Reflections

 

 Story: Reflections
 Storylink: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2497920/1/
 Category: Sonic the Hedgehog
 Genre: Suspense/Drama
 Author: Catlett and Zacharus
 Authorlink: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/850140/
 Last updated: 10/14/2006
 Words: 92979
 Rating: R
 Status: Complete
 Content: Chapter 1 to 45 of 45 chapters
 Source: FanFiction.net

 Summary: The Knothole Freedom Fighters awaken to find themselves in a strange prison. But where is Sonic? *Chapter 1*: A2 and A3 I

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

Tristan's head was spinning before he even opened his eyes. He was first aware of the vibration all around him -- a steady, soothing beat… similar to the approach of an oncoming supply train. It took him almost a full minute to realize that it was him that was doing the shaking.	
	Shivering. He was cold.
	Confused, Tristan opened his eyes and regretted it immediately, shutting them back violently.
	Back in the dark. He was failing to make sense at what he had just seen. His breath caught in his throat and his heart pumped faster. Carefully, fighting off the headache, he opened his eyes again.
	Bright light. White bright light. Nothing in the forest was this bright and chilly.
	He was genuinely cold and his head hurt like hell, so this wasn't a dream. He felt gravity pushing down on one side of his body, the other side as flat as a board. He was lying down. But… the ground was so… lacking in texture. It didn't feel like the floor of his treetop apartment. There were no lines, no splinters, no gaps between boards. It was almost-
	Metallic.
	Tristan froze, no longer blinking. Everything he saw was fuzzy and white, and he desperately wanted his eyes to come into focus. Robotropolis! It couldn't be anywhere else, but how was that possible? The last thing he remembered was… falling asleep. Safe. Sound. Home. Not in the city, no, not-
	He strained, struggled to hear any unnatural sounds; machinery, industry, repetitive movement. He tried to smell oil and rust. He couldn't, but he also couldn't smell the forest, or the river, or anything that signified he was at home. He could, however, smell something faint, under the eerie antiseptic void all around him, the first familiar sensation since he had woken up.
	His eyes were beginning to adjust to the haze. Most everything around him was white space, but in front of him was an out-of-focus, multicolored blob. With something to concentrate on, the rest of his senses came back to him. The more he blinked, the more the room came into focus.
	Others. He could smell them. And now he could hear them breathing, steadily, sleepily. He couldn't tell how many there were, but he didn't want to rush finding out. He lifted his head off the ground and almost gasped out loud when he saw himself staring back.
	The floor was one giant mirror. Tristan saw himself repeated to infinity, a disheveled and confused gray fox with a horrible headache on top of more and on top of more. The ceiling was a mirror too. The world started spinning.
	Keeping his breath calm and even, he tried moving.
	"C-come on…" It took some more waking up but it was more or less successful. He grunted quietly, his arms wobbling as he pushed himself off of the smooth surface. The movement was enough to stop his shivering. Tristan rolled over and sat up, looking around.
	The others with him in this strange space were beginning to come around as well, twitching and blinking rapidly. Reactivation. He recognized some of the others nearby from Knothole, but didn't know them personally. He counted three bodies in close vicinity. Taking a deep breath, he crawled carefully over to the nearest one, a mound of black, gray, and orange fur that probably belonged to a bobcat.
	Uneasily reaching out and touching the fur, he gently shook the shoulder of the waking body. "Hey… hey…"
	The body woke with a sudden start and jerked around to face Tristan, backpedaling arm-and-leg two feet back. It turned out to be a bobcat after all. His bright yellow eyes moved all over the room, paranoid, frantic, confused. Several others behind Tristan shared the same reaction.
	He shifted his attention from the bobcat to the room, while shakily standing to his feet. He saw millions upon millions of other gray foxes doing the exact same motion.
	The walls… all of them, perfect mirrors. Near impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't. The pain in Tristan's head was murder, but this was a problem that needed addressing. He took a few moments to pick out one corner of the room, the corner he was facing. North. He continued moving his eyes over the walls in the straight line, to his right. He met his own mirror image in the east wall.
	… Nothing unusual. His eyes were a little red, and his gray fur was spiked outwards in every direction known in the universe, but he looked okay. Nothing injured, nothing tampered with, all parts accounted for.
	There was something to the immediate right of his reflection. Tristan started to approach, but stopped when he finally recognized what they were.
	Bunk beds. One pair. Pushed right up against the wall.
	The fox turned 180 degrees. He carefully stepped over and around the three still sitting down, ignoring the cries of surprise and trying to keep calm, coming up to another set of bunk beds. Two pairs this time. Four beds clumped together.
	Keeping away at arm's length just in case, he bent down and peered through the space between the top and bottom bunks. Further away, he could see himself looking back. There was another bunk against that mirror too. And he found more people still sitting on the floor.
	Tristan walked around the middle bunks to inspect something, toying with an idea. He looked at the floor where the four bunks met. He found it: a small, dark groove in the floor.
	He kneeled down, scrutinizing the thick line. It was only about an inch deep, and didn't appear to serve any obvious purpose. It ran along the floor in between the two bunk beds. He followed the line to the nearest mirrored wall, where it continued all the way up and crossed the length of the white ceiling.
	He felt inside the groove but couldn't detect any break in the mirror.
	He turned away, counting the others in the room with him. "Hmmm." Four on one side of the groove, four on the other, cut in half by a long trench. Tristan looked at the groove on the ceiling again, following it down, to the opposite side, the south wall, where-
	Doors!
	Tristan sprinted passed the confused onlookers, running along the groove, around the bunks, keeping the doors in sight. He approached as swiftly has he could, panting. He slowed down and stopped at the entry of one of these chambers. His excitement faded.
	No door. Only a door frame.
	Peering inside, he didn't know what to expect but considered it to be a trap. The tiny room was barely big enough for more than three people inside at once. These walls weren't mirrored. To his immediate left was a toilet. To his right was a shower head jutting out from above him. Below that, about waist-high, were two round knobs, two letters on each: H and C. Against the far wall, up high, near the ceiling, was a barred window.
	"Oh… no…"
	Tristan turned from the room to find the others looking at him, some on their feet, some still prone on the ground, all waiting for an answer from him.
	"Bathrooms."
	This was no dream. He would have woken up by now. The bars on the window suggested the worst…
	Capture.
	Tristan hurried back over to the bobcat he tried to wake up, jogging passed the others who were finally on their feet. Circling around to his front, he extended his paw, introducing himself.
	"Tristan. I don't believe we've met."
	The bobcat accepted the hand and pulled himself up, still wary. "We haven't. Buster." They shook.
	In truth he was thinking of other things, his mind a whirlpool he couldn't keep under control, so many thoughts colliding with each other. He had been trying to smother his fear when he saw that Buster wasn't even looking at him anymore, but at something behind him, above him. Tristan turned and followed his gaze up to what he had missed: a sign, high on the east mirror wall.
	A3.
	A loud CLICK shocked everyone out of their daze. The east and west walls suddenly disappeared, offering a transparent glimpse into other rooms. There were more. Startled and frightened and scared just like Tristan and his group.
	These weren't reflections.
	They noticed the disappearance of the mirrored walls too…
	And they ran, slamming against the glass partition. They clawed and scratched and pounded and cried out, trying to break through the barriers between them. No matter how hard they tried, the glass didn't budge or dent or crack. Tristan, not knowing what else to do, found himself with the rest of them, pounding and scratching, the glass walls that separated them holding fast. And still they tried.
No one wanted to try out the showers. In fact, everyone stayed out of the bathrooms as long as they could, fending off their curiosity and instead focusing on the bunk beds.	
	The frames were made of a soft metal alloy, something that could be easily dented by wrought iron or steel. The surface was smooth enough to glide on, and the tops of the poles were rounded off. Tristan got down on his stomach and tried to feel the point where the metal went into the glass, pressing as hard as he could with his fingers, but he couldn't. The transition was perfect, unreal. Impossible.
	He took a chance and jumped up to the top bunk. He bounced up and down, hearing springs squeak. He pulled up the white sheet and looked under it. He tucked it back in. He picked up the white pillow and fluffed it, swung it against the glass. He set his pillow down and relaxed, laying on his back and seeing himself in the ceiling.
	"I guess this is my bed…"
	He watched the others in his cell assign themselves their own bunks, testing each one out for traps and watching the video cameras look back at them. Even Tristan couldn't help but steal an occasional look at them, fearing whoever was on the other side.
	He was anything but tired. He was angry, and confused, and it took all of his concentration not to go nuts. The window in the bathroom was too high, the bars probably wouldn't budge, the glass wouldn't dent… No way out.
	And they were being watched all the time by those goddamn video cameras.
	Perhaps the most frustrating thing about all of this was that no one else had spoken aloud yet, no one had addressed their situation. Tristan stared at his mirror image, watching his teeth grind back and forth. He wanted to shatter the silence like shattering every mirror in this prison.
	"We're captured," he thought, rolling over on his side, watching the rest of his cell. "Are all of us? Maybe. I remember Knothole last. Falling asleep in my bedroom. In the trees. A slow end to a slow day. Nothing special. Long period of black, and when I wake up, I'm here. Did they all experience the same thing? Well, we'll find out when they start talking. And what about the rest? In other cells. More. Say Robotnik did this. Where are our leaders? Would he have something special planned for Sally? Sonic? Definitely for Sonic. But Robotnik was killed after Doomsday, wasn't he? He's back somehow? Maybe he never died. Snively isn't smart enough for all this. There's no vendetta. Okay, maybe he'd do it. This however, stinks of Robotnik."
	Most importantly, what was planned for all of them? Where could all of this lead?
	It couldn't end good, that was for sure.
	The bathrooms looked like coffins. That was the problem. It was a constant reminder that death could be that close to all of them. And they had to look at themselves constantly, see how pathetic and small they truly were. The breeze from the bathroom brought the smell of sulfur. Robotropolis.
	"We're really here…"
	Tristan rolled over and buried his face into his pillow, pulling his blanket around him. He bit his bottom lip and forced the tears out of his eyes. Eventually, he fell asleep.
 *Chapter 2*: Taylor I

 	TAYLOR

His name is Colin, and he's much nicer than the other boys. We're twelve years old. It's springtime.	
	I don't usually get along well with other boys my age, so my friends are mostly girls. Maybe they think I'm cute. The girls, I mean. The boys just make fun of me. They say I talk funny. I'm smarter than most of them, but they're stronger and faster than I am, which is all that really matters. But who cares, right?
	Colin is new to Knothole. His family moved here a few weeks ago from the southern group. The other day in class, when Rosie dismissed us for lunch, Colin shared a sandwich with me after noticing that I forgot mine at home. He also saw what I was reading: a collection of neat science fiction stories that Bookshire let me borrow awhile ago. Colin told me that he likes to read, too. After class, we walked together back to my hut, talking about all kinds of things. We have a lot in common. My parents were glad to see that I found a new friend.
	Today Colin and I decided to go to the lake. It's close enough to Knothole that the adults won't be worried about us, but far enough away that we feel at least a little bit independent. The lake is beautiful today. It's Saturday, and the sky is clear and sunny and warm. Colin is trying to teach me how to skip rocks, but I just can't figure it out. Giggling, we lay down in the grass and eventually try spotting characters in the clouds above us.
	His fur is a dusty tan color and short. There are patches of white on his muzzle and chest and stomach. He tells me he's a dingo. I'm a fox, but I guess that's obvious. He flashes a grin at me. My heart flutters. He has the nicest eyes: not quite blue, but a cool, soothing gray. He tells me some great stories about where he used to live and the people he used to know. He has such a sense of humor. I wish I could be funny like that. Why do all of my stories have to be so sad?
	Before I have a chance to reflect, he suddenly pounces on me. We tumble and wrestle our way down to the lake shore, laughing. I land softly on the damp sand with Colin on top. There's a moment of peaceful silence between us. When he smiles and takes my hand to help me up, my butterflies are out of control.
	I'm not sure how much time has gone by, but we're standing closer now. His lips are warm and soft against mine.
We're fourteen. It's summer. Colin and I have snuggled up together in our secret place: a cozy little forgotten tree house on the edge of the Great Forest. Nobody knows about us yet, which is really sort of exciting. It's like an undercover romance.	
	The sun has slowly begun to set, casting an organic crosshatch of leaf shadows across the planks of the tree house. Colin is laying on his back, and I'm resting on top of him with my head on his chest. He's a little bit taller than I am now. His arms and torso are lean and well-toned. His fur is gorgeous. He's sharper and more attractive than I think even he realizes. I, on the other hand, spend too much time fussing over my own appearance. I can never get my hair quite right after I wake up. Besides that, I'm too thin and at least a couple inches shorter than anybody else my age. I spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning -- trying on clothes, fluffing my tail, wondering if my teeth are white enough -- while Colin can get up and throw on just anything and still look presentable. His scruffy charm is adorable.
	I sigh. He notices. "Something wrong?"
	"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm fine."
	"You sure?"
	"Just a long day."
	"Heh. Yeah…"
	"How was yours?"
	"It was okay. Ran some laps around the forest. Beat my record time."
	"Oh?"
	"Yeah, by three seconds. Woo hoo."
	"Aw, you little athlete." My arm is already around his waist, so I tighten it into a miniature hug. "Proud of you."
	"Eh. Guess it's not bad. Still can't beat Sonic, of course, but who can?"
	My face sours. I don't like Sonic. In fact, I'm probably the only person in Knothole who doesn't. His friendly attitude and heroic disposition have always seemed artificial to me. He's a couple years older than Colin and I, so we aren't usually in the same circles, but the few times I've spoken to him have been brief and awkward. He doesn't make eye contact when he talks to people. Or maybe it's just me.
	In any case, I don't feel like commenting. Instead, I slip my hand underneath Colin's open shirt and brush my fingers lightly against his ribs. He wiggles a bit and laughs. "No no no, stoppit."
	"Hehee."
	"Serious!"
	"Only if you beg." I start tickling with both hands.
	"AHH! Taylor!"
	"You're helpless, aren't you?"
	"Stopstopstop pleeeeeeze!"
	"Well… okay."
	I curl up on top of him again, nuzzling just underneath his neck. I can feel his pulse against my cheek. He's out of breath, but still laughing. Softly.
	I giggle. "Feels funny."
	"What?"
	"Your laugh. It tickles."
	"Gotcha back, then."
	"Silly."
I'm fifteen and a half. Colin is sixteen. It's autumn. There is a waterfall that cascades into a glistening, intimate pool in the deep of the Great Forest. When it's nighttime here, the moon casts a breathtaking spectacle: a shimmering, neon dance of liquid verticality that glows even brighter when seen from the other side of the falling water. Colin and I are hiding inside a rocky alcove behind the waterfall. It is nearly the end of September, but the hot nights of August have somehow continued to linger. Most of Knothole is probably asleep by now.	
	The sound of the waterfall consumes us in a universe of privacy. Our fur is wet. We're holding each other in a warm embrace. Between soft panting, my kiss slides gradually from his mouth to his chest, and we allow ourselves to sink to our knees. His arms are wrapped tightly around my abdomen. I grasp his shoulders and comb my fingers into his fur, following the backbone all the way down to his tail. His wide paws move up to my biceps and hold me securely. We are already naked. My face brushes the fur just above his navel before dipping lower. He makes a small noise.
	I can feel that he's almost ready. Before long, he carries me up, and I turn to brace myself against a wall of the alcove. He grabs my waist, positions himself behind me, moves to my thighs. I guide his hands between my legs and squeeze gently. He whispers something into my ear, but I can't hear him because of the waterfall. We are soaring. Higher -- higher. Faster. Breathless.
	After the storm it is calm again. We are bathing in the shallow end of the pool. Some time later, we help each other dry off and sit together on a smooth extension of stone that overlooks the scenery. We stay awake just long enough to see the sunrise.
We're seventeen. It's winter. We've awakened in a surreal prison of windows and mirrors. I can see Colin at a distance, calling to me. His voice is muted. It takes me a moment to realize that we are separated by a thick pane of glass. My head feels cloudy, like I've been drugged. My thoughts are a spiral of emotion and panic and confusion. Nothing makes sense anymore. I need Colin. I need his comfort and his strength.	
	I see that he's kneeling close to me, hands pressed against the glass, and he asks me with his eyes if I'm okay. Together, we touch our hands to the invisible barrier between us. And I cry.
 *Chapter 3*: Robert I

 	ROBERT

A lot of time had passed. 	Robert thought he was in the forest at first, because of how comfortable the ground felt. But the arid heat reminded him of the Forbidden Zone. The vibration reminded him of Robotropolis.
	He froze in place when he opened his eyes, blinded by how close he was to Robotnik's city, so close he could smell the burning oxygen and rubber, the machine-sweat, the industry. As still as ice, Robert fought to remember what brought him there, what went wrong, why he felt so out of place. Why underneath the oil, wafting on the hot breeze, he could smell blood.
	His nose itched and he sneezed. He expected an alerted SWATbot any minute, but nothing came for him. He waited…
	Still nothing.
	Then, he chanced movement. If it was still daytime, he couldn't tell. The sky was charcoal black, swirling like a whirlpool. Clouds of dust moved sluggishly in an outward spiral, clear over the treetops. The heat came from friction underground, the light from fiery furnaces. Robert's ears crawled with an external buzz.
	Robotropolis was alive, and expanding like the clouds above him.
	He stood to his feet, pushing against the incredible weight of himself. His bare feet slid across the dirt, pebbles sticking to the red fur on his legs and stomach. He was about to brush himself off when he saw that he was holding something in his left hand.
	… A gun.
	This… what was this doing here? He turned the hunk of steel flesh over in his hand; the vibration under his feet, the imminence of capture right in front of him but he couldn't, couldn't let go of the gun. The barrel was still warm from the shot fired how long ago? Ten minutes? The sky, the sky, the sun is blocked but he's warm, so is the gun, what did he use it for and why couldn't he remember? Knothole. Knothole. Was he going to Knothole or coming from it? Going to the robot city, going to the grave of Mobotropolis? Ouch ouch ouch OW OW! Too much, too much…
	There was nothing to it. He just started walking into the city, heading northeast. He remembered the stories told by Sally, the leaders, Rotor, Sonic, how scary this place was, what Eggman had done, but really… he didn't feel all that scared. He had to dodge and backtrack and watch his back constantly, but strangely, he was handling it just fine. Easy. Easy breezy.
	A half hour or an hour later, he ducked behind a scrap pile in the south sector, listening to metal feet clank and disappear into the distance. Robert felt exhausted but oddly attuned to his surroundings, adrenaline racing through him, pounding in his ears to the exact tune of his heart. He clutched the gun tighter, and continued on, plunging deeper and deeper into the heart of the enemy.
	The air was filled with sounds of metal being pounded in the distance, the hiss of the underground furnaces, the rhythm of footsteps, all coming from behind a white building in the central district, so completely out of place, sticking out like the sore gun in his hand, and…
	And somehow… more and more, it looked like it was made to stand out, that perfect pearl white against all that jutting rust and decomposition. However it was possible, he knew that it was important.
	But… not what he came for. He continued on, circling around to the northern side of the building. No windows there, only on the south side. He moved on and on, and to his surprise, he didn't have far to go. The hard part appeared to be over, and now all he had to do was put all of the pieces together, find out why his memory was on the fritz. Where the gun came from. Why he wanted to go here, of all places, where he was going-
	Here.
	Oh no.
	Right here.
	Chuck, Uncle Chuck's hut, tucked away into the back alleys of Robotropolis. A sizeable walk east of the white building.
	The door was still cracked open, darkness oozing inside. Robert shivered violently and felt a scream starting in his stomach, crawling upwards into his heart, his lungs his throat his mouth-
	He pushed into sanctuary and slammed the door, sniffing in the cold air and swallowing it. He no longer felt warm.
	He sat down at the examination table, leaning on the aging maps and plans. Chuck's surveillance equipment was scattered across the table and the room, long deactivated, shorted out. Fluorescent lights flickering on and off.
	A pool of blood was inching closer to where Robert was sitting. He sat in the chair long enough for it to touch his toes, but he decided against moving. He welcomed the heat. He sighed and looked over to where the cold shell of Uncle Chuck was sitting, sharing the same fate as his equipment. Chuck's eyes blankly surveyed the room. The blood sank into Robert's toes and he shut his eyes, finally remembering…
	Chuck's chest cavity was wide open, ready for tinkering. Tools sitting at his feet, neatly organized. Convenient. Too prepared, too predetermined. A second pair of dead eyes glowed from behind the red curtain.
	The gun clattered to the floor.
 *Chapter 4*: A2 and A3 II

