-large government-issued footwear until they finally slipped over his socked feet. With a yawn, a scratch to the back of his head, and a stretch accompanied with a groan most men of his age often let out when struggling to meet another morning not yet illuminated by the rising sun.

But there would be no sunrise to peek through the small window adorned with bars and a wiry mess of metallic mesh so as to prevent anyone within the ironically-named "rehabilitation" facility to get even a morsel of hope found within a simple ray of sunshine that could brighten the cold cell dimly lit by a dingy flourescent light and its telltale signs of abuse by prior inmates that had once paced the same pale blue tiled floor as he did. The new day started dark with an overcast sky, a low rumble of distant thunder, and persistent rainfall he heard pinging the metallic window covering as if it were a metronome set to an annoying tempo.

"Wakey-wakey," a garbled, staticky voice echoed throughout the hall. "It's now oh-six-thirty. Happy morning to you all. You know the routine: face the wall with your hands apart. When the door opens, you do not move a muscle, and you say nothing until you hear that door close and you hear it lock. I strongly advise you to follow those simple orders. Are we clear?"

The inmate rolled his eyes toward a security camera snugly wedged into the corner of his cell, well-protected behind its metallic cage. Every morning for the past six years, it had been the same message, as if it had been pre-recorded, yet there was a tinge of satisfaction melded within it, as if the person behind it actually enjoyed having that gross sense of entitlement. Without objection, but with a surly huff of annoyance, he rose to his feet and turned towards a small mirror mounted on the wall, his barcode, inmate number, and name, CRADDOCK, LOUIS J looking back at his bearded face that had lost its dark brown color, having been replaced by silver and grey. He snorted in disgust, and finally faced the wall, stretching his arms out and placing his palms on the cold concrete wall.

He heard the chorus of locking mechanisms clank and clunk in their metallic melody, and after hearing his door unlock, he heard the first guard armed with a nightstick shuffle in and stand directly behind the former militant while the other quickly walked in and dropped a tray of "professionally" prepared prison food upon a small table that protruded from the wall. "Bon appetit," he laughed, disappearing behind the door, as did the other guard.

Craddock, after hearing the locking mechanism clank, turned and slowly approached the abysmal buffet, mocking the guard's sarcastic statement in a low grumble as he looked at the mess called breakfast, sniffed, and sighed loudly again before grabbing the plastic spoon and slumping into a rickety plastic chair the warden was so gracious to supply him with.

He shoveled a spoonful of what appeared to be scrambled eggs in his mouth, grimacing at the expected taste before spotting what looked like a chocolate granola bar, which was highly questionable in appearance since it was without a wrapper. He poked it with his spoon and, upon hearing an unnerving squish after the first poke, decided it was best to just flush it down, as it's presence sickeningly indicated.

He continued to struggle through his breakfast while glancing around his room, taking inventory of what he had already seen every single day prior, as that was about the only thing to do in such a place: One dimly lit light, the strange mirror-sink-toilet-showerhead combination, the lone drain, the small partition separating the supposed bathroom area, the terrible excuse for a bed, his glorious breakfast nook which was nothing more than a shelf protruding from the wall, and a series of unknown initials scratched into it from those who had been there before.

Indeed, it was a strange prison: no community area, no shower area, and no access to anything in the outside world except for what little sunlight could navigate its way through the metal mess clogging his only porthole-sized window. It was as if each inmate had a glorified solitary confinement cell.

Except for the daily breakfast and dinner announcements that would annoyingly screech through the speakers, and a monotone hum of a nearby clock mounted on a nearby wall, the halls would remain eerily silent, which was welcomed by Craddock at first, as his pessimistic assumptions upon his sentencing of having to share the small room with three or more inmates, along with the constant hubbub of noise and activity from nearby cells and community areas, only exacerbated the inevitable nightmare. But after few years had gone by, the silence had actually begun to wear on him and start questioning what kind of place he was really in. However, repeated attempts at getting any kind of explanation were either intentionally ignored or met back with an aggressive shove against a wall with a stern warning that he best keep his mouth shut and his questions to himself. The reactions were convincing, and he finally accepted his fate, though the mysteriousness of his surroundings never really left the back of his mind.

It was a life sentence in prison without a sniff at parole that had been cast down upon him from his treasonous involvement with Senator Joseph Conrad in what was supposed to be a grand plan to cleanse the world of its violent dictators and oppressive leaders, to put the United States in the forefront as the global superpower, and appoint him as leader of its entire military force by default as a result of what he deemed as heroic measures thanks to the project he had founded, brought to life through an unlikely partnership with none other than Doctor Ivo Robotnik: Project Onyx.

