Theme Music: "Nothing's Gonna Hurt you Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex
Green Hill Zone was his oldest memory. Sonic, a greenhorn video game character whose existence was as up in the air as any other design at the time, was still eager to prove himself a worthy mascot of SEGA despite several grueling months of testing and debugging by the Sonic Team developers.
It only gets faster from here, Sonic's character was programmed to think, and so he set off once again, blast processing into eternity.
Sonic the hedgehog could feel the precise moment when the cheerful Green Hill Zone music had left him: cold, alone, wrapped in a spider silk cocoon stuck to a web deep underground, gradually regaining his senses as the poisons ran their course. The only source of light was an antique kerosene lamp on a faraway table, which suggested that the cavern he occupied was quite large. But there was no music here, nor a sympathetic game developer to guide him into the next scene. Only the glowing eyes of his captor, watching him from across the inescapable master web.
"Ahuhuhuhu...I've never eaten a monster like you before," the starved spider hissed, smacking her chelicerae in anticipation as she drew closer. "Oh, please don't squirm too much, or else I'll have my lovelies put you back to sleep and that won't be any fun at all."
Darkness closed in, Sonic light dashed into another dream. This time, of him being the lead singer and bass guitarist of the often forgotten animated series Sonic Underground. It was as if he was a hedgehog rock star with different colored siblings that made a vow their mother would be found, who was queen of a magical land or some shit in the iron grip of a man sometimes referred to as 'Eggman' only days ago, even though it had been years since one of the stranger stints of his career came to a close.
"Bring it in slow, Manic," he told the green hedgehog that was playing the drums, and nodded to Sonia whose instrument of choice by the stoned writers was the keyboard, to lead him into his solo.
Among the crowds of animal-people swaying back and forth to the steady beat, one caught his eye. Amy Rose cast him a sensual look when their eyes met, then proceeded to lift her band t-shirt over her head to reveal a cluster of spiders!
Sonic dropped his laser-shooting guitar that materializes from a medallion and bolted off the stage.
"Gotta go fast," he said with a crazed look in his eyes. Suddenly, the scenery began to rapidly shift: to different stages from all the standard games, a boxing match against a bear in Sonic the Fighters, a string of terrible racing games not worth naming specifically, competing at the Olympics, Smash Bros. Brawl, a SEGA-produced unreleased city simulator, even the Sonic Dreams collection and every fan game and fan fiction ever made, whether it be cynical or earnest, they all provided him temporary respite. Run as he might, though, he could never elude the thought of Amy, like a permanent malfunction in his manufactured persona.
For the finishing stretch, Sonic ran so fast that he transcended all life as we know it. On a plane of existence too way past cool for mortal comprehension, he held Amy in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the space where her ear might be, as merely an outline of the physical body he had once occupied formed of subatomic particles that vibrated at speeds faster than the whims of the almighty can grace the Earth.
Muffet sipped the last ounce of life out of him and leaned back in her web to contemplate the flavor. "Tastes like beans and motor oil," she declared, and giggled at the dry husk's last formed tear.