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

"… HEY! HEY! HOLY SHIT!"	
	Tristan's eyes snapped open, inviting the familiar blinding white light. He almost fell off the top bunk but gripped the edges just in time. He found himself peeing over the edge, at the floor, seeing himself repeated to infinity. The headache came back with a vengeance.
	His bunk-mate on the bottom, a raccoon he couldn't recall the name of, was looking across the room, fixated on something specific. Tristan lifted his head and froze.
	In the center of the floor, between the two islands of bunk-beds, was what appeared to be a bowl of fruit.
	A cougar was crawling close to it, sniffing the air around it. By this time, the rest of Tristan's cell mates were wide awake.
	"THERE'S SOMETHING OVER HERE!" came a voice from the other side of the cell. In a flash, Tristan was off of his bunk and quickly traveling to A3. He stopped at the cluster of four beds.
	"Don't touch it! Everyone just get out of bed!" He was surprised how quickly they obeyed this, how fast they welcomed some forced direction. He saw an identical bowl in their half of the cell too.
	Buster and the others in the A3 half carefully avoided the proximity of their mysterious bowl and met Tristan them at the dividing line. He led them to the group gathering around the first bowl of fruit. Tristan shoved his way to the front of the crowd, kneeling down.
	"Okay…"
	There didn't appear to be anything particularly sinister about it. It was a large bowl of fruit. The container was a thick sort of transparent plastic. It was rough to the touch.
	Tristan didn't know what came next. "Okay… who found it?"
	The cougar spoke up. "I did."
	"Huhm. And what's your name?"
	"Durango. Didn't catch yours, grim."
	Tristan introduced himself, keeping an eye on the bowl. His stomach rumbled and he fought to silence it. "Did anybody see where this came from?"
	Silence from the ranks. The three girls stayed huddled together and looked at each other, waiting for an answer. But no one said anything.
	"Fine… um, who was the last one to go to sleep?"
	Durango suddenly stood to his feet. "Come on! Nobody saw anything!"
	Buster lowered his eyes, shielding himself from Durango's gaze and brushing his fur back. The two raccoons of the group met and whispered. Then:
	"We think… uh, we were."
	Tristan tried to remember their names. He was certain that he saw them around Knothole village. A lot of the citizens tended to stick to their own species, only venturing outside of their cliques when they were assigned to a mission. He had met these two on more than one occasion.
	Crap. What a mess. Tristan had fallen asleep before everyone, at approximately midday. Tristan inhaled deeply. "Nocturnal, right?"
	"Right, sir. When we all woke up, we were pretty sure it was daytime. We tried to look outside but we can't see the sky."
	"Your name is Simon?"
	"Yes, sir."
	Tristan shrugged, as though emerging from a jacket. "Don't worry about the sir, Simon. I'm not your superior here."
	Simon cocked his head sideways. "But, sir-"
	"Hey, doofus, he told you not to call him sir," the other raccoon said. "Point is, everyone else fell asleep, but we didn't get the urge to yet. We don't usually until morning, understand? Besides, who could sleep in a place like this…"
	Simon spoke up eagerly. "Sir, we waited as long as we could, but I guess we did end up conking out. I'm sorry, sir, but we really tried to stay awake."
	Tristan remembered something. "Your bed is under mine, right Simon?"
	"Yes sir."
	"Do you recall falling asleep there last night?"
	Simon thought for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he strained to remember. He couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. Tristan turned to the other raccoon and got the same result.
	Curious. They couldn't remember when they had fallen asleep, and they had both woken up in their beds.
	And now the bowls of fruit, placed in between all of them, right under their noses.
	"It's him," Durango said. "Robotnik. The fucker's toying with us. He snatches us up in the middle of the night, out of our homes, and he puts us in this fucking place so he can play with us, before killing us."
	"Wasn't… I mean, wasn't Robotnik done for? Killed in the explosion?" one of the girls, a sad-eyed pig named Holly, asked.
	Another girl, the rabbit, spoke next. "How did he find Knothole! I thought we were safe there! He can't come back from the dead, can he!" Tristan remembered this girl now; a jittery type, almost never went on recon missions because of how nervous she was. "Jenn?" He laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, but she jerked away.
	"I don't think the food is a trap," Tristan carefully put. He was halfway lying, the hunger swaying his decisions. "The bathrooms, maybe, but not the food. If he wanted us dead, he would have done it by now."
	"Well, no way I'm touching that shit. I'd rather starve to death," the raccoon said. His friend Simon appeared apprehensive.
	"Shirk-"
	"No way, man! You can't force me to do nothin!"
	"All right, all right, fair enough," Tristan eased.
	Durango was still on his feet, determined to win over the majority. "I'm with Shirk. You've all heard those stories about Robotnik, what he does to prisoners. Snively too. They're both sadistic little fuckers, and if you want my opinion, I say we strike it out and wait for rescue. I am not playing by their rules."
	"We're already playing by their rules. How did they get this in here? Do you see any doors? He has us wrapped around all ten of his fingers." He paused, trying to get it all out. "I think… I think he just wants to keep us alive until Robotocization. Or maybe we're bait, who knows. If he really wanted to torture us, he'd starve us to death and wouldn't bother with the fruit."
	"Assuming that's what it is. It could be fake."
	"Or poisoned," Shirk said, on his feet as well.
	Jenn huddled into the other girls, whimpering. "I-c-can't take t-th-his-s…"
	Durango was getting impatient. He sighed, hoping it would force a decision from everyone. Tristan eyed the fruit, studying the reflection in the floor as well.
	Eventually, he stood to his feet as well, turning to face Durango head-on. "Well, we can't just sit here forever. And we can't very well ignore it either."
	"Oh, come on!"
	"Wait, wait a second, just hear me out. We don't all have to try it, okay? I'm famished, seriously, and I would prefer a quick death from poison to a slow one from starvation. I'll try it, alone… and then we'll know for sure what we're dealing with."
	"You can't be serious."
	Tristan stood his ground. "I am."
	"It's a trick! It has to be! Robotnik is sick! Sick! Maybe he's knows one of us will try it out and then we'll have a dead body on our hands!"
	He hadn't thought of that. Tristan looked at the surveillance cameras in the corners of the cell. He looked over to the A1 cell but saw that they were huddled over the same dilemma. None of the others had spoken up, agreed or disagreed. This was totally nuts, it-
	A loud CRUNCH caught everyone's attention. The sound came from the fruit bowl. Completely caught up in the discussion, no one had noticed Buster pick an pear out of the pile and take a huge bite.
	They watched him chew, and he watched them back with a mischievous but frightened look in his eyes. He paused, swallowed, then smiled, with bits of the pear still stuck to his teeth.
	"Not bad," he said.
The fruit tasted great. Brilliant. Tristan tore into it with a ravenous hunger but made sure to swallow every last bite. There was enough fruit in the first bowl for everyone to have two pieces. The bodies separated and huddled themselves away from the video-cameras, ashamed of how helpless they had become.	
	The second bowl, the one in A3, didn't have any fruit in it. The mink girl, Sabrina, had finished her food and was the first to venture back over to her bed, passing the bowl along the way. She saw a bright blue sphere sticking out of it and curiosity got the best of her. Making sure the others weren't watching, she approached and picked it up with both hands. Up close, it didn't look like it was edible anymore. She almost dropped it when she realized what it was.
	A volleyball. The lines were nearly invisible, buried in the pigment. It had looked so smooth from a distance. No longer scared, rolling the ball around in her hands, she felt the uncontrollable urge to bounce it, but she didn't want to alert her cellmates and start another paranoid discussion. Mostly, she didn't want to hear anything from that bastard Durango.
	However, there was no place to keep it, let alone play with it in secret, unless she quietly tossed it to herself during the night, but was the ball really worth all the trouble?
	"Screw it."
	She waited for her friend Holly to finish eating, and she tossed the ball to her. They threw it back and forth discreetly and let Jenn join in shortly thereafter. Durango was actually the last person to notice what they were doing, and by the time he had started bitching at them, the men were playing too and they told him to either relax or fuck off. Defeated, he had sulked back to his bed.
	A full day was hard to calculate. Throwing the ball back and forth could only last for so long, and after that, they usually stopped doing anything at all, sitting on their beds and counting the passing seconds. Tristan, always the optimistic one, figured it would be night again when they all fell asleep.
	"It's a clever torture," he thought. "All this waiting, all of this boredom and anxiety, and our only opportunity to rest is forced upon us without our knowledge. Repeat each and every morning."
	Neighboring cells appeared to be taking it just as well. The four guys in A1 had gotten two tennis rackets and a ball, and they had made up a game that would include all four of them. Tristan recognized one of them, Kevin, and made eye contact with him. He smiled and waved.
	A4 appeared to be empty. How strange. An empty cell. But across that cell, at the very end in A5, there was definitely someone there. Tristan strained and tried to make him out…
	BAM!
	To Tristan's right, Shirk had control of the volleyball and was chucking it up at the video camera.
	"Hey! Knock it off."
	"Aw come on, man, I bet I can knock it down!"
	He wanted to quench this before it drew a crowd. "I don't doubt it. But another day."
	"Nuts to another day! What makes you think this isn't our last?"
	"Keep your voice down!" Tristan quickly swiped the ball out of Shirk's hands. "What good would it do to knock it down? I bet it'd be back up there the next morning."
	Raccoons had eyes like daggers, and no matter what mood they were in, they always looked dangerous. Dark. Sinister. But Shirk lowered them and walked away, muttering to himself.
	Tristan cradled the ball in his left arm, turning and motioning with his right. "Durango." The cougar responded with an upwards nod. "Come here for a second."
	Durango swung down from his bunk and joined Tristan at the glass.
	"Take a look at A5. Do you know who that is?"
	At that moment, the occupant of A5 was sitting with his back to them, head lowered. He was either meditating or crying. "Maybe."
	"Who do you think?"
	Durango snorted. "Brandon."
	"Yeah... I think so, too."
	"Commander Brandon, right?"
	"Or General or something, I don't remember. Have you ever met him?"
	"Nah. He's the type of guy you know by reputation first. You've heard the stories, I take?"
	He nodded. "Some."
	"The guy's fifteen and already he- well, you know." Durango lowered his voice, enjoying the retelling of the tale. "I hear he planned a couple missions for the big guy himself. And all the elite Freedom Fighters, too. His plans have never failed, not yet. I think he was raised on chess or something."
	"Yeah… I was thinking about all that. Why there isn't anyone in A4."
	Durango turned back and searched the room, seeing the desolate cell, the cleanliness. No bunk-beds. "… Weird."
	"He knew. Robotnik, or whoever is doing this to us, knew how important he was. Maybe they even thought he could spring us loose. That's why we're isolated from each other."
	"Bullshit. How could they know?"
	Tristan paused, keeping it in the air, letting it sink in. When Durango didn't say it first, he did. "Defector."
	"… A spy."
	"Someone in Knothole. Hell, anyone in Knothole. It has to be. How else could they have found us?"
	He could see the cougar mulling it over, becoming friends with the notion, loving it and hating it. "We need to get out of here."
	Durango grabbed the ball. "First thing's first."
	It took ten minutes to gather them all together in a circle. It wasn't defiance that kept them apart, just impatience, but Tristan didn't make it easy for them to walk away. When all were together, finally, he explained what he had in mind. The idea was to pass the ball around to whoever they felt like passing it to. Whoever was holding had to state their name, and the last thing they remembered before they woke up here. Tristan said it would help pass the time.
	Truthfully, he wanted to get a feel for the people he was stuck with. Jenn and Simon, he felt he could trust. The same with Durango, even if he was a little hotheaded. Buster and the rest were unknowns, and that was what made him uneasy. After all, one of them could be the spy that sold them out, waiting for them to reveal information about the other groups. Nothing was out of the woods.
	… First thing's first. "I'm Tristan. I may have met some of you before but I have, heh, what you might call a lousy memory. I'm totally out of my element here. Before this… what can I say, I don't know. We didn't do anything big that day, I'm pretty sure. I pulled up what I could of the vegetables in the garden and put them in storage for the winter. Afterwards, I went to bed early. And that's about it…" He didn't think he'd be this nervous. He tossed the ball quickly, before he embarrassed himself further.
	Jenn, the rabbit girl, caught it next. Immediately, her ears went flat against her head and she hunched her shoulders. Not good with people, obviously. All eyes were on her. She didn't know what to do. She managed to force out an "U-uh-mm-m…"
	One of her friends came to the rescue. "Go ahead. They aren't going to laugh."
	The girl showed her teeth. Regardless, she took her turn. "I'm Jenn, and I… I'm afraid I-I don't r-remember much either… I just, I went to sleep… I go to bed early a lot this time of year, like Tristan… I'm sorry I don't have any more…" She passed the ball to Holly.
	"I've had plenty of time to think about it, so I know that, under normal circumstances, I might have something to share. Unfortunately, I do not. Back in Knothole, that last night, I couldn't sleep. I have a mild case of insomnia -- at least, that's what Draftwood tells me. I wanted to work myself sleepy in the garden, and last I remember, that is exactly where I was. I had a basket in my hand and I was finishing the last of Tristan's work. It was definitely evening, dark enough so I had trouble seeing. I was leaning down to pull up a radish, and that's all I can remember." She paused, blinking. "I've mentioned this to Sabrina already, and we discussed it." She tossed the ball to Sabrina. "Tell them."
	She began immediately. "I was up late that night, too, but I was reading. Victory Tastes Yellow by Oscar Templeton. I don't know if any of you have read it, but there's this part where the main character gets in a fistfight with five soldiers from another company. It's starts with them pouring ice down the back of his shirt. This is what I remember reading last, only… I think I got to the end of the fight. I… I can't really explain it, but… I know he wins. The information is there -- I just don't remember reading it."
	"I've read it before. How do you think he wins?" Shirk asked.
	She pushed back her hair, massaging the left side of her head. "Something… a strategy maneuver… the neon pulse?"
	"That's it."
	"See? But I don't know when I read it. I might not ever be able to remember."
	Shirk's excitement faded again. Another interesting development and they still couldn't do anything about it.
	Sabrina tossed the ball to Buster. "Here ya go, bunk mate."
	He caught it, sullen. His heart just wasn't in this game. "I went to sleep early too. I can't help." He tossed it to Durango.
	Durango didn't have much to say either. "He probably thinks that this is stupid," Tristan thought. The guy doesn't like to follow orders.
	Shirk was next, saying little about his last experience and instead, he grilled Sabrina non-stop, trying to get her to remember.
	The game was over. The group was broken up. Simon didn't even get his turn.
	Tristan felt tired again. He considered trying to stay awake but didn't think it would do any good. This had been his attitude ever since he heard that Robotnik had been killed. Why keep working the way they were? Why train the recruits and run missions?The war was as good as over. He had gotten overconfident, and lazy. They all had.
	And they were paying for it now. It felt good and all to blame their capture on a defector, but the truth of the matter was that they should have kept fighting the way they had. They should have made the move into Robotropolis when they had the chance, when they could have won.
	"Well shit. We're here now." He was laying in his bunk again, looking up at himself. His stomach rumbled. "Tomorrow, I'll save my other portion of fruit for later… if we even get any." The security cameras never moved. They were high enough so that they didn't have to. With all four, whoever was watching could see the entire room.
	The guys in A1 were playing with the tennis ball again, but automatically, with no emotion behind it. It was a process. Throw the ball, catch the ball, throw the ball, pass the time. Don't think about death. Don't think about the outside world. Nothing exists outside of the cell. Live inside of your own head. Ignore what you can't control.
	"Sir?"
	Tristan saw Simon standing next to his bed, eyes barely peeking over the edge. "Hmm?"
	"There was something I wanted to discuss with you. I was going to mention it in the group, but-"
	"You never got your turn, I know. I'm sorry. They're a hard bunch to keep focused."
	"Yes, sir. It's fine, it isn't bothering me."
	"What do you remember, Simon?"
	"Well… nothing, sir, nothing from Knothole. I went to bed early too."
	"… Oh."
	"But last night, before Shirk and I fell asleep, we tried to see out of the window in the bathroom. I got up on his shoulders but we still weren't tall enough. I couldn't see anything, sir, but… I could hear something."
	Tristan sat up, making eye contact with the kid. "Yeah?"
	"Yes sir, like… pounding. This constant rhythm… metal hitting metal. It was coming from far away, sir."
	"… I see…" He looked around for Shirk and Durango. He couldn't see them. "Did you tell your buddy this?"
	"Yes, sir."
	"Hmmm… okay, tomorrow, how about you and I try and find out where it's coming from. We might be tall enough together, you think?"
	Simon perked up, doing a terrible job at concealing his excitement. "Yes sir!"
	"Just… keep it on the down low, you know what I mean?"
	"Absolutely, sir!" Simon jumped into his bunk, bouncing. He sat down, thinking about it. He couldn't wait for tomorrow to come. "Sir?"
	"Yeah?"
	"I… I picked this bunk because I knew you were sleeping here. I admire you, sir." Simon relaxed, his head hitting his pillow. "You'll set us free, sir. I know you will."
 *Chapter 5*: Alexis I