But instead of reaping the benefits that would have come with the fame and glory, the plans fell into ruin, and the hands of justice felt no remorse for someone who had been trained to protect the people of the very country he swore to defend, and dealt its own swift hand of vengeance complimented with a forceful and humiliating donning of a black covering over his head as he was led away from the court to his eventual forever home.

He looked down at the leftover eggs on his tray, a sneer curling under his gray mustache as he bridged the soupy yellow mess to the portly scientist he regretted ever allowing himself to work with. Eggman, he grumbled to himself, you pathetic coward! You abandoned me!

He pushed his tray away, disgusted at not only how vile his supposed breakfast had tasted, but at the memories flooding in the day his life would forever change. He knew his plans had been thrown into a total chaotic disarray thanks to Sonic the Hedgehog, that his prized possession, the Onyx, fetching him a pretty penny on the black market as a contracted assassin, was running free on American soil, the drugs keeping things in order having worn off and letting its default assignment to eliminate the leader of the country the asssassin was in activate by way of Eggman's contraption to convey that message through synthetic brainwaves and allow dark energy emanating from a mysterious black emerald that had been discovered, controlled by inhibitor rings, create a virtually unstoppable force.

The President of the United States was going to be assassinated, with Craddock destined to take the fall, had it not been for Eggman releasing his robotic minions to counter the Onyx's movements once her location was confirmed. But, instead of seeing his contribution to completion and allowing Craddock to possibly escape any potential threat of being held responsible, he simply vanished, abandoning everything to save his own hide.

"I swear," Craddock growled under his breath, his clinched fist tapping the dilapidated shelf intended to be his table, "If I ever get the chance at getting out of...wherever I am, I'm coming for you, Robotnik. I am coming for you."

The speaker suddenly whistled its ear-piercing tune of feedback, followed by an announcement to Craddock that he was to stand and face the wall again. This was a new puzzlement to the ex-general, as end of breakfast usually meant just sliding his tray out a narrow slot in the door and listen to it clang upon the floor outside his cell to be picked up by a passing guard. It wasn't exactly the type of revenge he longed for, but any chance to make a guard clean up after him was close enough considering the circumstances he was in, and at times, took full advantage of that opportunity so he could give his toilet a well-earned break.

But this time was different. Breakfast seemed much shorter than usual. He pressed his face against the narrow window slot in the door, straining to see the clock he had been blessed to have within eyeshot so that he could at least have an idea of time.

Only ten past seven? Since when do they shorten breakfast?

He heard another voice crackle over the speakers that wasn't the same as he had grown accustomed to. "Do as your told, Louie. The guards will be there shortly."

He recognized the warden's voice, but what was stranger was the fact that he hadn't heard that voice since he sat before him as he was being processed as an inmate.

"Louis James Craddock," he recalled the warden saying as he flipped through various papers in a manila folder. He was an elderly man, likely late into his sixties, a head full of white. His face was shallow, hardened from life. "General at one time for the Guardian Unit of Nations, I see. Look at all those medals you earned throughout your life. I served my time in the military too, Louie, but not with a bunch of rent-a-cop degenerates who think they're tough shit. No, I was in the real military."

Craddock still shackled, remained silent, his uneasiness permeating the room as he would occassionally glance at the two guards positioned beside him, as well as the various camers that were all pointed at him.

"Marines, Louie. Master Sergeant. Retired from the service to take over this place. Name's Oliver Arkenson. But here, you will call me warden or sir, am I clear?"

The warden smirked when Craddock did not answer, leaned back in his chair, and loosened his tie that had once been a perfect Windsor knot. "Silent type, I see. Well, that'll probably do you good here, Louie." He grabbed the folder and started flipping through more papers, shaking his head. "Louie, Louie, Louie. You've really been up to no good, haven't you? I mean...look at this: illegal experimentations involving human subjects that resulted in the deaths of over twenty servicemen until you realized whatever it was you were trying to do didn't work? Twenty people? High treason for the attempted assassination of our great president, as well being an accomplice to the consipiracy to commit assassination? I can go on and on, but I'd rather not waste my time. I'll just say you had to have really fucked up to get dishonorably discharged from a complete joke of a so-called military presence."

Craddock eventually faced the warden, scowling, his stare ice cold, but he remained silent. Oliver laughed.

"And don't think for one second that this tough-guy attitude is going to work on me. I've seen a lot come and go, and they've all tried to stare me down just like you're trying to do, so let me give you a little advice, Louie. It doesn't work. It never has worked. It never will work. So, if I were you, I'd just stick to being silent, and I guarantee that your new life here will be much, much easier."

