Accelerating is easy, Sonic thought, Maintaining speed? That's the real trick.

Sonic had been running for as long as he could remember, so rules like these were instinctual. But until he heard Amy say it out loud, he'd never really thought about it, not consciously. Sonic never thought he'd want to drive a car— ultimately, he still didn't— but he'd gotten his license for the sake of a contest, so he found himself driving from time to time. Traffic in the city was enough to make him pull out his quills, but he liked a good sound system, and it helped his maneuverability— while running at velocities like this— to think of his own body as a car; for that experience, at least, he was grateful.

But cars don't have shoes, thought Sonic, his path veering closer to the southbound railroad, Which means they can't do this.

Tossing himself in the air, he clicked his shoes onto the tracks. Sparks flew as he touched the metal. By the time he reached Station Square, his sneakers were almost toast. From the right side of his heels to the left, the fabric was hot to the touch, worn down into a shape the rail had carved.

"Dang," said Sonic, surveying the damage, "I'll need some different shoes before I try rail grinding again."

Sonic hardly moved his arms at all since he'd taken the bird from Tails, but the creature was still looking just as miserable as ever. It pecked at the air, almost like it was surrounded by predators— but it didn't know where to aim its tiny head. Around him, radio static sputtered off behind slamming doors. There were patrol cars everywhere. Leering around every corner were a few special armed police squadrons— Kevlar vests, semiautomatic weaponry, portable radios and riot gear— but the cops looked somehow lost.

"Can I ask you what exactly you're doing here?" said Gunther, who was a hefty human man in his late forties. He was considerably bald, with a dry voice and a bushy mustache. "I have customers, you know. If we need to be closed, or vacant, then we'd appreciate some prior warn-"

"Sir, I understand you're concerned," said the officer, between yawns, "But everything's under control here. We're not here for any… any particular reason. Just a bit of traffic, that's all."

"Excuse me," blurted Sonic, "But do either of you guys know how to get to the nearest hospital?"

The building Gunther ushered him towards was much like any hospital Sonic had seen before. But like everything the humans made, this one was much bigger— on top of that, it was more advanced, cleaned, staffed— it was everything the hospitals from The Zones were aspiring to be. There were only humans behind the desk, there were only humans in the lobby.

"Hey there. My name's Sonic," he said to the receptionist, "I'm here because this little guy's got a broken wing. He might be having some breathing issues, also. You guys got a room open?"

"Sir," she said, "Are you sure you've come to the right place?" She look at him like there were thumbtacks spilling out of his eye sockets.

"Um," Sonic stammered as he scanned the room around him. "This is… the hospital, right?"

"We only serve people here," she said, "Wrong building."

"People?" said Sonic. From the back of the hospital, machines beeped intermittently; tiny wheels scratched at the linoleum floor.

"You know what I mean, okay? Humans. Hospitals are for humans. Find a Veterinarian's office if your pet needs any treatment. Have a good day. Can I please take the next guest?"

The bird wasn't struggling much, anymore. It had stopped hyperventilating— its feathered chest rose and fell softly with each breath— but some breaths came out more troubled than others. Ultimately, Sonic realized that the bird had only cut back on its flailing because breathing had become too strenuous to maintain. It could breathe, or it could panic— it couldn't do both at the same time.

People were darting away from the police, scuffing their feet on the sidewalk. Sonic was pointed to the Vet's place by many a sorry passerby, but they didn't seem to like making eye contact with animals. All these people living in The Zones, thought Sonic, Why? Why live here if they don't even want anything to do with us? Bleached white wood was boarded up over the office. A man wearing a wrinkled lab coat had his keys in the front door when he arrived.

"Wait! Please!" cried Sonic, "Don't tell me you're closing!" In his arms, the bird seemed to coo in disappointment.

"I'm very sorry kid," the vet sighed, his heavy eyes meeting the hedgehog's gaze, "But it's eight o'clock at night… that's when we close."

"Just tell me what I need to do then. I'll do it!" Sonic's spines drooped in the moonlight.