 	ALEXIS

Alexis knew that the princess probably wouldn't make it. She was in a coma and her pulse was weak. Without medicine or intravenous nutrition, it would only be a matter of time before Sally Acorn's body gave up the fight altogether. Her breathing was shallow enough to arouse concern; if Alexis were back in Bookshire's clinic, she would have already given her an oxygen mask. It was not a question of if she would die, but when. The likelihood of Sally emerging from her coma without proper medical attention was almost nonexistent.	
	At least she could make her comfortable, though. Alexis tucked her into the bottom right-hand bunk of their cell and gently propped her up with pillows. "Her forehead is warm," she said to Tails, her twelve-year-old cellmate. "We should soak one of those towels in cold water."
	The fox was standing against the wall, hugging himself. He was obviously frightened. Alexis didn't blame him; she was scared too. But as a medical assistant, she knew the importance of staying calm under pressure.
	"Is the water safe?" Tails asked.
	It was an intelligent question -- one which Alexis hadn't immediately considered. It was not outside the realm of possibility that the water might be contaminated with something: poison, perhaps, or even some kind of acid. She still had no idea who had captured them or what their motives were.
	"Good thinking," said Alexis. "I'll test it." She crossed the cell and picked up the fruit bowl and one of the towels, then stopped herself. Include the kid, she thought. He needs to feel like he's helping.
	"Hey, do you think you can give me a hand with this?"
	Tails shrugged. "Sure, I guess. What do you need me to do?"
	"First we'll need one of these oranges." She dumped the contents of the fruit bowl onto the mirrored floor. To her surprise, a small knife clattered between the oranges and pears. She didn't stop to rationalize why it was there -- she simply handed it to Tails with a plump orange. "Here. Peel this and break it into slices, okay? I'll be right back."
	She hurried into the bathroom with the empty fruit bowl and began filling it with water from the sink. "If this water contains anything toxic," she explained from inside, "then the citrus from those oranges will produce a chemical reaction with most Mobian substances. Right now, I'm most concerned with finding traces of hydrotonic chlorate, which is a colorless and odorless compound. Basically, that means we'd have to taste it to know it's even in there. Not too safe."
	Tails allowed himself a small laugh. "Yeah, guess not, huh?"
	"So this is the next best way to tell." She returned with the bowl and gingerly placed it on the floor, taking care not to let it spill over the sides. "Many of the other toxins that would be dangerous to us have a definite color or scent, and we'd know right away that it's not okay to drink."
	"Wow," said Tails, genuinely impressed. "Where'd you learn this stuff?"
	"Oh, from Dr. Bookshire, mostly," Alexis said. "I'm his assistant. I also studied for a couple years with Dr. Quack from the Eastern regiment. Hey, who knows -- when we get out of here, you might be able to teach your friends a few things. Try not to play with too many volatile chemicals, though; it's no fun to burn your eyebrows off."
	"I'll bet," Tails giggled.
	Alexis smiled. "Got those slices ready?"
	"Right here."
	"Okay, here goes…"
	She took a slice in each hand and squeezed the juice into the bowl. They waited for a few seconds. Nothing happened.
	"So what does that mean?" Tails asked.
	"Hmm… I dunno. Doesn't look or smell funny. I guess it's safe." Alexis rolled up her sleeve. "Only one way to find out, though, right?"
	Tails leaned forward intently, his expression serious. Alexis slowly dipped her hand into the water. Seconds passed.
	Her eyes grew wide. "Oh my god!"
	"What?" Tails gasped. "Is it poison…?"
	"Hehehe. Just kidding," she said. She pulled her hand out of the bowl and flicked a few drops at him.
	"Hey!" he yelled, laughing.
	"You're right, that was mean," she giggled. "Here, lemme have one of those towels..."
Later that evening, Tails was sitting next to Princess Sally on the bed. Her temperature had gone down, thankfully, but they decided to keep the towel on her forehead anyway. She lay peacefully with her arms at her sides, expressionless.	
	"When's she gonna wake up?" Tails asked quietly.
	Alexis sighed. "I dunno, kiddo. I'm afraid she's in a coma. She needs a doctor."
	"Aren't you a doctor?"
	"Well, sort of. But there's only so much I can do here. We really need to get back to Dr. Bookshire's clinic."
	"How'd she get into a coma?"
	"I honestly can't tell you," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can't remember anything from last night. Can you?" The kit shook his head. Alexis knelt beside him. "My best guess is that we were drugged in our sleep -- some kind of anesthesia. I don't see any bruises on her body or anything to indicate a struggle, so maybe she's having an allergic reaction to the chemical."
	Or maybe, she thought, our captors did something else to her. But she kept that to herself.
	She caught a glimpse of the security camera in the corner again -- a constant reminder that someone nearby was paying close attention to them. She wondered why their neighboring cells were empty. Perhaps there were additional detention levels above and below them; she couldn't imagine that they had been the only ones captured. The princess might have been a valuable prize, but not valuable enough for their captures to ignore the rest of the village.
	"Don't worry, Aunt Sally," Tails was saying, holding her hand. "Sonic'll break us out of here. I know he will."
	Alexis wasn't quite so certain.
 *Chapter 6*: Colin I

 	COLIN

I've been awake for a few hours now, so I've had some time to explore my surroundings while the drugs wore off. Apparently we're all trapped in some kind of luxury resort/psycho ward/high-tech prison cell thing. How's that for weird? None of us can remember how we got here, either, which is the real kicker. Must've been a hell of a party last night. 	It's undeniably strange to be inside of a room with mirrored walls and ceilings and floors. You can see yourself from every angle. Goddamn, my hair is a mess. I might take a shower soon; I tested it awhile ago out of curiosity, and it works great. I even noticed some bath towels resting on one of the bottom bunks, neatly folded on top of the clean linen. Seriously, no joke. The entire cell is absolutely antiseptic, top to bottom, and there seems to be almost every amenity that we could ask for: private bathroom (complete with shower, toilet, sink, and hot water), four beds, plenty of blankets, some pillows, a few towels, and a big bowl of fruit. No TV or wireless internet, though. But hey, it beats the hell out of Knothole; this place actually has electricity.
	I'm more than a little suspicious, of course, of the motives behind these minor luxuries. This is certainly unlike any Robotropolis prison cell I've ever had the privilege of visiting -- and believe me, I've seen plenty. To tell you the truth, I'm beginning to doubt whether or not we're in Robotropolis at all. Everything here is too perfect, too sterile, too hospitable. Then again, maybe this is just one of Robotnik's sick mind games.
	Through the east glass wall, I can see Taylor asleep in the neighboring cell. I soften a bit. Naturally, he's chosen the top bunk closest to the glass. Poor guy. In the five years that we've been together, it's ironic that we're separated at the time we need each other the most. I guess it could be worse, though. At least we can still keep an eye on each other.
	Speaking of bunk beds, these cells were clearly designed for four prisoners (as evidenced by a pair of bunks against each of the glass walls), but there are only two of us in this one. Weird. My cellmate -- a pretty feline girl I've never met -- has been drifting in and out of consciousness since I've been awake. Consequently, she's already exhausted her obligatory "OH MY GOD, WHERE AM I!" freakout display, so I don't have to worry about that anymore. I put her on one of the bottom bunks awhile ago with a blanket, hoping she'd be more comfortable.
	Oh look, she's awake now.
	"Well good morning," I say. "You're prolly hungry. You want something to eat?"
	"Wha…?" Her eyes are still a bit glazed over. She brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and sits up. "God, I was hoping this place was just a nightmare."
	"Yeah, I know what you mean. Kinda sucks."
	She closes her eyes, shakes her head. "Anybody know what happened?"
	"I dunno. The walls are soundproof, so I haven't been able to talk to anybody. Near as I can tell, we were all drugged last night and someone took us here. But as for who and why, I can only assume…"
	She looks at me directly. "Robotnik."
	"Wouldn't surprise me. But I don't want to jump to conclusions. Whoever it is, I'm sure we'll find out what's going on soon enough."
	"Yeah… yeah, probably."
	There's an awkward silence. I take the opportunity to introduce myself.
	"By the way, I'm Colin…"
	LISA

"I'm Lisa. Nice to meet you." His handshake is firm and confident, but friendly. 	"Yeah. Um." Pause. "You sure you're not hungry? There's plenty to eat."
	I'm still a little confused. "There's food here?"
	"You bet. Real five-star place. We've got everything: food, shower, pillows, you name it. They left us a fruit bowl."
	"Is it safe?"
	"Well lemme put it this way -- if any of it was poisoned, I'd prolly be dead by now. Want an apple or something?"
	I laugh. "Sure, toss one over."
	He hands it to me instead. He's cute.
	"I tested the shower awhile ago," he says, sitting down. "Works fine. There's even hot water. The sink works, the toilet flushes, all that. And we've got bath towels on the bed over there."
	I can tell he's athletic; he's remarkably fit and well-proportioned. Not bulky, though, so he doesn't lift weights. Maybe he's into aerobics or something. He has nice arms. And calves, for that matter. Looking up, I notice that he hasn't trimmed his whiskers in awhile, but his face is confident without seeming conceited -- casual without seeming lazy. His ears are funny, too. They're short and kind of floppy, and they match his personality.
	I smirk at him. "So who's the lucky boyfriend?"
	He laughs, suddenly blushing. "You noticed?"
	"Awhile ago, before I went unconscious. I saw you together at the glass."
	"Observant of you. His name is Taylor."
	"How long?"
	His eyes drift to the cell next to us. His voice is quieter, more vulnerable. "Almost five years, now."
	"That's amazing. I mean… wow, that's something really special."
	"Yeah?"
	"You two must be really happy together."
	He smiles softly. "Well, most of the time. He snores, though."
	I giggle. "Really?"
	"Oh, like you wouldn't believe. I don't have the heart to tell the poor guy."
	"That's so funny!"
	He sighs, leaning back a little, chuckling. "Well anyway. You seeing anybody?"
	I should've known the conversation would end up here. "Was," I say, trying my best to dismiss the subject. "I'm better off without him. Somehow I always end up with the wrong guy."
	"Hey, I'm sure you'll find somebody one of these days."
	"Yeah."
	After a brief pause, the recognition suddenly clicks. "Wait a minute," I say. "You're a runner, aren't you?"
	"Sure. I practice with Dan and Allison and Sonic; we run laps around the Great Forest."
	"I knew I'd seen you somewhere before! I watch you guys sometimes. From the lookout post."
	"Yikes, really?"
	"Yeah! You guys are fast."
	"Pfft, whatever. I'm the slowest one."
	"Well, it's a lot faster than I could run."
	"Oh gee, thanks. Pity me, why don'tcha."
	"I'm serious!"
	"Suuure."
	"No, really. If it weren't for you guys, we wouldn't even have a chance against Robotnik."
	"Hey now, let's not speak too soon."
	TAYLOR

My bed is on the top bunk closest to Colin's cell. I like it up here. It's as though I'm somehow apart from everybody, floating in a different universe. It's a sanctuary of sorts. Besides, I've always been able to think more clearly when I'm disconnected from the rest of the group. It's easier to observe people this way. 	Below me, of course, are my three cellmates: a tallish ferret named Sean, a jackal named Kyle, and a hyena named Rex. They're sitting in a circle playing a card game -- poker, from the looks of it. Evidently one of them found a deck of cards in the fruit basket this morning. Must've been our congenial room service staff. At any rate, whoever is keeping us here has continued to be suspiciously considerate.
	"Your turn," Rex says to Kyle. "You in or out?"
	"Still deciding."
	"Well, make up your mind. We're waiting."
	"Okay, okay, alright. I'm in. Jeez." Kyle drops a couple of grapes into the collective pile just ahead of him. They're using fruit instead of poker chips. Funny.
	"You sure you don't wanna play, Taylor?" Sean says, surprising me a little. Nice of him to offer, I suppose, but I'd rather sit and watch.
	"Yeah, but thanks anyway," I say quietly.
	He shrugs. "Kay. Suit yourself." To the others: "My turn?"
	"Yeah," somebody says. Rex, probably. He seems to be the one in charge.
	"Groovy," Sean says. "Gimme two cards."
	Rex is the only one of my cellmates I already knew before we ended up here. Well, I guess I don't know him, per se, but he used to tease the hell out of me when we were kids, so that's all I need or care to know. When we first woke up here three days ago, I tried giving him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe he miraculously changed over the years. But no. Still a premium-grade asshole. Won't even acknowledge me.
	As for my other cellmates, I'm getting mixed readings. I don't know much about Kyle, in all honesty; he doesn't say a lot and doesn't seem to have much of a personality. He strikes me as a follower, not a leader. Sean, though, is genuinely different. He gets along fine with Kyle and Rex, but he's the only one here who has gone out of his way to be polite to me. It's nice to know that not all straight guys have to be homophobes.
	Losing interest in the game, I divert my attention to what's going on in Colin's cell next door. He and his cellmate are chatting, and it's obvious that they're enjoying each other's company. Colin tends to have that way about him. Ms. Cellmate is certainly an attractive little kitty -- dark, well-groomed fur, long legs, fabulous hair. Her outfit is a bit skanky, though. It's not the worst I've seen, certainly, but her tight shorts and oh-so-slightly exposed midriff are enough to knock off a couple points in the Class department for me. Oh well; at least she seems nice enough.
	I should probably be glad that Colin is taking to this change of scenery better than I am, but I can't help feeling the slightest bit… I don't know. Jealous? Is that the word? I'm not jealous of his cellmate, if that's what it sounds like. Colin is gay. End of story. And besides that, he's always been faithful to me, which is the most important thing.
	He and I have fallen asleep together at the glass for the last three nights. Even though we can't touch each other, I feel connected with him somehow. We're together emotionally but not physically.
	I love him. Before now, though, I've never been courageous enough to admit it.
 *Chapter 7*: D2 and D3 I

 	CELLS D2 AND D3

Charlie. Kern. Marsh. Donald. Frank, a.k.a. Sparky. Oscar. Ginger. And me, Eli. The occupants of cells D2 and D3. Stand up and take a bow. 	The first week was definitely the worst. The shock of it all almost killed us. The scope of this operation. But it made sense in the end. Robotnik hated us this much.
	This was his gift to Freedom Fighters everywhere.
	Week two was better. The others in my cell began talking to one another, like old friends. Everyone, except for me.
	A thing like this is supposed to unit us, bind us together, make us stronger. I just didn't buy it.
	I suppose part of it is my fault. I didn't even try to say the right things to them. They had my name, and that suited me just fine. I didn't need new friends.
	After they had introductions out of the way, they talked about escape. I think it was Charlie who suggested it first: trying to hold our breaths long enough to see where the secret door was, and go from there.
	If I had been invited, I would have told them that thinking about escape was a bad thing. I would have told them that we had already lost the war.
	Place a bunch of military thinkers in one room for an extended period of time and see what happens. See what they can cook up. Weigh that with how much they argue, complain, bicker, and disagree. Weigh the progress against the dispensable bullshit. Tally the score at the end.
	Not only were we out-manned and outgunned, we were outthought, by a much better player. That should have been evident from the very beginning. But part of warfare mentality is never giving up, never giving in, never compromising.
	You make a prison compound, a normal prison compound, you do what you can to catch those who try to escape. You find out what's going on inside with psychology. Pick out the losers of the bunch, and bargain with them. Information for protection, for food. Pay them to betray their friends, and keep them happy so they don't think twice about it. You could even send in a guard, masquerading as a prisoner, have him spy on their activities and return with progress reports. If it's necessary.
	There was no need for any of it here. The guards didn't have contact with the prisoners. Our privileges were nonexistent. No exits. We were completely at his mercy. On his turf, in his created world. No room for anything but hope, hope for someone to come and rescue us.
	The trick was not to get comfortable, only appreciate how good it was for the moment, ever keeping in mind that it could go bad at any time. I figured it was worth a try. The others only pretended they weren't ignoring the hopelessness. Their two favorite things to do this were talking and playing ball.
	The ball… small enough to hide in an enclosed fist. Extremely bouncy, shooting around a cell like a bullet. Nearest I can tell, playing with it was supposed to make us happy. Or angry.
	For a while, weeks, this was how things went. Wake up, eat, observe, shower, sleep. Routine is tough. Time passed slowly, day by day, hour by hour. Little things about our cell began bothering me. How thin the sheets were, not thick enough for the cold weather. How small the food portions were, only enough to keep us alive, not enough to sate our hunger. How the size of the cell worked against us, big enough to incite the need to explore, only to turn out being a lot smaller than it originally appeared. How we had a constant view of our neighbors, but had no effective way of communicating with them.
	I was on my own, with everything. I had no one to talk to about how I was feeling, so it stayed inside of me in a nice, dark little corner.
	Turned out my cellmates and I shared a lot of the same insecurities, after they had made theirs painfully vocal. Out of all of them, Ginger was the one who complained the most. But I'll get to her later.
	Around the fourth week, I needed something else to break the routine. Something small that didn't involve anyone else. The idea, once it came, was surprisingly easy to execute.
	Starvation.
	Just to have something else to think about. I was getting used to the servings Robotnik gave us, but I figured that it could change at any time. I began chucking my second apple out the bathroom window, to remove temptation. By this time, I was practically a nonentity to my cellmates. I figured no one would notice.
	But someone did notice. Kern. Turns out my attitude had really stuck in his craw, and he had been watching me. He found out what I was doing and threw a total bitch fit to Frank, saying that if I didn't want to eat, I should give my share to the one of them. Who the fuck did I think I was and so on. And Frank, good old Frank, had seniority, if you count those things.
	Bears are like that. They use their size as an intimidation tool. That's why most of the great generals on Mobius were bears. And Frank a.k.a. Sparky was big, what I like to call 'one burly motherfucker,' and he usually got what he wanted.
	And me, I'm a fox, so what the hell do I know. I look like half the residents of Knothole; I could be anybody. To Frank, I was just some low-level grunt who would fold immediately under pressure.
	The bastard, he looked me right in the eye and told me never to do it, ever again. He had "no need for despair" in his group. If he caught me doing it, he'd tear off my skin with his bear (ha) hands.
	He walked away proud, thinking he had strengthened the weakest link in the chain. All he did was force me to be more careful about how I starve myself. Flush. 
	Another week passed and I was thinner. My hair started falling out. Lack of protein. I didn't mind, I wasn't trying to impress these fuckers with my looks. Days were shorter as I woke up later and later. I hardly ever went to the bathroom, save for getting rid of food I wasn't eating.
	It might have been despair, sure, I'll give Frank that. But he had plenty of room for it, especially with his entire flock acting artificially happy, allowing their environment to assimilate them. Oh, they talked about escape, but that's all it was. Talk is cheap shit.
	Despair? At least I can look at my own reflection without flinching.
	Bottom line is, I don't regret doing it. I don't think it's cowardly to kill yourself, not if you know that somewhere down the line, soon, someone else is inevitably going to wrench your life away from you. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather die on my own terms.
	If those cameras truly had eyes, they would notice what I was doing. They would see that I was trying to beat Robotnik to the punch. I didn't think he would give me the satisfaction of starving to death.
	One morning, we had woken up with apples and I decided that I didn't need either of them. I waited two hours before heading to the bathroom.
	Another weird thing about that; what got me caught throwing the food out the window is that my cellmates hardly ever saw me piss. The toilet is right next to the door, therefore, yes, privacy is nonexistent. In theory, they turn away whenever someone does it. Apparently, they still look out of the corner of their eyes, just to make sure you're… on the up and up… normal? Functioning?
	So, it required me to be clever. Keep the apples hidden until I sit down, which guarantees some turned heads. Then, quick as a flash, slip the apples in between your legs. And no one in their right mind would inspect your droppings, so you're in the clear.
	Problem being, I had grown overconfident in our plumbing system. Seconds after flush and the water started rising. It kept rising. Near the top, a moment which always used to scare me as a kid. It spilled over and the water swirled down the center shower drain.
	I watched until the water stopped flowing, the toilet still filled to the brim, and I exited.
	As it happened, Frank had to use the D2 toilet next. He exited almost immediately, casting me a weird stare. He said, "At least you're eating."
	Point is, the next morning, the toilet was fixed. No fuss, no muss, we could all use it again.
	If Robotnik hadn't known what I was doing before, he knew now. And I could feel him watching me, hoping that I got comfortable trying whatever it was I was trying, hoping that I'd keep thinking I could lessen the oncoming pain, so that when it hit, I would feel the hurt worse than anyone.
 *Chapter 8*: Robert II

