The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery. The author gives permission to distribute this work freely as long as it remains intact and unaltered, and the transfer of monetary units is not involved. Questions, comments, suggestions, complaints? Send them to me at . I enjoy hearing from people who can spell. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Quote for the day: "I shall give a propagandist reason for starting the war, no matter whether it is plausible or not. The victor shall not be asked afterwards whether he told the truth or not. When starting and waging a war, it is not right that matters, but victory." -Adolf Hitler ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Storyteller by Roland Lowery CHASSIS LOOKED at the small, flickering chronomenter that was set in the upper right range of her vision. She thumped the side of her head to make it quit flickering. Satisfied that it wasn't going to, she tried to decipher what it said anyway. 11 55h. She gasped, gaining the attention of the two other 'bots walking along the filthy sidewalk. She looked around and shrugged at them, then started running in the direction of a nearby building. The building, like all of the others in the enormous city of Robotropolis, was dilapidated. It was almost three stories high, and each story sagged towards the one below it. All of the glass windows had been broken out, and filth was strewn across the sidewalk in front of it. There was only one thing that made the building that Chassis was running towards special. Once a week at precisely noon, a lot of the neighborhood 'bots, young and old, gathered there to meet with the Storyteller, the singularly spectacular 'bot ever to exist, and supposedly the only 'bot to have survived after the great Robotnik Wars. At the thought of Robotnik, Chassis shuddered and cast a long glance at the giant tower that loomed on the horizon. It was there that the evil and immortal Doctor Ivo Robotnik sat on his throne and ruled the entire world with his steel fists. She shook her head to cast away these thoughts, then stepped into the home of the Storyteller. The entire bottom floor of the building had no walls. They had been knocked out years ago, and replaced by a handful of makeshift pillars that held the second floor up. Other than these pillars and almost a hundred other 'bots milling about, there was nothing in the open space except a single item of furniture: a chair. No one touched the chair. None of the assembled 'bots, no matter how much their joints squeeked and no matter how low their power, dared to sit in this chair, nor did they sit on the floor. To sit before the Storyteller entered would have been considered almost blashphemous in the amount of disrespect it would show. And to sit in the Storyteller's chair . . . unthinkable! So, they stood or walked about, talking in hushed tones to each other. They did not use their radio communicators, in fear of disturbing the Storyteller's thoughts by transmitting so close by. Chassis walked among them quietly. She scanned back and forth, looking for the one 'bot that she could count on being there. He, like her, never missed a story. For the past sixteen years, ever since her assembly, Chassis had gone to hear the stories with- "Gyro!" she called quitely to one of the 'bots leaning up against the wall. The spindily 'bot looked up, readjusted his optical receptors, then stood all the way upright when he saw Chassis walk up. He quickly put an arm around her framework body and lifted her up bodily. "Chassis!" he said joyfully as he spun her around. "You were almost too late! What kept you?" She felt the oil running through her start to warm up, and felt that her faceplate would start to glow red. "You set me down, right this minute!" she scolded. "We might get thrown out!" "I'm sorry," said Gyro as he set her down. "I'm just happy to see you!" Chassis smoothed out the simple rags she wore. "Just see that it doesn't happen again!" she said imperiously, then covered her faceplate with a hand and giggled. Gyro chuckled, then asked, "Does your chronometer work? Mine's on the fritz again." "Sort of," she answered. She tapped her head again, but the display continued to flicker. "Oh, well," she finally said. "The Storyteller should be out in just a minute, anyway. Let's see if we can get to the front!" She took his thin hand in hers, and they gently pushed their way to the front. The spot right around the Storyteller's chair was, of course, reserved for the very small child 'bots so they could hear easier, but Chassis and Gyro were able to get within ten feet, an enviable position to some. There they stood, until a slight creaking was heard from the ceiling. Immediately, everyone in the room was quiet. Even the children 'bots had ceased their play. A great feeling of reverence had filled the room, reverence for the Storyteller. The creaking from the second floor had stopped at a trap door just above the chair. The door