"You'll do it?" the vet sounded incredulous.

"Or," Sonic stammered, "Or I can snatch one of your doctor books, pass it to my friend Tails and he can do it, I… I dunno man, but please! He has a broken wing, and it would just break my heart if something awful happened because no one had the time."

The vet had some text printed on a card that dangled from his neck: Hi, My Name Is SAL!

"Do you have pet insurance?" he said.

"Pet?" said Sonic.

"Don't worry about it," Sal said, jotting something down on his clipboard. "Listen, usually we don't treat these kinds of animals. In most places, we would take a case like this to a place called a wildlife rescue center."

"But unfortunately, we don't have one of those here. Not yet. Trust me, it wasn't my call." Sal reached into his jacket and put on some stretchy plastic gloves. "A lot of things would be different if I was in charge, but The United Federation, G.U.N., the Meteor Tech stockholders— those guys pick the budget for the colonial district, not me. Certainly not the people who live here. To put it lightly, wildlife rescue and return is not high on their list of priorities."

"I'll take a quick look at it." said Sal, wrapping the bird in what looked like a sock. His thumb patted its head, lightly grazing its downy feathers. Sonic hadn't seen the bird look more comfortable than it did right then, in Sal's calloused hands. "Wait out here, kid. I'll be back soon."

Sonic and Sal had a very different definition of the word soon. Sonic leaned against the white office exterior, staring down at the gravel in the parking lot. He'd tapped his foot so much that the concrete began to split beneath his feet. After about twenty minutes— a virtual eternity for him— Sal returned with the bird. Its wing was tucked in a white bandage.

"You're not gonna like this," he said, "Maybe you should have a seat."

Sonic made himself comfortable on the office steps. Sal took a deep breath.

"I put a splint on his wing, that'll reduce the pain. By a lot. The lungs, however, have some critical tissue damage. Even if there were a wildlife center, this guy is not going to make it. Now, normally we'd be able to euthanize him, but the insurance guys are big sticklers about euthanasia. If there's even a drop of the stuff unaccounted for, the company will have my ass; I'll lose my job."

Sonic's heart fell into his shoes, his spine was in his stomach. The city screamed around him; he felt suddenly so far from home.

"Oh," Sonic said, "So… what happens now?

"This is not easy what I'm asking you to do. In a matter of minutes, this bird is going to be in a lot of pain— torment— and then he will die. You don't want that to happen. You need to kill him, mercifully, so he won't suffer. If you twist the neck, do it quickly."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The words tore through his head, bouncing between the walls of his skull and his brain. Standing by a riverbank, in the tropic woods just beyond the city limits, Sonic set the bird down on the ground. The bird's little claws strained to hold his balance. Falling over, he curled up, burying his beak in the grass.

I can't do this, Sonic thought, What would I ever say to Tails if I did this? Twisting a neck was so personal. Cradling the bird in its final moments— almost like it was a misleading hug— that felt sinister. Grabbing a rock just bigger than his palm, Sonic decided that distance would make the act easier. He'd take quick aim and pelt him with it; with a good shot, he wouldn't even know what hit him.

But, he thought, What if I miss? Sonic raised the rock in both hands, steadily over his head, bracing himself for the unthinkable.

Okay, he thought, here it goes… Without warning, the bird arched his back— backwards, unraveling from its fetal desperation— and began to shriek. Dropping the rock, Sonic tried to calm him with his touch, to show some final act of kindness, but nothing could release him the bird from his plight. Pain had shot through him, he was entering his death throws. Frantically, Sonic raised the rock over his head again, but the bird flung himself around in circles with its frantically flapping wings.

Dried black blood on blue feathers, the white cloth dangling on his tattered wing— Sonic had never taken a life before. On that day, nothing changed.

Despite the Police's claims that they were just there to manage some traffic, upon Sonic's return, the police seemed to be the source of the traffic. Station Square was backed up for about a mile in four directions. There was a weary humidity that hung in the air— it was as though it could rain at any moment— and yet, there was not a cloud in the sky. Evening had grown fully into night by then, but the city didn't have time to sleep.