 	ROBERT

Uncle Chuck's hideout was a burrow in a pile of scrap metal. It was once a house in the central district of Mobotropolis, now suffering a terrible fate at the hands of Robotnik's waste disposal crew. Piles of useless shell casings, melted beams, ruins of the Acorn palace, they were thrown all over the city, over roads, on top of houses, everywhere. 	Chuck had outfitted the only surviving room in the house with electricity, video monitors, surveillance equipment, repair tools, bunk beds, blankets, and a refrigerator he kept fully stocked with freeze-dried chilidogs. All right under old Buttnik's nose.
	Plastic chest plates, body armor. Broken SWATbot arm emplacements, cutting tools. Something bundled up tight in a duffle bag. A large electric drill and a large electric saw. EMP grenades. A can of kerosene. Thirty feet of rope. Wire cutters, screwdrivers, bolt cutters. Hell, the works, shoved into the corner. Happy holidays from the underground.
	Robert worked intently with Chuck's tools. He set the pliers and the soldering gun down, leaning back and sighing. Two days in and Uncle Chuck still wasn't fixed. The place had been thoroughly thrashed, every independent electronic device shorted out. Robert had set himself to the task of putting it all back together, maybe picking up where Chuck left off.
	So far, he had the surveillance monitors up and running, all three humming happily and glowing bright. Nice and blank. He had the control panel put back together, and soon he would be able to piggyback onto Robotnik's security system. All he needed were the codes.
	Uncle Chuck held the key. The guy had been damaged pretty badly, but anything was salvageable. If Robert could at least get Chuck reactivated, he could set up a RAM dive and extract the codes he needed.
	Ten seconds had passed since Robert stopped working. He sighed and tried to relax. His hands were shaking. His heart was beating faster, faster, faster. Spit was forming in his mouth.
	He couldn't last like this. He had to work. He had to risk going outside.
	He rose to his feet, knocking over his chair. It slammed against the metal table, jarring something loose. Robert froze in place, watched a tiny handheld electronic device clatter to the floor, dropping from the underside of the table.
	NICOLE.
	"Unbelievable!" he said, kneeling. He picked her up, running his fingers over her smooth exterior. A sticky adhesive had been applied to her back, and she had been hidden under the table this entire time. Robert touched the release switch, hoping she was still alive.
	She opened, lights from her tiny control panel illuminating the darkened room. Her display screen flickered and grew faint, but held steady on a low power output.
	"zzGREETINGS."
	"H-hi, Nicole. You recognize me?"
	A pause. "OzF COURSE, ROBERT. ACCCES GRzzzANTED TO LEVzzEL ONE ARCHIVES."
	Robert no longer had the strong urge to leave. He wanted to stay. He could last a just little bit longer by himself… with her. "I'm glad you're here, Nicole."
	"THANK YOU, ROBERT."
	He picked the chair up and sat back down. "Patch me a map of Robotropolis, the most recent you have on file."
	"CERTAINLY. ACCESSING…z" Her display screen flickered, then expanded a three-dimensional hologram of the robot city. Robert searched for his location, finding the strange ivory building on the map.
	"… Is this a satellite patch?"
	"AFFIRMATIVE."
	"How are you still hooked in?"
	"RzzEMOTE LINK."
	"Remote? To where?"
	"THAT IS RESTRICTED INFORMATION, ROBERT. YOU KNOW THIS."
	"I'm sorry." It was going to be tough. "Nicole… can you tell me what happened?" He didn't have the heart to ask how much time they had left together. "To the others. To… everyone."
	The 3-D map shifted to an overhead of the Great Forest. "AT APPROXIMATELY 01:00 HOURS, CANISTERS OF CHLOROFORM INVADED THE PERIMETER OF LOCATION 7546-B, PERMEATING THE LOWER ATMOSPHERE, EFFECTIVELY KNOCKING OUT 90 OF LIVING ENTITIES WITHIN. THE SURVIVORS CARRIED THIS UNIT TO LOCATION 2391-B FOR RETALIATION. WE WERE HEAVILY RESISTED, AND FORCED INTO CURRENT LOCATION FOR REGROUPING. CLASSIFIED."
	"Were we found out?"
	"CLASSIFIED."
	"Did Robotnik find out where Knothole was located?"
	"CLASSIFIED."
	"Damn!" He brushed his sticky red fur away from his face, struggling to calm himself. "Bring up the map of Robotropolis again, Nicole."
	"CERTAINLY." The map moved back away from the Great Forest, centering on his location.
	"What is this?" He pointed to the ivory building.
	"BUILDING X1."
	Robert closed his eyes, making sure he had never seen it before. He opened them again. "How long has it been there?"
	"UNKNOWN."
	"When did it appear on your map?"
	"PROCESSING…" Robert could feel her getting warm in his hand. She'd have to shut down soon. "LAST INITIAL SATELLITE UPLINK."
	"Okay, so what is it?"
	" zzzZ CLASSIFIED, ROBERT."
	He dropped her on the table. "Great, just great. PERFECT!" The room practically vibrated at the sound of his voice, but otherwise, nothing responded to his outburst. Even NICOLE had gone silent. Still angry, he leaned down close to her. "What security level number accesses that information?"
	"LEVEL TWO."
	"And how do I get to access level two, my darling?"
	In the dark, in the complete silence that followed her reply, Robert could swear that she was laughing at him. "YOU CAN'T, MY LOVE."
A lot of time had passed and it was racing by even faster. The trick was to keep moving. Travel keeps you young, and leaves the rest of the world to age. With luck, you can catch up. 	Within a day, they had what they needed. They worked diligently, far into the night and well into the next morning, ignoring what wasn't being said. Work was all that mattered.
	Taking apart a motherboard was different than taking apart a living creature. Things made of metal were less personal somehow, easier to cope with. They made more sense. "ADJUST TWO DEGREES LEFT." NICOLE's garbled voice came from close to Chuck's right foot. Two red and blue wires ran from topside and snaked into the robotic hedgehog's midsection, another running into the house wall from her back. "There." He held the hard drive in place and pressed the chest plate closed. "Everything in its proper place?"
	"AFFIRMATIVE, ROBERT."
	"Initiate shock." Robert lowered his head and shielded his eyes with his free arm. NICOLE routed power from the house generator, draining electricity from the monitors and lights. Robert heard Chuck whirrrrr to life. He looked up and saw the eyes turn red, red, red…
	"STATUS REPORT OF UNCLE CHUCK NOW AVAILABLE."
	Robert smiled and nodded, standing to his feet, still holding Chuck's chest plate closed. He reached for the blowtorch. "Read it to me." He slipped the welding goggles back down over his eyes and drew out the hot blue flame.
	"INTERNAL POWER SOURCE 50 FUNCTIONAL. POWER DETOURED FROM SECONDARY FUNCTIONS: VISION, COGNITION, MOTOR SKILLS, VOCAL OUTPUT, AUDITORY INPUT, WARNING SYSTEMS. UNCLE CHUCK APPROVED FOR INDEPENDENT OPERATION. DISCONNECTING GENERATOR…" House lights and monitors came back to full power. Robert finished the welding job, melting it just enough to keep it closed.
	"What about his memories?"
	"ACCESSING… CORE MEMORY 12 FUNCTIONAL. DAMAGE SUSTAINED TO CORE."
	"Is the damage repairable?"
	"NOT WITH THE TOOLS WE HAVE, ROBERT."
	"Hmmm." Robert took off the welding goggles and tossed them over his shoulder. "Get him talking. Reactivate his vocal output. Route more power from the generator if you have to."
	"CERTAINLY." The whir started up again, dimming the lights.
	Uncle Chuck's mouth dropped open, baring his bottom silver fangs. A rumbling, low frequency electronic hum came from his throat, bearing only a small resemblance to his voice. "S-ss-ss-sssss-soooonn-n-nnnn-n-n-nnnn-eee-e-eeeee-eee-eee-ee-e-"
	"Cut it." He pushed Chuck's jaw back into place. "I see what you mean. We'll set up a RAM dive."
	"YES, ROBERT. UNHOOK ME."
	He pulled the red wire out of Chuck's stomach. He leaned down and picked NICOLE up. Robert's eyes stayed on her as he circled around to Chuck's back and slammed the wire into his brain. "How is it?"
	"… GOOD…"
	He set her back down on the floor, backing away, confused. He sat down at the work table, yawning loudly, stretching his arms above his head, popping his back. He wished he had a way to wind down, but there wasn't time for his own comfort.
	"DONE."
	"… Pardon?"
	"WE HAVE IT, ROBERT."
	"It… wasn't damaged?"
	"AFFIRMATIVE."
	"… Yes!" Robert almost stumbled over himself getting to the monitors. "You got the codes?"
	"SAVED AND STORED."
	Too good to be true. "Then bring power back to all systems." Amazing… she was amazing…
	The monitors flickered on, displaying white. Robert typed into Uncle Chuck's commandeered mini-satellite.
	"Read them off to me one by one."
	"CERTAINLY. FIRST SEQUENCE. A: 4-10-24-3-4-5. B: 13-9-3-12-25-6zzz"
	Robert's breath caught in his throat. No, not this, not now. "You okay?"
	"zzzzz- ROBERT?"
	"Right here."
	"YOU'RE READY?"
	"Yes, yes, of course."
	"SECOND SEQUENCE. C: 18-25-9-2. CASCADE AND LOOP."
	He typed it in. "That's it?"
	"YEP."
	Robert executed the command, and waited. The monitors remained motionless at first, flickering pure white snow, then came to life with black and white images of prisoners, Mobians, held captive within brightly lit cells. Mirrored walls. Bunk beds.
	"SUCCESS, ROBERT?"
	"… We're in."
 *Chapter 9*: Colin II

 	COLIN

I like running. Love it, actually. There's something about the immediacy of it, the continual pulse and athletic motivation, that just makes me want to keep going. When I'm this close to finishing a run or completing a reconnaissance mission, all I care about is that underlying, physical burn. It hurts because it's real, and for those precious few moments I can forget the war and all the misery and suffering. The instant I cross the finish line, it's about me. 	I'm sixteen. It's almost autumn, and the gang and I are lacing up to go on our morning practice run through the Great Forest. Tonight we're going to be meeting with the Wolf Pack and the southern and eastern Freedom regiments to formulate a strategy for taking out the Doomsday Project. We need to be in top form if we plan to pull this off. In fact, this is probably the most crucial mission in the history of the rebellion.
	To the left of me, Allison is doing her regular stretching exercises. She has a hell of a body to tell you the truth. Athletically, I mean. Great legs... although for a runner, that sort of goes without saying. She's a rabbit, too, so I guess running is in her blood. She's beautiful and confident. Nice eyes, fabulous hair. I'd totally go for her if I weren't gay.
	Well, alright, and there's the teensy fact that I'm technically already seeing somebody. Sigh. Taylor and I are fine, though -- really. I mean, sure, we've been arguing a little bit lately, but that's to be expected when you're in the middle of a war, right? Each of us has our part to play, and as soon as it's over, we'll be able to spend more time together. It's a shame we have to grow up eventually, but that's life. We're not kids anymore.
	To my right is Dan, a cheetah. You'd think he'd be faster than the rest of us because of that alone, but he's only the third fastest of the four of us (I'm fourth, in case you were wondering). He's already finished warming up; now he's meditating. He goes through these sorts of rituals every day. Whatever works, I guess. He has this zen-like approach when it comes to anything athletic -- some shit about "unifying the mind and body." Personally, I like to just get out there and run. But hey, maybe that's why I'm the slowest, so what do I know.
	Just ahead of me is Sonic, sitting next to the ring pool. I've noticed that he's been low on energy for the last several days. He'll crack jokes occasionally, as usual, but it somehow seems artificial now -- like he's just doing it to keep the rest of us optimistic. Like he's hiding something. I guess all this war stuff is finally wearing him down.
	There's a slight breeze this morning. I can see it running softly over Sonic's quills. Sitting on the grass, he puts his hands behind him and leans back into the sunlight. His eyes are closed. I think I'm the only one watching him right now.
	Sometimes I wonder if he's really got a thing for the princess, or if that's just an act too. Sometimes I can picture us together, running side by side through Robotropolis. We make it to the forest and manage to escape our pursuers. We drop to our knees, exhausted, catching our breath. Shards of broken moonlight are raining from the canopy above us, and we look at each other in mutual, unspoken admiration. He leans towards me and draws me into a tight embrace.
	The instant before we kiss is when I always wake up. Today it's in a mirrored prison cell.
	LISA

I have this habit of collecting boyfriends who aren't any good for me. Our relationships are hot and sexy at first, but they always turn out to be superficial. I guess I shouldn't complain; it's not like they mistreat me or anything. It's just that I'm like a fashion accessory to them. We look good together and I fill a social role for them and that's about it. Quite honestly, I'm looking for something deeper than that. I want someone who can relate to me -- who can be there for me emotionally when I need him. Someone who can make me laugh. I need a companion. Without the stuff that counts, sex is just sex. 	I'm in the shower now. My third one today, actually; it's a great way to unwind. The process is almost ritualistic at this point. I close my eyes and let the warm jetstreams of water massage my shoulders and soak into my fur. After rinsing my hair, I work up a lather with the shampoo that I found on a shelf over the sink. God, I could just melt in here. Before a few days ago, I can't remember the last time I took a hot shower. In Knothole, of course, we bathe using buckets of water from the nearby reservoir. Colin might have been joking, but he's right: in some ways, this prison is actually an improvement for us.
	Colin. I promised myself I'd stop thinking about Colin -- or at least thinking about him like that. He's awfully cute, though. Adorable, even. He's funny, he's charming, he's attractive. Talkative. Sensitive.
	Unavailable. Gay.
	How do I get myself into these situations?
	I turn up the hot water gradually. For the sake of curiosity, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like if Colin were attracted to me. I'll bet his kisses are soft and passionate -- not shallow or greedy like other men. I envy his boyfriend. As the delicate lather in my hair washes down my shoulders and lower, I imagine that Colin is inside the shower with me. I touch my cheek, tracing a path down my neck and across my breasts, cupping gently underneath them as though he's touching me. He's drawing closer now. His fingers cross my lips. We draw together in a deep, breathless kiss.
	I snap out of it and turn the water off just in time. Just a little daydream, that's all. I'm not attracted to him. Really.
	COLIN

She's getting dressed in front of me. No kidding. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's doing it to be provocative. Out of respect, I turn and face the other direction -- although the mirrors make it a little difficult not to see anything. "Sorry," I say. 	"Oh no, don't worry, you're fine."
	"Okay…"
	"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
	"No! I mean… no. Go right ahead."
	"Because, you know, I can get dressed in the bathroom if you want."
	"No no no, this is fine. Just fine. I won't look, I promise."
	That's a lie. I can't help myself. I take a brief peek at the mirror in front of me, and I catch her at the very moment she drops her towel onto the floor. Yikes. She's completely naked now. She's in good shape, too. I have to admit, she doesn't look bad with her clothes off. Her fur is dark, which makes her eyes really stand out (and I can see that she's not looking at me, thank goodness). Her breasts are uniform and reasonably well-shaped -- prominent, but not too big, and just perky enough to give them character. Her body is slender but it curves in all the right places. I like her shoulders; she carries herself well. Come to think of it, this is probably the first time I've seen a naked woman in person. At least in this context, anyway.
	After my fleeting glimpse, I quickly look down again. The last thing I want is for her to think that I'm leering at her. Or, worse yet, attracted to her. Which I'm not, of course. I don't swing that way. Really.
	LISA

I think he snuck a little peak at me, but I can't be sure. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. I'm dressed now, anyway. Time for bed. 	I glance over at Colin. He's already asleep. He's still on top of the covers, but I'm sure whoever enters our room at night will take care of that. His limbs are all tangled and he has the cutest expression on his face -- like a cross between a smirk and a grin, with his tongue sort of sticking out. On the opposite side of the glass, his boyfriend is curled up to him peacefully.
	As I slip underneath the covers, I can already feel my eyelids getting heavy. The lights in the cell begin dimming almost immediately, which I've never really noticed before. I guess I've never stayed awake long enough to see it. My head finds the pillow and I snuggle myself into a comfortable position. Gradually, I let my eyelids drop.
	COLIN

I'm sixteen. Taylor is fifteen and a half. We're making love to each other for the first time. It's really a sad experiment, since neither of us is sure exactly how we should go about it, but after a few laughs and some mutual coaching, we allow instinct to kick in. Before long we're on cruise control, and it's the most intense thing ever. I'm overcome with a rush of emotion. Just as the wave hits, I press my cheek against his and whisper to him, "I love you, Taylor." And I mean it. 	He doesn't hear me, though, because of the waterfall.
 *Chapter 10*: A2 and A3 III