slowly opened into the first floor, letting a rickety ladder slide down. Taking the ladder step by step, each movement looking to be filled with the most horrible pain on the entire planet, the Storyteller climbed down. It wasn't much to look at. It's face was always hidden, as was its body, by a long brown cloak. No one had ever seen what the Storyteller looked like underneath that cloak, and none knew its real name or gender. All anyone had ever seen of it was the hands, and the occaisional glimpse of a foot. As one 'bot had said, "The Storyteller is the Storyteller." Soon, it had traversed down the ladder, which sprang back up to the second floor. The trapdoor slid closed. The only way to open it was a small pull string that hung down into the room. The Storyteller made the short, but painful looking, journey to its chair, and slowly sat down. On its signal, everyone else in the room sat on the the floor. It looked around at the crowd from under its dark hood before speaking. "So," it said in a voice as ancient as the oil oceans themselves. "So, you have all come. I recognize a few of your faces. Others I do not. Newcomers are, as always, welcome. For those of you who are new, do not be afraid to ask questions throught the story. It is both expected and encouraged." It settled back into the chair, whiched squeeked under the weight. It placed its hands, the only part of it visible, in front of it with all of the fingertips touching in the form of a steeple. "Well?" it asked. "What is the first story to be?" Hands immediately shot up all around the room. Chassis' and Gyro's were among them. Under the hood, the Storyteller nodded its head. "You, I think," it said, pointing its finger into the crowd. "Yes, you will do. What story should I tell for this week?" After checking the angle of the Storytellers finger, there was no mistake. Chassis hesitated for a second, shocked that it had picked HER. For sixteen years she had been coming here, and he had NEVER picked her before. She finally shook her head to clear it, then stuttered, "I-I-I-" Gyro nudged her in the side. "Make it a good one," he whispered, then winked one of his optical sensors at her. She nodded, then rapidly scanned through a list of the stories she had heard. After a few seconds of deliberation, she loudly declared, "I would like to hear the story of the Last Mobian!" A sigh went through the majority of the regular story-goers. The story of the Last Mobian was a very popular one, one of the Storyteller's best. Many had even speculated that the Storyteller itself had been there at the time it happened, because it related the tale with such detail. The Storyteller sighed as well, lowered its hand, and began its story. "Long ago," the Storyteller said, "long before we had bio-mechanical bodies that aged, long before Robotropolis covered the planet, long before Robotnik became the ruler he is today, there were a race of truly orgainic beings called Mobians. "These Mobians crawled across the face of the planet like a festering disease. They had no care for our kind whatsoever, no care at all. Robotnik, our creator, tried to save us from the prejudices that the Mobians had toward us. This is what began the Robotnik Wars, which lasted for nearly fifty years. "It was a constant battle, both sides striving for control of the world. They-" A voice from the crowd interrupted the story. "What did the Mobians look like?" the voice asked. The Storyteller held out a hand four feet above the floor. "Most Mobians were approximately this tall. They were covered with course wires that they called 'fur'. The 'fur' was embedded in the soft, pink, spongy material called 'flesh'. For the most part, they looked like robotoid shaped animal 'bots of various kinds. They were soft to the touch and easy to kill. "At least, MOST of them were easy to kill. There was one group, called the Knothole Freedom Fighters - nothing but rebellious scum - who survived the Robotnik Wars over their stretch of fifty years. They were, in fact, the last to go. One of their number was the Last Mobian." "Who were they?" another voice asked. "There was Antoine, the cowardly," the Storyteller replied. "He was a fox of sorts, always waving his sword about and making terrible noises. "There was Rotor, a walrus who built machines. He might have been a good fighter for the creator's cause, but instead he built his machines for the purpose of fighting Robotnik. "There was Bunnie, a half rabbit, half robot. She, like the walrus, used Robotnik's own to try and destroy him. "There was Sally, the Princess of the miserable little organic flesh balls. She was one of the worst of them, but none of them could have held a candle to- "SONIC THE HEDGEHOG!" A chorus of murmurs ran through the crowd as the Storyteller stood up creakily and banged a fist on the arm of the chair. It died down as the Storyteller continued the story from its standing position. "This foul ball of GREASE," the word sounded like an epiteth