The city didn't have any time to mourn.

Heavy steps dragged along the sidewalk as Sonic took it all in.

What kind of world is this? he thought.

"Sonic?" a voice cried from across the street. "Oh— I knew I was gonna run into someone important today! I haven't seen you in weeks!"

She sprinted over, a pink hedgehog dressed in an exuberant red. A headband pushed down her quills. Her eyes were soft, they seemed to ripple under the orange glow of streetlight.

"Hey. Amy." Sonic said, never lifting his eyes from the ground. "Long time. No see."

"Oh my god, don't you just love the new city? I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved the buildings we used to have here, y'know, when it was just animals… but still! Look how much taller everything is! Did I tell you I got a job?"

"No," said Sonic, "I don't think you did."

"I work right over there," she said, pointing at an obnoxiously twinkly neon-lit casino, "At Twinkle Park. They're got slot machines, some weird pinball stuff, cards— well, it's kinda sad, some of the stuff that happens with the games. Some of these humans, they really can't stop themselves from spending their money. Even if they really can't afford it."

"It's the grind, y'know? Wake up early, clock in, count some chips, put on the uniform, but I'm making actual federation money! Isn't that exciting? Anyway— people say playing cards are different than tarot cards, all my coworkers said it was stupid. But… I just had a feeling— y'know? Do you ever get that?"

"Do I ever get a feeling?" Sonic said.

"Yeah! Exactly! So I told the dealer to show me three cards, gave myself a reading. The cards told me that tonight, after the park closed, something important was gonna happen. And look!" Amy said, saddling closer to Sonic. Her eyelids had begun to sink, she ran her hand along Sonic's shoulder. "You showed up. That's pretty important, if you ask me."

Amy erupted into a stream of giggles. Sonic did not.

"Amy," he said, "What do you think happens when we die?

"Um," Amy said, dropping the laughter, "What?"

"Where do we go when we're done living?" he asked. He became acutely aware that there wasn't a single visible star in the sky overhead. "And all the memories… all that pain… all the things we struggle for all our lives… Amy, what happens when it's all gone?"

"S-Sonic?" she stammered. "Is everything alright?"

"If Tails asks about me, tell him that everything's fine," said Sonic, "I'm gonna have to lie to him later. You ever had to do that? Lie to someone you care about to protect them from the truth?"

She had no answer.

"What kind of world allows all this— the sorrow and the torment?

"Sonic," said Amy, "You can talk to me, you know that, right? You can tell me anything."

He almost believed her. He almost told her everything. He almost reached for her hand— but before there was another word— police officers from every corner of the block came rushing down the alley.

"Look alive boys," called a deputy, "Get moving!"

Amy got herself tangled in the parting crowd of the fleeing residents.

"Ow— hey!" she cried as they trampled each other. No one meant to hurt anyone, but no one could really tell where they were going. The only thing that seemed to matter was getting out of the way of the cops.

Grief retreated faster than it had arrived for Sonic. Finally, he thought, Some action. Anything to help me forget— Naming it, though— that thing he would have killed to forget— speaking it aloud was impossible. Sonic charged up, rocketing up the side of a bank. Rings fizzled out of reality as they brushed his ankles.

From the rooftops— he saw it all. Patrol cars came in the dozens, careening down the streets which had been so crowded only moments ago. In the distance, he saw them piling out of vans, rifles— pistols— batons— all gathered around… what was that?

Sonic jumped from roof to roof until he got a closer look. When he finally saw it— that shimmering, rippling mass of water— plasm— whatever it was— the police had already open fire. Countless bullets shredded the air, cracka cracka crack, it sounded like a firework show. For almost a whole thirty seconds, the cops held their fire on the cursed thing, but it was no use. In its skin, the bullets floated, before they dropped— one by one— like a shower of sleet.

Something was happening in Station Square. I'll make myself useful tonight, Sonic thought, at least once.