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

Tristan woke up with another headache and the urge to piss. He jumped out of his bunk and almost automatically walked into the bathroom before consciously remembering where he was. 	His fellow prisoners were still asleep. In the center of the floor, there was the fruit bowl, refilled. And there was the silence, a fog that enveloped them all in a constant, painful rhythm, and staying awake was more frightening than falling asleep.
	He tip-toed back to his bunk, getting down on his knees and gently shaking Simon's shoulder. The raccoon's snapped open immediately. "Hmmm?"
	"Hey. Come with me to the bathroom."
	The last time Tristan had been in either of the bathrooms was on the first day they had all woken up, and he hadn't revisited them since. The space terrified him. He imagined a hidden door slamming down and trapping him inside, cutting him off live contact. He imagined the room filling with gas. He imagined starving to death.
	With someone in the bathroom with him, he felt a little more at ease. At least he wouldn't have to die alone.
	Simon went in with him, making it look easy, in stark contrast to Tristan's head snapping back and forth, up and down, looking for the hammer about to come down on him. Disappointment. All that worry, for nothing. Embarrassment. It's only a bathroom.
	"I think we can make it this time, sir."
	He barely heard it. Tristan was busy staring at the toilet, attempting to forget what a fool he had been. "You remember these from Mobotropolis, Simon? … Running water. Practically every home had a bathroom with running water. It was a luxury we all took for granted." He brushed back the hair on his head, trying to keep it out of his eyes. "A bit more flattering than… who am I kidding, I look like a friggen mess." He had a hard time admitting it, but he was actually excited about the idea of using a real toilet, for once. "We'll have to try out the showers sooner or later." He didn't want to get comfortable, but… "Stand in front of the entrance, will you?"
	Tristan urinated with shocking ease, but it shocked him how loud it was. Like a goddamn waterfall.
	"You stay up late last night?"
	"I tried, sir."
	"Same results?"
	"Yes sir. The others were trying to do it too. I can't remember how far we got."
	"Odd that the others can't remember falling asleep in Knothole, either. You think there's a connection?"
	"Definitely, sir."
	"We'll talk about it with the others. What else did you guys do?"
	"The girls and Buster played catch, and sir, I think Durango and Shirk might have tried looking out the window already."
	Of course. "That's fine. Durango sees a motive behind everything. He's a great outside perspective to have. Well… sometimes." He finished, considering flushing but deciding to wait until after they looked outside, in case it was loud enough to wake the others. He backed away from the toilet and approached the window. "Ready?"
	Tristan kneeled down and Simon stepped onto his shoulders. He grabbed Simon's ankles and stood carefully, balancing. He looked up, seeing the kid's fingers gripping the window ledge tightly. He put his hands under the raccoon's bare feet.
	"One, two, three." He pushed, struggling at first under the weight. It really had been awhile since he had lifted anything heavy. Simon eased his chin over the ledge, peering outside…
	"Oh my God!"
	Tristan cringed at how loud his voice sounded. He didn't worry too much about Robotnik seeing them do this, but he'd very much like it if the others found out about this later, when he told them. The last thing he needed was a crowd crammed into this tiny bathroom.
	He waited patiently for Simon to finish, longing to be up there with him, to see something from the outside world again, not just an infinitely repeated version of himself. He wanted to enjoy the sight of organic life, more than what he had to covet and consume. The food was more of a taunt than anything, a bit of color in a world of black and white.
	"… Okay, sir." His voice sounded forced, like leaving the window at all was a terrible crime. Tristan kneeled and Simon jumped down by himself, breathless.
	"What is it? What did you see?"
	"They… they're building something."
"Roboticized Mobians. He said he couldn't see it very well because there's some scrap in the way. He thinks we're near the Forbidden Zone." 	Shirk folded his arms across his chest, wearing a tight frown. "No, we're not. Scrap heaps are only in the Forbidden Zone, not near. We're in the south sector, outside of the old palace."
	"Regardless, it's important."
	"It's probably just another SWATbot factory or iron forge."
	"You saw who they have working on it, right?" Durango said to Shirk. "Hundreds of our people, crawling over it like insects over a fucking carcass, using our friends and family for his dirty work."
	"We can't do anything about it from here," Tristan said, uneasy. "So he's building something. This information would have mattered if we were still in Knothole."
	"It's just a fucking building, and like you said, grim, we can't do shit about it. Pay attention, Buster!"
	The bobcat looked up, startled. "S-sorry. Um…" He indicated at a sniffling Jenn at his right. "She has to use the bathroom."
	Tristan wasn't happy about it, but he nodded, motioning for Sabrina and Holly to escort her, but he stopped Buster from following them. "Not you."
	Durango watched the girls gather around the far bathroom entrance in A2. He shook his head, chuckling. "I'd want to watch too." He turned back to Tristan. "You think you're the brains of this group, then you enlighten me: what do you think they're building?"
	"… I couldn't tell you."
	"No?"
	Tristan sighed. "What I am telling you is... what do we have? Only two toilets for the eight of us. Bunk beds, food, and sure, we got surveillance on us but… I'm saying we have it too good. Robotnik crammed us into these egg shells maybe for storage."
	"Oh yeah? Until when?"
	"… Maybe until they're done building."
	Simon cleared his throat. "Should we try the showers today, sir?"
	"Fuck that!" Durango got right up to the small raccoon's face, snarling. "He's trying make us docile, force us into the habit of sleeping in our own beds, to use his showers, his toilets, to eat his fucking food, to turn us into his goddamn children! And what's next! No, no way. He wants me to sleep, he's going to have to put me to sleep! He wants me in my bed, he's going to have to put me there every night! He can keep me here, but he can't make me live here."
	The others watched Durango try to storm off. He fumed in the corner for a few moments before retiring to his bed, pulling the covers up over his head. There was nowhere else to go.
It had been too much to hope for the group to get along like they had in Knothole; sad to consider that the only thing that needed to change was the setting before they were at each other's throats. At least they weren't exchanging blows. 	Durango was getting worse and worse at preaching to the crowd. Yesterday, he started a debate as to whether or not Robotnik could hear them, in addition to seeing them. The stationary cameras in the corners didn't have visible microphones, but his point was that their very environment was constructed not to their needs, but to Robotnik's. Thus, microphones could be hidden anywhere: in the mirrors, in the walls, in their beds, and so on. While Tristan agreed that they should exercise caution in what they talked about, Durango said that they should refrain from talking altogether.
	Tristan wondered if the Buster had many friends back in Knothole, and if they were all girls. He was hanging out with Holly and her bunch exclusively now, avoiding all contact with the men.
	And the girls, they avoided the rest of the men as well, likely afraid of inciting territorial battles. They knew a bad idea when they saw it. Tristan suspected it was Holly that thought of this. Smart girl. It was a shame that they couldn't talk-
	-clink-
	… !
	Tristan acted on instinct and he gripped the shower knob, turning the water off. Something loud... the sound of metal hitting metal. "Clink." He waved his arms wildly, pushing the steam out of the way. He fell to his knees, unsure of what he was looking for.
	There. Frighteningly close to the shower drain, mere inches away from being lost in the plumbing forever. An iron bolt.
	He picked it up and examined it, running his fingers over the stripping. Rust flaked off and landed on the floor, slicing into beads of water. Feeling the weight of it caused something inside of Tristan to snap to attention, sending an electric shock straight into his heart, a thrilling sensation moving all through him. His urge to escape woke up and slapped him across the face.
	It wasn't hopeless after all.
	Standing, gripping the bolt in one hand, shaking as much water off of him as he could, acting like nothing had just happened, he exited the bathroom. As nonchalant as possible, he approached Durango at his bedside.
	"Hey, grim. Mighty quick shower today, huh? Gonna check in early, again?"
	Tristan opened his mouth to speak. "…"
	"Yeah? What's on your mind?"
	"… Where's the ball?"
	Durango motioned to the group of girls, looking disappointed. "Getting sick and tired of them playing…" Tristan was already walking towards them. "… grab-ass."
	His hand tightened around the hidden bolt, keeping the warmth in contact. He didn't know if he should tell someone immediately or keep the whole thing to himself. Durango could be right, after all, about the place being bugged. Even if it wasn't, there were the cameras watching him.
	But this required swift action. The bold had been thrown inside, by whom? An outsider, a survivor, a fellow freedom fighter from Knothole? Did it matter?
	He advanced to Simon's bunk. The eager raccoon instantly jumped to his feet. "Yes-"
	"I gotta piss."
	"… Sir?"
	"Sorry." He motioned to the bathroom, emphasizing each and every action. "Will you come with me?"
	Simon shook off his confusion. "A-Absolutely, sir."
	Tristan let Simon lead the way, keeping his head low. Once inside, he placed a hand on the kid's back and pushed him to the back wall. He held out his right hand, unfolded his fingers, and revealed the find.
	"S-!"
	Tristan's empty hand clamped over Simon's mouth just in time. He looked sternly into his eyes, shaking his head. A moment passed, and that was all it took for him to understand.
	Beads of water had gathered on the walls, making the task of getting Simon up to the window extremely difficult. Tristan's bare feet slid across the floors away from the wall. Eventually, the racoon got a firm hold on the window ledge. Biting down on the bolt in his mouth, almost gagging at the taste, Tristan pushed and strained under the weight.
	Tristan heard him gasp out loud. He looked up, trying to see what was going on. Cold water from the wall landed in his eyes, blurring his vision. He tried shaking it off but the water kept coming. He forgot about the taste of the rusty bolt in his mouth.
	Simon gave the signal to be let down. Concerned, Tristan brought him to the floor quickly. He spat the bolt into his hand. "Who was it?"
	"A red fox, sir, on the ground. He didn't say anything. I think he's coming back."
	All this time, Tristan had pretended like getting captured was just another puzzle to solve, another chore to do, that whatever happened, he would be able to deal with it. The truth was, he couldn't stand the thought of staying there the rest of his life, dying slowly and likely very painfully.
	He collapsed to his knees, completely overcome. "We're saved."
 *Chapter 11*: Robert III

 	ROBERT

"You don't look so good, kid." 	The raccoon eyed him suspiciously. "You don't look so good yourself."
	"Robert."
	"Simon. Is it okay to talk?"
	"Why wouldn't it be?"
	His voice dropped low, barely above a whisper. "… You've come to rescue us?"
	"You could say that."
	"Great! How? When?"
	"Well, Simon, I haven't quite got it figured yet."
	"Huh? Aren't… Sally and Sonic and everybody going to spring us loose?"
	Robert shrugged, resisting the urge to stare down at the bottom rung of the ladder. "I haven't seen them."
	"What about Rotor? Or Antoine or Bunnie? Anybody?"
	He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
	"… Well… what's the plan, then?"
	"The building you're in is located in the southern sector, by the old palace. It's six stories tall and I don't see any entrances anywhere. How are you fed?"
	"Fed? Um, well, we don't know. We, uh, we're put to sleep every night and when we wake up, there's our food."
	"Hmmm."
	"There are cameras watching us, and we think there might be more. Hidden, you know?"
	"Don't worry about that."
	"... Are you hacked in?"
	"I picked up on one of Chuck's-"
	"Chuck! Uncle Chuck! Is he-?"
	"Deactivated. Shut down. I'm trying to make him better, but I need more time, and I need you guys to stay put and tough it for another week or so, okay? I'm working on it. I'll get it figured."
	Simon nodded, deflated but still excited. "Do you know anything?"
	"About?"
	"The resistance. How many of us escaped, how many are still alive, Knothole… what happened to our homes…"
	"How many are in there with you?"
	"Eight, including me. More in the other cells."
	"Tell them I'll be back soon to give you a progress report, and anything else you need. Roger?"
	Simon threw a salute. "Roger."
	Robert nodded and swiftly descended Uncle Chuck's wooden ladder, all the while trying to remember if he had ever met a Simon in Knothole. He didn't think so.
Robert turned Chuck's wooden ladder horizontal, weeding his left arm through two rungs, balancing it on his shoulder, and then he picked up the gun he had hidden by a large scrap pile. He pressed his index finger against the cool metal trigger guard, feeling instantly better. He exhaled, seeing his own breath dissipate in front of him. 	Up ahead was the construction job, the culmination of the efforts of the roboticized Mobians, the pounding of the forge audible even from a distance separating them. A black glacier rising out from a metal swamp, silver insects scuttling over its surface. Robert could hear them clearly at night, and at times, it felt like they were right next door.
	What in the hell could it be?
	He bowed away from the horizon, planning to head southeast, back home.
	"HALT! INTRUDER!"
	The voice was easy to recognize, in any situation. They sounded the same no matter what they said. "Aw, hell." He stopped walking.
	"YOU ARE AN INTRUDER."
	"Yeah, yeah-"
	The SWATbot had an arm raised, in a manner meant to be threatening. "DON'T MAKE ME SHOOT YOU, INTRUDER."
	"There's that word again." Robert took his chance, before the bot called for backup. He flung the ladder aside and raised the gun, firing three shots in quick succession. The air lit up with a series of awesome bursts, the color and shape of molten steel. The sounds of the SWATbot's head denting were obliterated by the sonic boom from the barrel. Robert's enemy crumpled instantly to the ground, effectively destroyed.
	He traded stares with the fallen bot and the smoking gun in his hand. Hmm. Projectile rounds. Not many of these guns around anymore.
	A burning plasma round buzzed by his ear. Robert quickly turn-ducked and fired twice out of instinct, scoring two hits, the bullets slamming home into the other SWATbot's arm gun. A strange thought came out of nowhere: "They always travel in twos."
	The SWATbot tried to fire with his damaged arm and turned the area into a fiery photon. When Robert opened his eyes again, it was raining fried dirt and he could smell burnt hair. The explosion had taken out the SWATbot and the ground he had been standing on.
	"Serves the joker right for sneaking up on me." He felt odd, like nothing existed outside of his own line of vision. His environment seemed hours old, even though he rembered the talk with Simon as only two minutes previous. He didn't remember ever going unconscious.
	Robert coughed up a storm of his own, rubbing his eyes and gathering debris. Luckily, the ladder was okay, only in three pieces. He headed to Chuck's.
	A lot of time had passed and Robert stumbled through the door, a cloud of dust following close behind him. He set the gun carefully on the table and chucked the ladder puzzle into the only empty corner. NICOLE let out a synthesized whistle.
	"BAD DAY AT THE OFFICE?"
	"You're cheeky when you want to be, baby."
	"WHERE DO YOU GO ALL THE TIME?"
	"Shouldn't you be hibernating?" Robert went straight to the monitors and flicked the switch to ON. His contacted comrades walked about, interacting, communicating in paranoid fashions. On one of the monitors, he recognized the one he had spoken to. Simon. The rest were unknowns.
	"THEY DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING, ROBERT."
	"Neither do we." Robert was nauseated, dizzy, disoriented. He flicked the screens back off. "Neither do we."
 *Chapter 12*: A2 and A3 IV

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

Durango stared down at the iron bolt in Tristan's hand, utterly aghast. "Where the fuck!" 	"Through the window. Someone with a big ladder."
	"Are you nuts!" he whispered through clenched teeth.
	"It's okay. He says he has an uplink somewhere, hooked into the Robotropolis computer mainframe. They have the cameras but they can't hear us. We're okay in here as long as they don't suspect anything."
	That seemed to relax him, but he kept a wild look about him. "What else?"
	"Not much." Tristan sighed. "No word on who's pulling the strings yet. We didn't talk for long, but that's understandable, right? He said he'd be back with more tomorrow."
	Durango cocked an eyebrow. "Simon?"
	"Yeah, Simon talked to him. Said that his name was Robert, that was hiding in the city."
	"The city!"
	"Amazing, yeah?"
	"Almost too amazing, yeah…"
	Tristan handed him the bolt. "Take it. Leave, and then I'll come out. Lay down on your bed and I'll be there in a bit." He folded Durango's fingers around the bolt for him, soaking up the last of the warmth. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
	Durango nodded.
	"It's a break," he breathed, his eyes sparkling like fireworks in the night sky. "Hot damn, it's a break."
	"Robert… Robert…" Durango rolled the name around in his mouth. It felt wrong. "You remember any Robert from Knothole?"
	"… Not personally, if that's what you mean."
	"Maybe one of the undercadets. How old did he look?"
	Tristan shrugged. "Fifteen, sixteen, I only caught a glimpse. Red fur, fox. Sound familiar?"
	"Shit, foxes are a dime a dozen around Knothole. Red, huh?"
	"Bright, bright red. It's a wonder he can stay hidden."
	"Yes. It is."
	"Don't ruin this," he said, very serious. "Not yet. I know what you're thinking, and I'm thinking it too. But not yet. Just… let this hang for now, okay? We can use the hope."
	Durango worked fast. He waiting as long as he could before letting Shirk know about it. Shortly thereafter, he brought Buster into their secret little circle, but it was harder to part with the precious hunk of metal. He managed, however, and made sure to emphasize the importance of secrecy.
	"Fuck this up and I'll fucking kill you, got it?"
	It must have worked. Before nightfall, all knew about Robert and the possibility of escape. Moods swung high into the stratosphere. Another full day come and gone.
	Tristan was in his bunk over by the A1 cell, watching the neighbors. They appeared to be talking about something, a heated discussion over… whatever, it didn't matter, they might as well had been a continent away. There was no way he could tell them about Robert, but the mystery man himself would probably contact them, sooner or later.
	"Hey, grim."
	Tristan yawned, turning up on his side. "Hey. Not evening yet, is it?"
	"How many times have you looked outside, grim?" Durango asked, watching his mirror image in the floor. "Any?"
	"No," Tristan shook his head. "Simon tells me it's getting colder."
	"Ha! Fucking raccoons know their weather, don't they?" He waited for a laugh, and frowned when he didn't get one. "You're not getting a winter coat."
	"I know."
	"No one is."
	"… I know."
	He fought to keep his voice from shaking. "I… hope we get out of here too. I'm not a complete prick inside and out, I just… it's better to be prepared. God! Everything in this place… the sheets, the food, the glass… I have to get rid of this thing." He held up a clenched fist, his hand quivering. "They probably search us while we're sleeping, go over every inch. There's no place to hide."
	"No. No place to hide."
	He took a deep breath, his chest expanding like a balloon. "We can't take a chance. You can… you can look at it one more time if you want."
	"I have what I need," Tristan said quietly, eyes lowered.
	The walk to the bathroom disappeared, as if Durango had spontaneously arrived under the showerhead and in one swift motion, he threw the bolt out the cell window. It sailed in a tremendous arc, centering two of the bars. He tried to listen for the crash, but didn't hear it.
	He exited the bathroom, not knowing if he'd make it back to his bed.
 *Chapter 13*: Colin III

 	COLIN

As I slowly stir from my glorious, drug-induced sleep, the first thing I notice is that I'm laying on my back. I find this a little weird. I've never slept on my back before—usually just on my side or on my stomach. Oh well. First time for everything, I guess. 	The second thing I notice is a soft weight on my chest. I move a little bit and I determine that there's definitely something on top of me. Naturally, I open my eyes to see what it is. It takes a moment or two for me to fully register what I'm seeing. When I do, my eyes go wide.
	"Oh no…"
	Lisa.
	She's draped peacefully over my abdomen, head on my chest with her arms tucked neatly underneath mine. Her breathing is rhythmic and casual. Her face is expressionless. I can tell she's still sleeping.
	It would sort of be nice to know exactly how we ended up like this, but I can't remember a goddamn thing. The cells are gassed at night, which means that we tend to fall asleep without even realizing it. Nonetheless, I'm certain of one thing: there's no way that we would have consciously gotten into this position ourselves. So either somebody put us here like this, or…
	Well. Maybe we did this in our sleep…?
	Bologna. I can see that we're both on the bottom bunk right now, and I think I would have remembered if I woke up in the middle of the fucking night to crawl into bed with my cellmate. It would be different if she somehow ended up in my bed, but this is impossible. From what I can see, it looks like everybody's still asleep in the cell next to ours. Must be early. Thank god; I'd hate for Taylor to see us like this and get the wrong idea. I mean, it's not exactly like I'd be able to explain myself through soundproof glass. Maybe I should've learned sign-language, after all.
	LISA

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn't happening. 	He's underneath me. Colin is. And he's not underneath me as in, like, we switched bunks or something. I mean I'm literally on top of him. It's sort of nice here, to tell you the truth, but that doesn't mitigate the fact that, one, he's not supposed to be in my bed and, two, I have no fucking idea how the FUCK we got like this in the first place.
	I'm pretending that I'm still asleep so I can decide what to do. He's already awake, though. He just whispered, "Oh no," so I can safely assume that he's noticed me laying on his chest. This is not good. I can't remember what happened last night, to top it off. We fell asleep to the anesthesia in the air, as usual, and now, boom, here we are. I guess it's possible that he might have woken up in the middle of the night and climbed down from his bunk into mine... but that just doesn't make sense. For one thing, there's no motivation for him to do that. He's queer, he's blissfully taken, and he's not interested in me, period. For another, it doesn't explain how I ended up on top. This has got to be some kind of cruel joke.
	Colin's fur is warm and I can feel him breathing underneath me. His muscles are tense now that he's awake and aware of what's going on. I'm too embarrassed and too confused to give myself away right now. I wish I knew what the hell to do…
	COLIN