coming from the Storyteller, "was the Last Mobian. He had evaded death and capture countless times. He was, as I said, a hedgehog . . . but not just ANY hedgehog. No, he was the 'fastest thing alive'!" Chassis felt that, if the Storyteller had lips, they would be curled upward in a sneer. She took advantage of the situation to snuggled closer to Gyro, who put his arm around her to comfort her. "He was a loathsome blue streak that was Robotnik's worst enemy," the Storyteller continued. "He continually destroyed the creator's hopes and dreams, time after time, for half a century! The hatred between both of them ran deep and defied all description. It was the mutal hate that could move mountains, destroy cities, dry oceans, and blot out the sun, stars, and moons themselves. The creator gave this hatred to all of his creations. Year after year after torturous year, Robotnik and his robots fought the hedgehog. They did everything they could to him. After the discovery and destruction of the secret Knothole Village in the Great Forest, his most valued friends - Rotor, Bunnie, all of the others I mentioned before - were either captured and roboticized, or killed outright." Up until this time, everyone in the room had almost been afraid to ask a question. Now that the Storyteller had paused as it started to pace painfully back and forth, someone mustered all the courage they had in their metal body, and asked, "What it 'roboticized'?" The Storyteller's hood turned in the direction of the 'bot who asked the question. "Roboticization," it said, "was a process developed by the great Robotnik. A few have said that it was made earlier, but they are nothing but blasphemous fools. Robotnik alone created what was then the most wonderful device known in the world. A roboticizer could take organic flesh and transform it into metal parts." A collective gasp ran through the room, even among those who had heard the story before and knew about the device. "For some reason," the Storyteller said, "the Mobians considered this to be awful, horrible even! They could not see the creators divine vision, obviously. This is why they had to be destroyed. But Sonic refused to be destroyed. "The blue hedgehog had been roboticized himself, but he had somehow reversed the effects, and he was able to do it repeatedly after that. So, the only alternative was to kill him. But first, he was worn down psychologically. As I said before, his village was destroyed and his friends were captured and killed or roboticized. Robotnik also started to play mind games with him. Before long, Sonic was nothing more than a wandering lunatic, attacking anyone and anything that came near him. He repeatedly blazed through the wonderful creations of Robotnik's. So, a squadron of SWATbots, ComBots, QUANTUMbots, and mecha-units were sent out. Leading them was one of Robotnik's greatest creations . . . Mecha-Sonic. "He was the penultimate in technology at the time. He was, for all intents and purposes, Sonic's twin . . . Soinc's DEADLY twin. He and his armies of robots swept the continents, destroying everything in their path in order to find Sonic. They searched for days and nights upon end." "Did they find him?" one of the small shild 'bots asked. The Storyteller stopped pacing, then sat back down into its creaking chair. "Yes," it said. "They found him. They found him wandering in the North Plains, hunting down animals and eating them raw. When they confronted him, he used that wretched ability of his, the most wretched and destructive ability that any organic on the planet had . . . the ability of super speed, and he used it to destroy half of the battilion." The arms of the chair squealed from the Storyteller's hands clamping down on them. "He destroyed them . . . KILLED them, then ran off. Mecha-Sonic quickly regain control of what was left of his troops, and they chased the Mobian, the Last Mobian on the face of the planet, all the way back to what was left of the Great Forest. They found him there, sitting at the foot of the statue commemorating the final destruction of Knothole Village." "What was he doing there?" asked Chassis. She always loved this part, and she knew that Gyro did too. "Crying," said the Storyteller, its voice nearly cracking. "He was sitting there, crying, because he knew he could not get away from the righteousness of Robotnik, our creator! He looked up with tear stained eyes and said, 'If I'm going to die, I'm taking you with me, rust bucket!' It had been the first rational thing he had said in nearly twenty years, since the death of his beloved Sally. Those being his last words, he jumped up with a snarl and and attacked Mecha-Sonic. "Mecha-Sonic immediately ordered his troops not to fire. He planned to take Sonic down on his own. Their hatred for each other ran as deep as Sonic and Robotnik's hate did, but naturally. Mecha-Sonic's hate was not something implanted into him. He understood the creator's vision, and he believed in it