"Where is 'here'?" asked Craddock.

Arkenson smiled. "Ah, so he finally speaks! Louie, you know I can't give you that information. It's classified. Besides, what would you do with that knowledge, anyway?"

"Scratch my curious itch, I suppose. Now, are you going to tell me where this place is or not, or do you even know?"

The smile that had adorned the warden's face melted away at Craddock's sudden brazennes that undermined his waning patience. "You seem to have an apparent disregard for following orders, Louie. Thought I advised you to just keep silent?"

A wry smile raised Craddock's mustache. "And you can't seem to answer simple questions, Olly."

At first, the warden's face twisted into an angry sneer at the sheer audacity of Craddock's reply, but then quickly softened to a wry smirk, a slight huff of amusement escaping through his nostrils. He glanced over to one of the guards, who acknowledged with a nod, grabbed Craddock's head, and slammed his face down onto the table. The warden stood, straightened his tie, sauntered over, and bent down, mere inches from Craddock's face. "Let me make this very clear to you, Louie. You are in my house now. My rules. You will eat when I decide it's time for you to eat. You will speak when I tell you to speak. If a guard tells you to do something, you'd best do it because it'll be treated as if I gave the order. You'd better not miss a step under my watch because you will not like the outcome. You wanted to know where 'here' is, Louie? Well, 'here' is hell, pal. Welcome to hell. Now, get him out of my sight and into his cage!"

Craddock's stupor was suddenly broken by a guard who had barged into the room. "On your feet, against the wall now!"

But before he could oblige, the guard grabbed Craddock and violently shoved him against the wall, pinning his arms behind his back.

"This a new way to end breakfast now?" Craddock mocked through grunts of discomfort, his face smashed against the concrete. "A simple 'breakfast is over' would've worked, you know."

The guard, unamused, ripped a taser from his belt and held it close to Craddock's face. "See this? One more peep, asshole. I dare you to make one more peep."

Craddock could hear the crackling and popping of electric currents rippling across the top of the device along with an intermittent spark of blue, but with his time spent having been in his fair share of altercations with the guards, he knew how to push buttons, and with a wry smile, took in a breath. But before the word 'peep' could come out, the warden suddenly entered and ruined Craddock's chance to see if the guard was a man of his word.

"Enough!" he said. "Let him loose."

Reluctantly, but still aggressively, the guard backed off, letting Craddock straighten his clothing and face the warden. "Well, well, if it isn't old Olly himself making a visit from his cushy little office. Been a while, warden. What's the occasion?"

The warden smiled, but only in mock amusement. "I see you're the same charming person as always. You're being transferred, Louie."

Craddock's face contorted into confusion. "Transferred?"

"I got a call this morning from Washington. Didn't get shit for details, but they offered me a hell of a lot of money for your ass, so I wasn't about to ask any questions, though I am curious as to why someone would cough up that much money just to move you to a different prison. Well, for whatever reasons, I really don't care anymore. You made me rich today, Louie, so let's get going, get your shit gathered up, and get you outta my ass once and for all before they change their minds."

For the first time since being taken to his cell blindfolded, possibly to prevent familiarity with the corridor patterns of the prison, Craddock was able to see other cells as he walked alongside the warden, closely followed by the two guards. He caught site of a bald man peering out of his narrow cell window at him, sneering. He seemed familiar.

Arkenson noticed Craddock still looking behind him as they made their way down the dimly lit hallway. "I see you've taken notice of one our other permanent guests here, Louie."

Craddock shot a glance at Arkenson, finally having one of his questions answered. He noted to himself how the warden's demeanor had changed. "So, there are others here? I was beginning to think I was special, and that I was the only one here."

Arkenson let out a curt laugh. "Nah. There's more than one piece of shit in the world that ends up here, Louie. Guess I can let you in on some things at this point, mainly because you're not going to be out in the public eye to blab about anything anymore, granted anyone would even believe your sorry ass at this juncture."

"I suppose I should be flattered by that?"

"Take it for what it's worth, Louie. So, this is Area 191. Basically, a big underground prison bunker somewhere in the middle of the desert. This is where the worst of the worst of the corrupt military men and women come to slowly die with no one ever knowing except for a few back in Washington that deal with all the stats, I guess. It's really just a way for them to just make people like you disappear so that their integrity isn't given a black eye by the media, you might say. Gotta keep those defense dollars flowing somehow, right?"

The warden's words stung Craddock to the bone. "So they just threw me in here to die like I was nothing?"