I try to move a little bit to see if I can gently slide out from underneath her, but that's too much to hope for. She's got me pinned. Worse, my right leg is falling asleep. I guess this means I have to push her off. I would really, really rather not wake her up, though, if at all possible. If I somehow manage to get myself out of her bed without disturbing her, then I'll be the only one who knows this even happened. I hope she's a heavy sleeper. 	I pause for a moment to watch her again, half expecting her to suddenly open her eyes and gasp and slap me in the face or something. To be honest, I don't think I've been in a predicament quite like this before. Having a girl on top of me is, shall we say, a new experience.
	Her eyes are still closed and she's breathing softly in time. Her hair is partly covering her face. She looks very beautiful like this, actually.
	As soon as I start to move, I feel her heartbeat quickening.
	LISA

He's moving. Oh god. Oh god. This is bad. Play dead, Lisa. 	Doesn't work. When he puts his hands on my waist and starts to lifts me up, my eyes snap open from surprise. Apparently this startles him, too, because he drops me.
	"Oh!" he says, bolting into a sitting position. "Jeez, oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
	"It's okay, it's okay! I was already awake." I'm a little out of breath. No, scratch that, I'm fucking petrified. I think I'm about to faint. "Oh… oh god." I feel myself go limp and I collapse onto the bed.
	He rushes over to me. "Are you alright?"
	My head is spinning. "I'm… I don't know. This is so… this is… oh god. Colin, what the hell is going on here?"
	"I don't know! My god, oh… fuck, I mean… goddamn it, this is just too weird."
	"Tell me about it!"
	He looks directly at me, eyes serious. "Believe me, Lisa. I have no idea how we ended up like that."
	I can see that he's telling the truth, and I'm a little relieved. "Neither do I," I admit. "All I remember is falling asleep. You were on the top bunk and I was down here. Same as every night."
	"Yeah, that's what I remember too. God." He moves to the edge of the bed and puts a hand on his forehead. He allows himself a nervous chuckle. "What a hell of a way to start the morning, huh?"
	Silence. After a moment, we both start laughing.
	TAYLOR

"What the hell...?" 	"What's wrong?"
	"There's only fifty-one cards in this deck."
	"You sure?"
	"Yeah, man, I just counted. Twice."
	"Count 'em again."
	"I'm tellin' you, Rex, there's only fifty-one cards in this deck. Here, you count 'em."
	I glance over the railing of my bunk in time to see Kyle hand the cards to Rex. The hyena counts them patiently. "Fifty-one. I'll be damned. What the hell is goin' on here? I just counted these the other day."
	"Yeah, so did I. There were fifty-two in that deck yesterday, I swear to god."
	"You suppose somebody took one out last night?"
	"I dunno. S'possible. I don't see why, though..."
	"Doesn't really matter. There's fifty-one in the deck now."
	"What's missing?"
	Rex spreads the cards out on the floor. "Looks like the Jack of Hearts is gone."
	"Shit. So what do we do?"
	"I guess we play without a Jack of Hearts."
	"Or," says Sean from the bunk underneath me, "you could just use a joker instead."
	Rex shrugs. "Sure, that works too, I guess."
	Kyle adds a joker and begins shuffling the cards. "Up for another game, Sean?"
	"Nah, not right now. Maybe later, though."
	"Fair enough. So whaddya say, Rex—Jack of Hearts is wild?"
	"Whatever."
	After the game starts, my attention eventually drifts to the neighboring cell. To my surprise, Colin isn't in his bed. I guess he's already up. A quick glance in the mirror reveals Ms. Cellmate sitting alone on her bed and a towel missing from the pile next to the fruit bowl, so apparently he's taking a shower. Not a bad idea—I could use one myself.
	As I start down the bunk ladder, though, I notice a curious detail. Out of the four beds in the neighboring cell, it's obvious that three of them—including Colin's—have not been slept in. They're all neatly made with pressed sheets and fresh, unused pillows. This strikes me as odd; there's no way he could have slept on the floor or even on any of the other beds, because I remember falling asleep next to him at the glass last night...
	"You hungry, Taylor?" Sean asks.
	"Actually yeah," I say, dropping my previous thought. "What's in the bowl?"
	"Looks like apples today."
	He tosses one to me and I look at it. It's flawless—brilliant red, no blemishes. "Can't last forever, can it?" I say, sitting on the bottom bunk.
	"That's what I'm afraid of." Sean grabs an apple for himself and sits cross-legged on the floor. "How're you holding up, by the way?"
	I shrug. "You mean in general?" I take a bite of the apple.
	He waits, considering his words carefully. "I mean… you know. With your friend and everything."
	I lower my eyes, swallowing. "I'm not sure."
	The two of us are quiet for a moment, listening to Rex and Kyle playing cards. "I'm sorry," Sean says, "I didn't mean—"
	"No, no, it's fine," I say. "Thanks for asking, actually; I was beginning to think nobody cared."
	"I've noticed you two, that's all. I just… you know, I feel sorry for you." From his eyes, I can tell he's being honest. "If you ever need anybody to talk to…"
	I allow myself a faint smile. "It's nice to know somebody's looking out for me," I tell him sincerely. "Thank you."
	"Hey," he says, laughing a bit, "no big deal." He lowers his voice and leans closer. "I mean, it's not like we've got the friendliest company, right?"
	"Yeah, no kidding," I chuckle. It feels good to laugh again. "But hey, I guess it could be wor—"
	Suddenly without warning, the cell comes alive with a low static hum. My heart stops. Everybody snaps to attention, looking for the source of the noise. It seems to be emanating from everywhere.
	"The hell is that?" says Kyle.
	Rex puts a hand up. "Shhh!"
	The static rises in pitch and steadily increases, then disappears, then reappears—almost as though somebody is adjusting a frequency dial. After a moment, the static cuts out altogether. Nobody speaks. Nobody even breathes. For countless seconds, I can hear my own pulse.
	"Hello," says a man's voice.
	I grab onto a bed post to keep myself from shaking. The voice is deep and deliberately cold; it sounds like he's speaking over an intercom. I recognize the voice. We all do.
	"I hope that all of you are enjoying my hospitality. Indeed, it's a pleasure to have your company, and I look forward to meeting with you individually throughout the course of your stay."
	Robotnik. Back from the dead. Impossible.
	"Since my time is valuable, I shall refrain from any further introduction and move to our primary objective. The following individuals will be the first to enjoy an all-expense-paid trip to the Robotropolis torture chamber: Ralph from cell A1, Buster from A2, Brandon from A5, Taylor from B2..."
	I stop breathing. I can feel the eyes of everybody in the cell looking at me. I glance to the neighboring cell and see Colin standing at the glass, wide-eyed and frozen.
	"...Slick from B4, David from D1, Ginger from D4, Nick from E1, Red from E3, and Olly from E5. Forgive me if I've mispronounced some your names; I found many of them too silly to merit concern for accuracy. For your convenience and ours, we will extract these individuals late in the evening after all of you have been sedated. Have a splendid afternoon."
	I sink to my knees, trembling. I can't speak. Even as my eyes begin to sting with tears, all I can think about is Colin. I wish he were with me now, holding me and protecting me. I can see him just ahead of me, pressing his palms furiously against the glass. I know that if he could, he'd shatter that wall with his bare hands.
	"So what happens now?" says Kyle behind me, quietly. "What does this mean?"
	"Means he's dead," says Rex.
 *Chapter 14*: Alexis II

 	ALEXIS

Even in a coma, Princess Sally was more beautiful than Alexis could ever hope to be. Her features appeared strong, her stance subtle and refined in spite of her condition. The surrounding mirrors of their cell were especially discomforting to Alexis because they were constant reminders of her comparative plainness—thin, bony, too pale. Boring hair. Glasses. 	For the dozenth time that day, she took Sally's pulse: weak but steady. Her condition remained virtually unchanged since the beginning. Alexis and Tails periodically took turns giving her water so she wouldn't dehydrate, but the princess was obviously unable to eat anything. If they didn't get her to a clinic soon, she'd starve to death—and since here they lacked the option of feeding her intravenously, there was little else for them to do than watch her die. Already, Alexis could see the knuckles on Sally's hands becoming more prominent, her joints and features ever so slightly more pronounced. She knew that a healthy individual could survive for a month or longer without food, but she was more concerned that the princess might become sick or develop an infection. Her malnutrition would doubtlessly weaken her immune system, and neither Alexis nor Tails knew for sure how clean their cell was—or, for that matter, what Robotnik might be releasing into their air supply.
	Tails was sitting on the bunk above her, looking into the next cell. "Why do you think these rooms are empty?" he asked. "It's weird that he gave us a prison level all to ourselves."
	"I honestly don't know," Alexis admitted. "Maybe he's planning to use the extra cells later."
	"So you don't think he's captured everybody?"
	"I'm just speculating. I mean, for all we know, there could be a hundred levels just like this one."
	"Yeah, maybe. Although he's only taking people from four levels. At least so far."
	Alexis glanced up. "How can you tell?"
	"The letters," Tails said. "For each cell level. If that's how he's naming them, he only called people from A, B, D and E. We're on level C."
	Smart observation—especially for a kid. "That's interesting," Alexis said. "So I guess that means we're on the middle level?"
	"Maybe. Doesn't explain why the other cells here are empty, though—or why he's not torturing us."
	They both went quiet for a moment, contemplating. Alexis sighed. "Did you recognize anybody on the list?"
	"A few of them, yeah."
	"I'm sorry."
	Alexis, on the other hand, didn't recognize a single name. A number of them sounded familiar, at least, but she couldn't put faces on any of them. She hated that—her blind, clinical detachment from everything. Every patient in Knothole was just a name to her, forgotten the next day. It was cold and inhuman, but she did it instinctively. The quality served her well as a medical assistant. As a friend, though, it all but damned her.
	"Why didn't he say anything about the roboticizer?" Tails asked. "He didn't even mention it."
	"You're right," she said, realizing it too. The idea alarmed her. "Maybe he's waiting for something."
	"Or maybe," Tails said hopefully, "there's something wrong with it. Maybe Sonic's still out there, and he messed up the roboticizer. Maybe he's coming back for us!"
	Alexis didn't dare to hope for anything so convenient. "I'm sure he'll get us out of here soon," she said, trying her best to sound like she believed it. "He always does."
	She gently brushed a strand of hair from Sally's face and pulled the covers around her shoulders. Alexis hated to see anybody in that condition. When she was a child, her grandmother suffered from a brain tumor and had to be put on life-support for the days leading up to her death. She remembered sitting next to the hospital bed, naively convinced that her grandmother would wake up at any moment and that everything would continue as normal. Years later, as a medical student, she learned that her grandmother was probably brain-dead by that time.
	The princess shouldn't have to suffer like that. Alexis wished there were a way to end her humiliation and let her pass away with the dignity that she deserved. Almost immediately, she found her gaze drawn to the fruit bowl in the leftmost corner of the room. She remembered the knife she found inside. A dark thought crossed her mind, but she purged it at once.
	"She's going to make it," Tails was saying. "We can't give up on her."
	"We won't," said Alexis.
 *Chapter 15*: A2 and A3 V

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

"Buster's still in his bunk." Sabrina saw him there, barely breathing under his thin white sheet. She considered getting hers from the top bunk and draping it over him, but threw the thought away. Holly wouldn't like it. "Jenn, are you feeling okay?" 	She seemed to perk up at the sweet sound of her voice, rolling over on her back, clutching her pillow. She nodded.
	Their mysterious savior, Robert, still hadn't returned. Sabrina figured that he was still putting together their escape, putting the final pieces into place. She hoped that it would happen just before the tortures began. She looked back over at Buster, pity stabbing into her.
	Somebody stronger should have been first.
	She wondered where all of their heroes had gone. Surely, if they were still alive…
	Holly's feet clicking on the floor brought Sabrina out of it. The sow brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Have you two been eating enough?"
	"Yes'm."
	Holly looked mildly satisfied. "Good." She was treating the Robert situation like it never happened, as if all of them were going to be there for a very long time. "I still have half a pear left, if you two want to share. It's under my pillow." Sabrina cringed as Holly let out a huge, raspy cough. Her eyes had started to lose their color. She always looked dirty, even after she had come out of the shower. Their capture had been weighing hard on all of them, but Holly looked like she would be the first to die from it.
	Sabrina began, "So, he watches us eat, we eat all of what we're given, and we put the stems and seeds back in the bowl, most of us anyway, right?"
	Holly released a deep, exasperated sigh. "Not this."
	"The leftovers, if there are any, are cleaned before the next morning, before we all wake up. We get new pears, new food in the morning, waiting."
	"Please-"
	"He's clocking us, seeing how much we consume. Seeing what we can live on. In addition, we are searched, put into our proper beds, the first ones we chose, and he tucks us in. And then, they clean this place from top to bottom. I don't see any dust around here, do you? No fingerprints on the glass?"
	"Been talking to Buster much?"
	"… He's right, you know. He says this treatment is only until Robotnik moves us to his new building, whatever that entails. Now, with this torture shit-"
	"I told you not to talk to him." Holly stood to her feet. "You can do what you want, but talking to that kid, you're spreading an exit wide open. Would you dare reminisce about old times now, in this place?"
	Jenn had started to moan again, softly, into her pillow. In A5, Brandon had gone into the bathroom. The room echoed with the sound of running water. Sabrina lowered her eyes, giving up. "Sorry." She didn't know what else to say. "… My period… it's… coming tomorrow..."
	Holly shook it off, shuddering, turning away. "Don't be sorry; I'm sure the sheets will be clean the following mornings, just like lover boy says. Count your blessings, be glad you can still have a period."
	Sabrina's eyes went wide then. The showers had been shut off. Even Jenn had gone completely silent. "Serious?"
	Holly nodded. "Heart attack serious."
	"How far along?"
	"Longer than a month, I can tell you. You think I get fat from eating?"
	"Well, I thought-"
	"Thought what?" Holly watched Tristan exit the bathroom, watched him keep his head lowered, averting his eyes. "My turn. See you two later."
	Sabrina watched her walk away. Pregnancy. Holly was doomed if they didn't escape soon, so she didn't allow herself a single glimmer of hope, nothing reserved for the future. She was giving her food away, starving herself, preparing already, not for escape, but preparing to die in this place.
	Tristan was standing over by the glass, looking into A1. The prisoners there were preparing for the departure of one of their own, giving the kid all of their food, patting him on the back like he was going on a vacation. He was taking all of this the best way possible, smiling even though his eyes were filled up with tears.
	Tristan's window into their world was a weird looking rat kid named Denner, and they kept each other up to speed with what they could communicate with gestures, having charade conversations. He had been hoping Denner wouldn't be occupied, but he gave up waiting, letting them continue with their ceremony. Tristan settled for listening to the sounds of Holly taking a shower, cringing under the strain.
	Sabrina left Jenn by herself and came to Buster's side, laying her hand on his covered figure. "Hey, bunkmate." She felt him stir.
	"Hi."
	"Wanna play some ball?" She felt stupid for asking even before she said it.
	"No thanks." Buster pulled on the sheets, uncovering his face. His eyes were bloodshot red. "Did you recognize anyone on that list?"
	Sabrina's upper lip trembled under his look, her vision blurring. She struggled to hold it together. "No."
	Buster's hands were quick, but gentle. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other snaking over her shoulder. One tug and they were in each other's arms. Sabrina didn't mind. At least this way, he couldn't see her cry. He might have known anyway, known that she did recognize somebody on the list, in fact, she has a sure her husband was one of the names called, but all the same, she liked it better like this.
 *Chapter 16*: Snively

 	SNIVELY

Since it was always dark in Robotropolis, Snively had to refer to his watch. 6:07pm. Time to call it quits. His lineup of torture victims had proven to be unusually exhausting today, and he was looking quite forward to relaxing in the surveillance room for the remainder of the evening. The anesthesia in the prisoner cell block was programmed to release at 11:00pm every night—in which case, he still had nearly five hours of reality-show entertainment to enjoy on the monitors. Hot damn. 	On the way to the surveillance room, he stopped by the kitchen for a spot of decaffeinated herbal tea. Ordinarily he preferred coffee (black, of course), but he was trying to curb his caffeine addiction after experiencing a humiliating episode of withdrawal several weeks ago. Regardless, he only prepared one cup; he'd send Bunnie to fetch a whole pot of it once he had settled in.
	The long walk to the surveillance room was a great deal more engaging now, thanks to a new trophy that was added to the main hall about a week ago. It was a marvelous taxidermy of Dulcie Dragon. Teeth bared and claws unsheathed, the beast was eternally frozen: her wings forever outstretched into an impressive, leathery mantle. The pose was meant to look fearsome, although to Snively she looked more constipated than anything.
	"And how is our favorite dragon today?" Snively asked, grinning. He took a sip of his tea. "Mmmm. You really should try this, Dulcie. Echinacea and orange spice. Clears the sinuses. And forgive me for being presumptuous, but you do appear a little stuffed."
	Upon Snively's entrance into the surveillance room, his new personal assistant rushed to greet him with a wheeled leather chair. "HELLO SNIVELY" said Bunnie Rabbot in a digital monotone. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO SIT?"
	Snively collapsed into the chair. "Thank you, my pet. I'm bushed. Those terrible Freedom Fighters will be the end of me. Before long, I'll be afflicted with nervous exhaustion and I'll probably die. Isn't that sad?"
	"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME POPCORN?"
	"Bunnie, I would adore your popcorn. Thank you. And while you're out, please bring me some more herbal tea."
	She wheeled Snively to his desk before leaving the room. Bunnie, as it turned out, was one of the most useful additions to Robotropolis that Snively could remember. She was also one of the most voluptuous creatures to ever emerge from the roboticizer, which didn't hurt either. Thank heavens Snively decided to finish roboticizing her instead of killing and dismantling her as he originally planned.
	Several other Freedom Fighters had been roboticized as well: Rotor Walrus, Antoine D'Coolette, and Bookshire Draftwood, to name a few. Unfortunately, after that blasted hedgehog managed to escape, the roboticizer was now in a state of disrepair. The damage was certainly nothing that couldn't be fixed, but it did put them somewhat behind schedule. Snively, of course, was exceedingly careful not to mention any of this to his victims in the torture chamber. Though it was unlikely that Sonic would ever return, given his condition, the mere mention of his flight from Robotropolis would be enough to inspire hope amongst the captive Freedom Fighters. Hope, of course, would destroy everything that had been so painstakingly arranged for this mind game.
	Not a moment after Snively switched on the last of the security monitors, Bunnie reemerged with a bowl of popcorn and a neatly balanced tea platter. Sniv kicked his feet up and reclined in his chair, watching the vidscreens as he snacked. One monitor in particular was attracting his interest lately—cell B2, where a young male dingo had been strategically paired with a ravishing feline girl. The idea was to encourage them to mate: an event which would doubtlessly upset the dingo's boyfriend and motivate him to betray his companions. It was a simple strategy, in theory, although Snively was concerned that everything might not fall into place without an outside stimulus. His solution was to leak a pheromone chemical into the cell's air supply, gradually increasing the amount over the duration of their captivity.
	He glanced at the control panel beside him. The chemical concentration was regulated by a large, red dial with four settings: Warm, Hot, Wet and Freaky. It had already been on the Hot setting for several days.
	Snively grinned mischievously. Why not, he decided. He cranked the dial all the way to Freaky.
	Leaning back, he gave a satisfactory sigh and reached into his bowl for another handful. "Bunnie, your popcorn is delicious, as always."
	"THANK YOU, SNIVELY. DO YOU REQUIRE ANYTHING ELSE?"
	"Yes," he said, "please fondle my genitals. I'm excited to see what happens next."
 *Chapter 17*: Colin IV