feverently! He hated the hedgehog with every wire in its body, with the very titanium-steel alloy he was made of! "The fight dragged on and on. Sonic was bleeding red, red blood from various parts of his body. One of his arms was broken, as were several of his ribs." No one dared ask a question now. They were all spellbound by the Storyteller's narrative. "Mecha-Sonic was in no better condition. He had several oil leaks. his chest was dented in, and several wires had been ripped from his left leg. But still they fought. Time after time, both hit one another, neither deigning to give up. "Mecha-Sonic had long expected the Mobian to tire, but the fleshbag just kept coming and coming, relentless. Just when it seemed that all was lost for the mecha unit, just when it appeared that Sonic was going to get the last blow, just when it looked like Mecha-Sonic had seen his last days on this planet, . . . " Everyone in the building leaned forward. No sounds could be heard. Even the 'bots and vehicles on the street outside had fallen silent, it seemed. Everyone was staring intenetly at the Storyteller, waiting . . . waiting . . . "Just then," it said, "Sonic the Hedgehog, the Last Mobian on the entire planet, grabbed his chest and sank to his knees and leaned over the ground. As Mecha-Sonic watched, the hedgehog's body convulsed with the pain, and Mecha-Sonic raised his fists and eyes to the sky and yelled a glorious victory cry for his creator - OUR creator - Robotnik! The Storyteller sighed. "The cry was interrupted by the sound of a laser shot. Mecha-Sonic looked down and saw that Sonic was dead. The laser had pierced the hedgehog's filibrating heart. The blue mecha-'bot turned to his troops to find that a SWATbot - SWATbot 21876B, Designate Gamma-Gamma 21B - had fired the shot. He walked up to the SWATbot and, without hesitation, broke the 'bot's neck ring. "The 'bots left both of the bodies at the spot to rust and rot, except for Mecha-Sonic, who went back later and took something. No one knows what it was, exactly, that he took, but they do know that from that day . . . " . . . from that day, there were no more Mobians on this planet." A contented sigh ran through the crowd as the Storyteller stood up out of its chair and reached up for the pull string on the trap door. As the ladder slid down, there was one more question to be asked of the Storyteller. This question was always asked, every week, after the story was finished. It was always an honor for the person who was able to ask the question before anyone else. "Who are you, really, Storyteller?" Gyro asked. Chassis' eyes lit up, and she pulled herself closer to him. Lucky male 'bot! she thought. MY lucky male 'bot, she amended with a silent giggle. The traditional answer to the question was, "I am the Storyteller. I always have been, and always will be, the Storyteller." This time, however, the old 'bot simply stared at Gyro, which started to make many of the 'bots in the room nervous. When was it going to answer? Why was it just standing there? Finally, slowly, the Storyteller reached up and grabbed the hood of its cloak, and slowly drew it back. With the other hand, it unclasped the hook at its neck. The cloak, freed of its bonds, fell to the floor. Everyone gasped. The Storyteller's head was partially melted away, but the crowd could still see the spiny projections in the back, covered with a few remenants of blue paint and what looked to be an inch of rust. One red, glowing eye looked out at them all. Its chest was slightly caved in. Its left leg had wires of all colors, but mostly faded, hanging out of a huge tear in the metal. Its body was pockmarked, dented, and ancient looking. It turned the good side of its head to the crowd, where they could see, proudly engraved in the side, the 'bots registery number - MS-032. "For the past two hundred years," the Storyteller said, "I have been the Storyteller. And I shall continue to be the Storyteller for the next two hundred." With these last words, it shuffled up the ladder to the second floor of the building, then shut the trap door with a bang. Chassis and Gyro stood in the middle of the room long after everyone else had left. No one else in the room had seen it, they were sure, but just after the Storyteller had taken off its cloak, it had turned towards them in just the right way that they had seen inside the melted part of its head. Laying in that recess was two ball shaped objects. The first had read MS-032, just like on the side of the Storyteller's head. The other, however, had read 21876B : GAMMA-GAMMA-21B. They couldn't have been sure, but the two young 'bots thought that they had heard a faint screaming filter over their radio commlinks at the at the moment the second ball had come into view. "C'mon," Gyro said, finally. "I'll walk you home." Chassis nodded slowly. "Are we going to be up here again next week?" Gyro looked around the room. "Sure. We'll make it a date." THE END Roland Lowery (a.k.a. Jim Doe)