"To them, you're just a bad memory now, Louie," Arkenson explained with a nod. "Oh, they did a big song and dance about you and that little incident with the President, and how brave the Secret Service was to take down the perpetrators, and all that ballyhoo that goes along with any sort of political media press release."

Deflated, Craddock cast a back glance at the inmate who had spotted him walking by. "So what's with that guy, then?"

"Him? Oh, that's Card Passer. He decided to unleash a whole barrage of robotic drones on some weird scientist holed up somewhere because he thought he was up to no good. Totally went nuts thinking this guy was a terrorist and sent off some of his guys to 'protect' the President, which took him by surprise since it was unannounced, and immediately assumed it was a coup attempt. Turned into a giant mess that he ended up taking the fall for. He still constantly bitches about some Freedom Movement or whatever he says turned the whole country into a bunch of pussies. We all just laugh at him because he also keeps talking about some hedgehog also being involved, along with a fox with two tails, and some other weird shit. I swear he's high on toilet wine or something."

Craddock's eyes widened. He'd only heard of him and his flippant disregard of direct orders to not deploy robotic aircraft without supervision and approval based on a highly skeptical whim from rumors swirling throughout the organization, but had no idea that he had launched his premature attack not only on Eggman, but also on Sonic. He looked back one last time. Too bad I didn't meet you a little bit sooner.

"Alright, Louie, we're here," Arkenson announced, opening the door. But upon entering, he noticed his chair facing backward to him. He recoiled, sensing something out of the ordinary, drew out a pistol, and motioned for the guards to enter first.

The warden also drew out a walkie-talkie as he shoved Craddock into the room before jumping in.

"No need for that, warden," a voice from the chair said. "We have things under control now."

"What?! Who the fuck are you?! What's going on here?!"

The chair slowly swiveled, revealing Senator Joseph Conrad, a sly smile on his face as he casually leaned back, folding his arms against his chest.

"You!" Craddock yelled, his face paled in shock..

"Why, Louie," the senator replied, cold. "You look like you've seen a spirit, or perhaps something of your past you wished you hadn't seen."

"You know this man?" Arkenson asked Craddock gruffly, as if tying him to the unfolding calamity.

"Oh, we go way back, he and I," Conrad replied as he rose to his feet. "Don't we, Louie?"

The warden suddenly raised his gun and pointed it at the senator. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but this was not part of the deal!"

"Warden, I think you'd better put that away."

"I don't think you're in any position to-"

Two clicks from cocked rifles behind him silenced Arkenson. He cast a sideways to one of his guards, spotting the barrel of his gun aimed directly at him. Conrad approached. "Give me the gun, warden."

"You don't know who you're fucking with!" Arkenson growled, reluctantly handing over his gun. "You'd better have my goddamn money or I'll-"

Conrad suddenly fired the gun, striking the warden in the head, then watched as he stumbled back and fell onto the floor, blood oozing from the hole in his head. He knelt down, sighed, as he pulled a cloth from his pocket and began wiping the gun before nestling it back into Arkeson's dead hand. "Damn shame the stress of having to live in this place finally took it's toll on him, don't you agree, Louie?"

He rose to his feet, taking notice of Craddock icily staring at him.

"Now, did you really think he was ever going to get paid to transfer someone like you to some other facility? The old geezer was gullible, probably wanting to find a way out. So, that's what we gave him."

"How in the fuck are you here?" Craddock hissed. "You were found guilty just like I was! You were locked away!"

"As I've said before, Louie, money talks, and bullshit walks. Don't think that when I was removed from office that I had lost all my connections there. A little money moved here, some cash moved there, some favors that were owed back to me, and here we are."

"So, what, are you busting me out of here?"

Conrad laughed. "Louie, Louie, you know I can't do that. I've got too big of plans for you, my friend, to just 'bust you out.' Far too big."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Doctor?"

Craddock's brow furrowed in confusion as he slowly turned, having seen Conrad motion for someone to approach, and looked upon a burly man donning a bright fiery red overcoat, his oversized orange mustache cascading ever-so-slightly over his upper lip that could barely contain his toothy grin. As he began to chuckle, his Pince-Nez glasses gleamed from the above lighting.

Craddock immediately recognized him. "Eggman?!" he gasped.

"Been a while, has it not?" Eggman laughed as he raised a small pistol. "Too bad we can't sit and chat a while, General, but there's just too much work to do. So, you'd better rest up."

Eggman continued laughing as he fired the gun. Craddock winced as he felt a violent pinch on his neck, then fell as darkness enveloped him.