 	COLIN

Taylor has been missing from his cell all day. Everybody heard the announcement over the intercom yesterday, so it's no secret that he's somewhere in the Robotropolis torture chambers. I don't want to even imagine what those bastards are doing to him right now. Ever since we met, I've always looked out for him -- galvanized him to a world of derision and closed-mindedness. But it's not simply a matter of pride anymore; it's a matter of life and death, and there's nothing I can do to help him. 	To make matters worse, the condition of our cells has been gradually declining. The most significant problem is the heat, or lack thereof. Somebody turned the thermostat down. Maybe Robotnik saw his electric bill this month and flipped a cog. Regardless, the open window in the bathroom certainly doesn't help things much. It's winter outside, and it's fucking drafty in here.
	As a result, Lisa and I have taken to spending most of our time in bed with the covers on. In separate beds, I mean. Not together. Anyway, since there are only two of us, we've taken the blankets from the two unused beds, effectively doubling our insulation. At the moment, Lisa is bundled up in the bed across from me; I use a bottom bunk during the day so we can face each other when we're talking.
	She sighs. "You ever get tired of laying around and doing nothing?"
	"Well, it's not so bad. Sure beats the hell out of... eh. Something. I'm not creative enough to find a parable right now."
	"Heh. Parable. That's a good word."
	"Isn't it?"
	"I think you mean 'parallel,' though."
	I sit up. "No, I think I mean 'parable.' Like an analogy, right?"
	"A parable is basically a story that has a moral at the end of it."
	"You sure?"
	"If we had a dictionary here, I'd prove it to you. But yeah, I'm pretty sure."
	I laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. My mistake."
	"But hey, we can pretend 'parable' means 'analogy' if you want."
	"Aw, shuddup."
	"Well, at least it's fun to say. It's like 'parabola,' only different."
	Jeez, it's been forever since I've taken math. "I always hated geometry."
	"Actually, it's an algebraic term."
	"Well well well, we're just a wealth of knowledge today, aren't we?"
	She giggles. "Yeah, sometimes. When I'm in the mood, I guess."
	"Parabola," I say. Then, savoring each syllable, "Puh-RAH-bowl-uh. You're right, that's fun. Parabola." I laugh and flop back down in bed. "We are so totally bored."
	"Wait wait," Lisa says, sitting up, "let's try something." She grins. "Puh."
	I raise an eyebrow. "Huh?"
	"No no no. Puh."
	Oh, I get it now. "RAH."
	"Bowl."
	"Uh!"
	We both crack up.
	"Or 'paradigm,'" Lisa says.
	"Parachute?"
	"Paradise."
	"Para...graph."
	"Paradox!"
	"Good one. Parallelogram."
	"Paragon."
	"Paranormal. Ha!"
	"Not bad, not bad. Paralegal."
	"Parallax."
	"Paramour?" Oh god. That one just slipped out.
	Luckily Lisa doesn't miss a beat. "Parakeet."
	"Paranoia."
	"Hey now, that's a bit close to home. Paramecium."
	"Damn! Para...medic."
	"Paraphernalia."
	I toss my hands up. "Ya beat me. What can I say."
	She's still laughing. "But hey, that wasn't too bad. You're pretty good with words."
	"You too. I mean, yikes, what do you do all day, read the dictionary or something?"
	She makes a little smirk and brushes the hair out of her face. "Or something."
	Uh oh. She's doing that adorable dovey-eye thing again. I look away to avoid it. "Yeah, well. Damn, wish the heat would come back on."
	"Guh. No kidding. It's like an ice box in here."
	I glance to the neighboring cell and notice Taylor's empty bunk again. I feel myself deflate almost instantly. "I hope he's alright," I mention quietly.
	"Yeah. Me too."
	The room is silent for awhile. Lisa tosses off her blankets and heads for the fruit bowl. "I haven't eaten today. Want something?"
	"Sure, might as well."
	"Banana?"
	"Yeah, that's good."
	She frowns. "They feel a bit mushy."
	"Ew. Really?"
	"Yeah. Guess we can stop counting on fresh fruit, from now on."
	"Jeez. Guess so."
	"Still looks edible, though. Want one anyway?"
	"Nah, keep it. I don't eat soft bananas."
	LISA

I get the joke, but it's not really that funny. Or maybe I'm just not in the mood to laugh anymore. 	"Well," I say, picking up a couple of bath towels from the floor, "I think I'm gonna take another shower. At least we still have that. It's too damn cold in here."
	"Fair enough."
	Tossing the towels on my bed, I start to undress. I'm really not sure why I do this out in the open when I could just as easily go into the bathroom and do it. Maybe it makes me feel better better to know that somebody is nearby -- a sort of psychological comfort. Or then again, maybe I'm just hoping he'll look at me naked.
	I catch a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror. Did he just look away? It's probably my mind playing tricks on me, but one can always hope. With the mirrors in this place, though, it's impossible to tell who's looking at what. We're trapped inside a gigantic optical illusion.
	God, I'm so pathetic. In fact, I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking like this. Robotnik's minions are doing who-knows-what to Colin's boyfriend in the torture chamber, and here I am wondering if he's admiring my ass.
	Even so... there is something undeniably attractive about him, and I can't quite figure it out. Perhaps it's because he's so completely different from any other guy I've known. He's smart and sensitive, true, but he also has a personality. Not to mention a nice torso.
	I stop before heading into the shower. I'm becoming gradually aware of a faint scent around me. It's subtle... a bit like perfume, but not quite. It's a vaguely floral smell. I sniff the air, but I can't locate where it's coming from. I glance over at Colin; he's asleep again. Maybe it's just me.
	COLIN

I pull the blankets over my shoulders and turn over, trying to keep the cold out. I'm also trying not to look in Lisa's direction. I don't know why I'm always tempted to watch her undress, but it's not healthy, especially not today. I should be thinking about Taylor. I should be worried sick about him. I should be crying or afraid or unable to speak, not laughing and playing word games with my cellmate. I shouldn't be watching Lisa undress or suppressing an erection under the covers. There are a million things I should be doing right now -- praying for Taylor or planning an escape or contemplating my fate or something -- but no. I'm thinking about her. I can't help it. 	What's worse, I don't even understand why I feel this way. I've never been attracted to a woman before in my life. But there's something about Lisa... her smile, her energy. I feel instinctively that she would make a terrific companion. Of course, for the sake of argument, you could say that there are any number of factors contributing to this. We're trapped together in an alien environment, so it's only natural that we would seek each other for comfort. Would we have given each other even a second glance if we had met back in Knothole?
	Fuck it. I'm sick of rationalizing it. I hate this place, and I hate being subjected to this situation. It's unfair. If I had my choice, I'd be in that torture chamber with Taylor now, and we'd go through it together.
	I'm almost at the brink of tears... but my thoughts are pulverized by an ear-splitting scream from the bathroom.
	LISA

I'm in the shower for no more than a couple minutes, and the water starts running ICE COLD. I shriek and back up against the wall away from the stream. 	I hear Colin yelling, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?" He bolts into the bathroom, probably on impulse, and his eyes suddenly go wide as he sees me. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking... oh god." He darts back outside. I shut off the water and grab the towel that I left over the sink.
	COLIN

I only caught a split-second glimpse, but I saw plenty. She was wet and naked with hard nipples, and she looked... well, like she had just jumped out of a cold shower. 	I feel a warm tickle between my legs. You have got to be kidding me. I sit down on the nearest bed to avoid the embarrassment.
	"Colin? It's okay, I have a towel on now. Come here."
	"No no! I'm fine, really!" I cross my legs. It'll pass, it'll pass...
	"Well, I think you should have a look at this."
	"Ahem. What is it?"
	"The shower."
	"Ah, that's nice."
	"Colin!"
	"I'm sorry, is there something unusual about the shower?"
	"I don't know, you tell me!"
	Exactly what the hell do I know about showers? "Well, I'm pretty sure Robotnik turned off the hot water. That seems to make sense, seeing how he's turned everything else off."
	"Colin, get your ass in here before I come out and drag you."
	LISA

He enters the shower walking backwards. Sometimes I just can't figure him out. 	"Alright, Colin, take a look." I point to the shower knob. Previously, there had been a "C" and an "H" engraved into the metal plating around it, obviously signifying "cold" and "hot." But now the "H" is missing entirely. It doesn't look as though somebody had simply polished it off, either; it looks as though it had never been there to begin with.
	"That is weird," Colin says. "You're sure it was there before?"
	"Positive."
	"Heh. Well, you'd know. You spend enough time in here."
	I hit him in the arm. "Cut it out. The point is that Robotnik is really going out of his way to make us go crazy here. And quite frankly, I've had enough of it." I turn and gesture to the barred window above us. "Think you can lift me high enough to reach it?"
	"Well, I guess I can try. Worth a shot."
	"We've been cooped up in this cell for too long, and I'll be damned if I can't even see what's going on outside."
	Colin glances around nervously. "Should we be talking about this so loudly? What if somebody hears us?"
	"The cameras don't record audio, if that's what you mean."
	He gives me a skeptical look. "Zat so? How do you know that?"
	"Think about it, Colin. There are probably a zillion fucking cells in this building. How are they going to listen to all of us at once?"
	He blinks. "You know, I never thought of it that way..."
	"Here, lift me onto your shoulders and I'll try standing up."
	"Okay."
	He puts his back against the wall and lifts me up by the waist, allowing me to sit on his shoulders. Of course, my crotch is conveniently in his face, but what's a little pussy between friends?
	When he speaks, his voice is a little muffled. "Sho, uh... how you gonna shtand up fruh here?"
	"Well, I'm still thinking about that."
	COLIN

My face is between her legs. All she's wearing is a towel. Needless to say, this is a bit awkward. 	"Alright, Colin. Idea. Try pushing on my butt and I'll scale the wall until I can stand on your shoulders."
	I follow her instructions. At least she can't see the bulge in my pants.
	"Almost there. Stand still! Your knees are buckling."
	"Cand helb id."
	Without warning, I start lose my footing; the tiles are wet underneath me. I guess that's what we get for trying this in a FUCKING SHOWER. My feet slip out from underneath me and we collapse onto the floor, hard. She lands on top of me.
	"Ooof. My back."
	"Ow. Damn. I guess that was a bad idea, huh?"
	"You think?"
	When I sit up, I notice that her towel has begun to slip off. In fact, it's remarkable that it stayed on for this long. She's rubbing her forehead with one hand and clutching her loose towel in the other. And she's still in my lap.
	"You okay?" I ask.
	"Yeah, fine." She sighs, laughing a little. "Maybe we'll try this again sometime when the tiles are dry."
	"Heh. Sure, I'm game."
	"How's your back?"
	"Oh, it's great right now. Won't be so great in the morning."
	She flashes me her cattiest grin. "You always this sarcastic, or just when you're around me?"
	For once, I don't have an answer. There's something about this moment that feels so... convenient. Too convenient. I notice a strange, almost tropical scent in the air, and I start to wonder where it's coming from.
	I'm interrupted by her gaze. She has that look again. My heart is beating a little faster. Before I even realize what's happening, she leans forward onto my chest and kisses me. Her lips touch mine only briefly, followed by the slightest little lick of her tongue.
	Our eyes are locked. Her hands slide from my torso to my shoulders, and I shudder. By now my softish erection is poking into her thigh. Wordlessly, she positions herself over me and draws me into another, deeper kiss. She reaches for my zipper.
	This is wrong. I can't do this -- yet somehow I can't stop myself. As I return the kiss, my hands are around her waist, working their way up. I run my fingers along her back and cradle her head, letting my mouth slide from her lips to her neck. Lower still, my tongue moves across her nipples as she carefully guides my erection between her legs.
	LISA

He's holding me securely but gently. When he pushes inside of me, I gasp and clutch his shoulders, letting him lay me down onto the cold, wet floor. I wrap my legs around his waist. My hips are rising and falling with each soft thrust. Our breathing is quick and rhythmically paced (this is wrong) and gradually speeds up (I can't do this) as he moves in and out, and I feel my body tighten and tingle and burn (yet somehow I can't stop myself) as we come closer to our inevitable climax (YES). 	He's not aggressive or dominating like the others. We are equals who are sharing a single, wonderful experience. When we blast off, it's a simultaneous explosion of unity and euphoria, and we hold each other tightly until it's over.
	This is the warmest, most affectionate sex I've ever had.
 *Chapter 18*: Taylor II

 	TAYLOR

The torture room isn't what I expected. I'm surrounded by smooth, white walls and nothing else -- no furniture, no doors, no windows. Just a blinding cube of white light. I have a dull headache from the lingering anesthesia, but I've gotten used to that by now. Since I woke up here, I can reasonably assume that I was taken from my cell sometime during the night by Robotnik's forces. For the moment, though, it appears that I'm the only one in the room. 	But not for long. To the left of me, I see a tall, rectangular panel in the wall recede into the ceiling with a subtle hiss. A short, bald, needle-nosed man enters the room, flanked by a number of armed SWATbots. "Good evening," he says. His voice matches his appearance perfectly. "Do you know who I am?"
	As I stand, my breathing is slow and tempered. "You're Snively."
	"Correct. We can dismiss the introductions, then." He makes a small hand motion, and the SWATbots move forward to surround me. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me, we can finish this in a timely manner. I have other appointments."
	Behind me, a SWATbot nudges its blaster against my shoulder, prompting me to move forward. "Where are we going?" I ask. I find my lack of hesitation unusual but not altogether inexplicable, considering the gravity of the situation.
	"In a moment," Snively says, "I think this will look quite familiar to you."
	When we're through the door, the world becomes immediately darker. We're surrounded on all sides by industrial scaffolding, cold metal pipes and gray walls. The hallway before us seems to stretch into infinity. Our path is only dimly lit by florescent lamps above us while the rest of the complex lurks in shadow, alive with sinister electricity. Further ahead, I can see the hallway bloom into a yawning, cavernous pit of machinery. If Robotropolis is a monster, we are surely inside of its belly.
	I shiver slightly, hugging myself to stay warm. It's freezing here. It doesn't help that I'm dressed only in a thin pair of cotton pants and a shirt -- the clothes I wore to bed on the night we were abducted. With bare feet, I step carefully on the chilly concrete floor to avoid as much contact as I can.
	Unexpectedly, Snivley turns to his right and follows an adjacent hallway -- at the end of which is a heavy steel door with a keypad. A sign overhead says "LEVEL B." After Snively enters a multi-digit password, the door jets open with a grating, mechanical sneeze.
	I'm not even through the entrance, and I can already see the long stretch of glass windows aligned to the left wall. It reminds me of a reptile exhibit. The first pen, labeled B5, is empty. But B4 is inhabited by no less than three Freedom Fighters.
	I stop walking. "We're outside the cells," I realize aloud.
	"Correct," says Snively.
	The prisoners in B4 are asleep; it must still be nighttime. "I thought these walls were just mirrors..."
	"They are. We've designed them as two-way mirrors, not unlike those you'd find in an aquarium. Hence, we can see in, but you can't see out. They've also been manufactured using a compound derived from Robotnik's Diamond Glass formula, which renders them thoroughly shatter-proof. These cells took months to design and even longer to construct. They are absolutely flawless."
	I can't speak. But even if I could, there are no words to articulate what I'm feeling now. They had been planning this for years -- everything from the conception and implementation of this new prison block to the manner in which we've been handled. This entire course of events has been an elaborate, psychological experiment.
	"How many levels are there?" I manage to ask.
	"Five. And with five cells on each level, that makes for a total of twenty five cells in this building alone. Multiply that number by an average of four prisoners per cell, and we could conceivably contain one hundred of you little Freedom Furballs here. Although bear in mind that the complex we're currently constructing will have double that capacity."
	My stomach drops. "You're building more...?"
	Snively smiles darkly. "All in due time. But anyway! Moving on. You've no doubt noticed that we're currently on your cell level. B3 is just ahead. I think you'd be most interested, though, in the goings on within your neighbor's cell, B2."
	Colin's cell. My blood runs cold. "What have you done with him?"
	Snively laughs. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all. In fact, he's demonstrated recently that he's quite... ahem. Shall we say, a physically healthy specimen."
	As we approach cell B2, however, it's plainly obvious that nobody's inside. "Where are they?" I demand. "They weren't on your fucking torture list. If you've hurt Colin in any way, I swear to god I'll kill you myself."
	"Oh please. Do you realize how many times I've heard that line? In any case, it appears that we have to go upstairs for a decent view. Follow me."
	Just past the unoccupied B1, we climb a simple metal staircase to access the catwalk that overlooks the cell lineup. Looking down, we can see into the cells through the two-way mirror in the ceiling. "This is where the real cameras are positioned," Snively says, pointing to a cluster of security devices that have been fixed above us. "The cameras inside the cells are for cosmetic purposes only. A psychological stimulant, if you will. They're not even functional."
	But I'm not paying attention to him anymore. The world around me has turned silent and cold. Through the glass below me, I can see that Colin and Lisa have fallen asleep together in the shower. They are naked and their clothes are scattering the bathroom floor. Lisa is wrapped snugly on top of him -- arms around his torso, head on his chest, moving subtly up and down with each breath. Colin's arms are draped carefully around her waist. Even in their state of induced slumber, they appear very satisfied. They're a cute couple. No, really. I should have known something was going on between them. How could I not see it coming, right? How could not admit to myself that my best friend and lover of five years would rather be with someone else? How dare I turn a blind eye and pretend that he's faithful, that he still cares about our relationship.
	I even thought he loved me. Imagine that. I guess I was asking for it. If you fall deeply enough for someone, you're bound to be disappointed. I'm such a fool. He doesn't love me -- nobody does. I'm stupid for ever thinking otherwise.
	I'm clutching the catwalk railing, convulsing with each violent sob. I've been crying for quite some time. Snively and the SWATbots wait patiently to the right and left of me and remain silent. Minutes pass... maybe hours, I don't know. It feels like an eternity. "You should get some rest," Snivley finally says. I don't remember anything after that.
My eyes are puffy. It's obvious that I've been crying in my sleep. I'm laying face down in my top bunk with a pillow in my arms, struggling to keep myself together. I clench my teeth and try to swallow the tight feeling in my throat, but I just end up exhaling a frustrated, stuttered sigh. My eyes are burning again. I close them and bury my face into my pillow. 	I can hear Sean, Kyle and Rex playing cards below, so I guess that means I'm the last person in the cell to wake up this morning. Or is it already afternoon? I don't care. Nobody has spoken to me since I returned last night, not even Sean. It's like they're pretending that nothing is wrong. Not one of them has asked me if I'm okay or if I'm hungry or if I need anything. For god's sake, I came back from the torture chamber, and they haven't said a word of comfort to me. They haven't even mentioned what happened between Colin and Lisa next door, which would be bad enough, but this is even worse. I'm invisible right now.
	I'm facing away from Colin's cell. I can't look at him. If he's happy with Lisa then fine, he can have her. I don't need him anyway. They fucked each other as soon as they thought I wouldn't know, so that says an awful lot about how important I was to Colin. I wonder how long they wanted it. By the time I disappeared from my cell, they were probably so hot for each other they were ready to explode. Maybe they did it more than once. Maybe they started into it as soon as they woke up and saw that I was gone. I'll bet they started on the bed, since that's the most obvious, and then moved to the floor where they could watch each other in the mirrors. And then the shower, oh god yes, humping against the walls of their own little private sex booth. I hope they enjoyed it, too, because it'll be the last thing they ever enjoy.
	These so-called friends, this pathetic alliance, this ridiculous war -- I'm so tired of this shit. If I can't earn their respect, then maybe I should stop trying altogether.
 *Chapter 19*: D2 and D3 II

 	CELLS D2 AND D3

I recognized a couple of the names on that list. I counted them lucky. A way out is a way out. 	First instance, for every cell, one person was taken away for torture. For our cell, Ginger was chosen.
	It was obvious what Robotnik was going for. Seven guys, one girl, one cell. Duh. Honestly, I was waiting for it to happen, either by accident or by force. Ginger isn't the type of person you respect for her mind, and these walking skin tubes didn't seem the type to ask questions before shooting.
	A group of guys alone together, they talk about women more often than they should. My cellmates had to wait for her to take a shower to do it. "Respecting her privacy."
	Charlie and Sparky didn't talk much about her at first, but they eventually loosened up, and preached the word; what they wanted to do with her, to her; what ways, what moves, in what situations.
	I suppose the guys discussed it to let off steam. They had no intention of making any of their fantasies true, not at first. Like escape, it was more talk. That's all.
	However, since we were all crammed into this confined space, I had to listen to them. And the thing is, I was thinking the same things they were.
	Ginger. Ginger, Ginger, Ginger. Thinking about sex without also feeling disgusted just isn't like me. Sure, I want it just as much as the next reproducing biped, but I couldn't help but feel… typical. Weak. I considered it a weakness to want to fuck.
	Not this thing with Ginger. Here, there was strength. The fantasies were downright mean, driven. I wanted her, and I didn't care about the consequences. Hell, I would have fucked her in front of the others as long as I was first.
	Wanting to fuck is one thing; needing to is another.
	The guys, they surprised me. They exercised an admirable amount of restraint. They acted like gentlemen in front of her and kept the talk behind her back, kept one another in check, calmed each other down.
	And there were all kinds of X-factors. The cell next to us, for one. D4 and D5. They had a girl of their own (well, two at first, until the torture list). Their group was much more… unreserved. They gave into their urges early in the game, and every once in awhile we'd get a free show.
	When something like that is going on right next to you, there's no way in hell you can ignore it, not in these circumstances. Every time there was a fucking session in D4, we knew about it, and it pissed us off about as much as it made us hard.
	And there was Ginger. She became more and more flirty as time wore on. She steered conversations to sex and laughed about it like it was all one big joke. I guess I can understand, if it was her way of dealing with the situation. After all, she had no one to talk to about it. Only, guys take talk like that differently when it's coming from a girl.
	Between her talking about sex and actually seeing it in the neighboring cells, we didn't have much time left. It was all one big powder keg, and soon, it was going to explode and Ginger would be the one at ground zero.
	This was all part of the plan, naturally. At no point were we ever in control, and he made sure we knew it, every night he gassed and every morning we woke up to less and less food. If any of us ever had the chance of fucking her in one of the showers, it was gone. Now all she wanted was comfort, someone to hold onto.
	She could have chosen anyone, but she ended up choosing Donald.
	Make no mistake: it isn't cute. The best way to piss someone off is to exclude them. Donald was alienating his friends, trying to make it to the finish line first, where previously they had discussed that they would all do it together. They saw it as betrayal.
	And Ginger might have thought that she was gaining a friend, but she was really gaining seven enemies. The gloves were off. There was no way Donald was going to win.
	Night fell and the two lovebirds stayed close together, sitting on the same bed. Charlie and Kern played catch right next to them, to make sure they didn't try anything under the covers. Marsh and Oscar stood in front of the bathroom in D2 under the pretense of having a conversation. Frank guarded the other bathroom by taking a shower. No one was getting laid that night, not on their watch.
	A gassing and a headache later and it was morning. Ginger was gone. Her bed, too.
	We kept talking like she would come back, but we knew she was a goner. Oh well. Disaster averted. Things became things easier.
	The urge to fuck something didn't disappear, oh no, all it did was change addresses. Now, we all wanted to fuck the girl from next door.
	Yes, we got to keep the slut. How nice. And she was still fucking her six male cellmates, one at a time, mostly. We had plenty of material for keeping the urge down, thanks to her.
	A return to an edge of normality. Even Donald was being treated like a friend again.
	A week must have passed, but it was impossible to tell one way or another. I had woken up with the urge, the sign painfully obvious and looking up at me with its sad, vacant, lonely expression. Lipstick dick. I tip-toed into the D2 bathroom to jack it, turning the hot water on full blast.
	Guilt came first; system peripheral. I swam past and let go, getting right into the swerve. I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy, just a quick aerobic workout. A minute was all it took, and I watched as the leftovers swirl down the drain, guilt coming back with a vengeance.
	Sex. The sex thing. I sure missed the fucking boat on that one. While everyone else experimented and grew into caring about it, worshipping it in some cases, I kept to myself and wondered about it until I was afraid of it. But it didn't change the fact that I still wanted it. And I wasn't so disgusted about it anymore. No longer scared. I didn't hate myself for changing.
	I turned off the shower.
	I came out of the bathroom to find that everyone had woken up, and they were gathered around something in D3. I came close to see what it was, and when I did, I knew that we were in trouble again.
	Ginger was back.
 *Chapter 20*: Robert IV

 	ROBERT

NICOLE rocked back and forth on the makeshift belt around Robert's waist, slapping against his right thigh as he ran. Breathing hard, he reached the tip top of the metal embankment and turned, firing twice into the crowd of pursuing patrol bots. He saw one collapse before he fell out of sight and tumbled down the other side of the hill. Sharp slivers of metal stabbed into him at every angle. He curled around NICOLE to protect her fragile casing, feeling the heat of her hard drive and the barrel of the gun against his cheeks. 	The bottom finally came and he stopped, rolling to his knees. He had landed smack in the middle of a large steel valley, tall piles of scrap surrounding him. Above, huge skeletons of old power transformers towered into the smog, electric veins and arteries arcing back and forth, near invisible against the dark sky. He could hear HoverUnits closing in on his position.
	Robert quickly flipped open NICOLE. "Bring up the map, now!" A flickering 3-D grid lit the immediate area in a dark green, shining like a beacon. Better hurry. "Are we in position?"
	"PROCESSING…"
	The roar of engines grew steadily louder, approaching from the north. Footsteps, metal against metal, shook loose rust and dirt, the particles sticking to his wet fur. NICOLE burned in his hand. It was coming close to the wire.
	Robert steadied his breathing, in no hurry. Calm. Easy, breezy.
	"BINGO."
	"Confirm position."
	"CONFIRMED, AREA 3572-B. TRANSMITTING. I'LL NEED TWO MINUTES, ROBERT."
	"Certainly, my dear."
	Perfect timing, a lone SWATbot appeared at the top of the hill, trying to be a hero. Robert took careful aim and fired. The metal figure's head popped in half, the body stretching backwards and rolling back where it came from. Robert set NICOLE down to let her work.
	Reinforcements came in no time at all. Five, no, six SWATbots, marching in unison, arms raised in an attack salute, heading down the hill. Robert ducked low and moved five steps away from NICOLE. BANG. The flash took down the second bot from the right.
	The other five bot-heads scattered like insects, while the dead shell of the fallen sixth fell face-flat into the loose scrap. Robert smiled and stabbed his feet into the hill, left, right, left, right. He didn't need to worry about cover as long as he was faster than the SWATbots, quicker on the draw.
	T-minus 1:30.
	Robert saw a horizontal red splotch move to his upper right. Bending on one knee, he fired two shots, hearing metal denting. The SWATbot's arm pointed upwards and rifled a plasma burst that rocketed into the sky. Robert took evasive action.
	He couldn't see the others but he saw one bot get up and dive into the upright shell of the last SWATbot. It rode the metal corpse down the hill, sliding and shooting in Robert's general direction. Moving left, he managed to target the SWATbot's knee, then heart. Bang, bang. The two bodies tumbled down to the bottom of the gully, junk'd.
	Engines roared closer. T-minus 1:00.
	A pair of spotlights sliced into the murky dark. Robert felt loose rust swirl up all around him as the HoverUnits flew overhead, bright cones of the spotlights inches from his curled form, bright enough to see where the last two bots were hiding. Robert assumed that the biggest one was the squad leader, decked out in thick armor and likely, with enough firepower to frappe everything in its path. Its left arm closely resembled a cannon.
	Better take them out quickly, then.
	Robert stepped outside of himself and took control of his body. He moved at the speed of his bullets, and it seemed to him like he reached the final two SWATbots just as they crumpled from the weight of death. A HoverUnit flashed a blinding beam of light onto him as he caught the heavily armored SWATbot squad leader from behind, catching it as it was falling.
	Move one. Use gun to crack left arm armor.
	Move two. Rip open left arm emplacement with left hand.
	Move three. Grip manual override.
	Move four. Spray/pray.
	"INTRUDER! INTRUDER!"
	Robert had the first two moves down when the HoverUnit closed in and began firing. Plasma slammed into the squad leader shield, prompting Robert to reach into the left arm and squeeze the manual override without hesitating.
	Everything froze after the recoil. The HoverUnit stopped firing, the wounds stopped hurting, his heart stopped beating. The ground moved ten feet forwards without his permission, and Robert found himself higher on the hill watching the flaming wreckage of the HoverUnit spin into oblivion. It passed overhead, skinning the air and bleeding steel, out of sight into the hills of scrap. He didn't hear the final crash.
	Back at the bottom of the hill, feeling like a walking blood clot, Robert slid the gun into his makeshift belt, amazed that he had still managed to hold onto it. NICOLE was right where he had left her.
	"You're done, I hope."
	"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"
	"Nothing. Did you get the map?"
	"AFFIRMATIVE. WERE YOU NEAR THAT EXPLOSION?"
	"What makes you say that?"
	"ALL THE HAIR IS MISSING ON THE LEFT SIDE OF YOUR FACE."
	Robert resisted the urge to check himself. "It'll grow back. Let's get the hell out of here." They had lost their satellite hookup yesterday, but today they got something better. With the updated wire schematic of the city, Robert could move around quicker, get the materials he needed. To build, to work.
	Alarms growing ever louder in the distance, Robert ran as fast as he could in the direction of Chuck's house.
This time he came to life ready to kill with his bare hands. Robert calmed down when he remembered where he was, under the watchful glare of NICOLE and a 88 deactivated Uncle Chuck. 	At least he had slept, for the first time since… since he had woken up outside of the city. Shit, had it been that long?
	No. Not this, not now.
	His tools awaited him on the table, next to the unfinished control board. Sitting in the chair, he closed his eyes and tried to remember where he had left off, how far he had gotten…
	"PLANS FOR TODAY, ROBERT?"
	He opened one eye. "Work, darling. Work. Like always."
	"PERHAPS WE SHOULD ACTIVATE THE MONITORS, CHECK THE STATUS OF-"
	"Not today. I'll speak with them next time I need something in their sector." Robert went quiet, swallowing hard.
	"RUNNING FROM YOUR PROBLEMS AGAIN, ROBERT?"
	"You should deactivate until I need you."
	"BUILD, BUILD, BUILD, THAT'S ALL YOU APPEAR TO BE CAPABLE OF. AND YOU DO MOST OF YOUR BUILDING OUTDOORS, ISN'T THAT RIGHT?"
	"Cheeky little bitch-"
	"YOU REQUIRE RESULTS AND YOU REQUIRE HELP, MORE THAN WHAT I CAN OFFER. YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO ME MORE OFTEN, ROBERT, IF YOU WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS ALIVE."
	He wrapped his makeshift belt around his waist, picking up his gun and yeah, yeah, yeah-ing his way to the door. "You want me to listen to you more, NICOLE, you should start being honest with me, because I can't but shake this feeling that you're trying to get rid of me."
	The tiny computer clicked twice. "IF YOU SAY SO."
	He hesitated at the door. "It can't be that hard to be nice to me."
	There was a moment of silence before an explosion of synthetic voice rocketed at him. "WHY YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE SHIT, HOW DARE YOU MAKE PRESUMPTIONS! YOU'RE NOT THE ONE WHO HAS TO PUT UP WITH YOUR FUCKING ASS! AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I DO WANT TO RESCUE THE OTHERS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE SO I CAN GET AWAY FROM YOU! I FIND YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE PRE-SCHOOL CRUSH ON ME QUITE INSULTING. YOU THINK I'D EVER HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU? YOU MAKE ME SICK! I HATE YOU! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, NOW! NOW NOW NOW!"
	An hour later, a short distance away from the ivory prison, Robert still hadn't healed from what NICOLE had said to him. What was happening to her? What was causing her to act this way?
	He wondered if someone had somehow corrupted her software, put a virus into her system without his knowledge. When they pirated the wire map of the city, or even when they repaired Chuck.
	That would mean that they were watching him. From the beginning.
	The city was getting to him, all the smog, soot, danger, pressure… It wasn't what he was used to. Man, oh man; he loved the girl, and if it turned out that she really did mean those things, he already forgave her for it.
	He needed out.
	He needed out.
 *Chapter 21*: A2 and A3 VI

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

She stepped into the hot jetting water. She lowered her head and breathed deep through her nose. Jenn could detect his smell, his sweat... 	Holly was sitting outside, right by the door, nibbling her day's ration of food. Jenn watched her through the steam. She turned both of the faucets off. Water dripped down her limp ears, down her whole body. She shook off what she could
	Like every day, she waited as long as possible. Leaving the bathroom was much harder than entering it. She flicked her hands upward, propelling droplets all the way up to the ceiling.
	Holly stood immediately as she exited. "Feel better?"
	Jenn nodded.
	"You look dry enough," Holly said, inspecting her from top to bottom. "I'm going now, if you don't mind. Will you be all right alone?"
	"Yes, I'll be fine." Jenn passed Sabrina's bed on the way to her own, seeing her friend's black and white fur poking out from under her covers. Under her was Buster's bed, still mysteriously tidy from the morning. He had been gone all day. Robotnik, the voice, had been true to its word.
	… Robert… Robert, where are you?
	"-hahahaha!"
	High-pitched laughter came from over the bunks, most of the loud noise from Shirk's mouth. Jenn sighed deeply, wondering why anything was funny anymore, and followed the imaginary path to her bed.
	"Heh. Did it really happen?"
	"Shit, did it happen, he asks."
	Durango looked over Shirk's shoulder. Tristan was watching the A1 group. He indicated what he saw to Shirk. "What's his deal?"
	Shirk followed the gaze. "Eh, some crap about one of theirs being missing for two days, too. Like that shit ain't happening here, but big deal, right? Good riddance to all of em, I say-"
	"Keep it down!" Durango hissed, looking wildly about. He gripped Shirk by the hair on his shoulder. "You looking to start trouble or something?"
	"Start trouble nothin, you kidding? What's got you all uppidy?"
	"I'm getting real tired of your bullshit. That kid Buster might deserve it for fucking with the girls right in front of us, waving his prick around like he was king shit, but right now I'm a little ashamed that I know you." He tightened his grip. "There's no place to run away here and you can't take all of us on."
	"You'd side with these pussies!"
	"I've been putting up with you ever since this all started. Start shaping yourself the fuck up or I swear-"
	Shirk shoved Durango out of his face, pushing the cougar against the mirrored wall. The loud bang caught the stares of the cellmates. The cameras. "Balls!" he yelled, his hands clenched in tight fists. "Fuck ya'll then!"
	Shirk tore into the empty shower, kicking and punching wildly. The barred window caught his eye and he jumped as high as he could, trying to reach it. He tried again. Something smelled sweet, something he remembered from the Great Forest. He backed off and took another run at the wall, scratching and clawing upward. Out, out, out, he needed out-
	"Take the hit inside, like it's part of you."
	The berries are liquid, practically. Kern taps the insertion tube free of debris. I can't help but feel worried. "Shouldn't you have done that first?"
	"Relax."
	Remember.
	It's starting to gel, the hit or whatever. A deep, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My feet turn into boards of lumber, sinking into Kern's floor. My eyes turning rubber. Itching under my claws. Wet, wet fur. "Like hell… relax, he says."
	"I told you to take it in, areyoutakingitin?"
	The worst things in the world that could happen at this moment: getting stabbed with a spear through the stomach, dumping acid on my head, going blind, going deaf, going mute, losing my dick, my fingers up my ass when a girl walks in, the embarrassmentSHHHHshh, relax, relax, take it in …………………………….
	"There… there… ya see?"
	Narcotics.
	Kern cultivates the berries with Book's medical supplies, because he's an assistant on weekends and he is trusted trusted trusted yes he is toxic berries like hell bob's your uncle pal it's a simple process through fire and wires and tubes, what a chemist kern is, if this is wrong then why is it so readily available? "i cant feel my chin."
	"Normal."
	"or my left leg."
	"Also normal. You're halfway there. Now you need to find the boy."
	"the… boy?"
	"He's in your veins, where you took the hit. He'll be headed towards your heart. Are you looking?"
	look for the boy the boy the boy look for the boy in in deeper deeper the boy the boy "there he is… yes, there he is…"
	Balderdash.
	"You feel him? You see him? Look at the boy. He's so small, he's just a child, just a scared little child inside of you-
	can help him, you can get him out of there, and you'll feel good, and it'll come easy after this, but you have to try-"
	"-Help him grow up."
	Get out of here.
	I'll miss this.
	"Help the boy grow up. Big and strong and bigger than you. There?"
	"therrrrrrrrre."
	"You got it. There's the hit. Nice?"
	Withdrawals. Shakes. Gibberish.
	i don't want this to end i don't want this ever to end don't 
	End
	so much better than
	End.
	Shirk's fists left prints all over the walls, but he didn't care. Come next morning, all traces of it would be gone.
	And they'd all be stuck there. Still.
	Outside, mindless Mobians covered in metal worked and worked and worked.
	Next day, Tristan pressed his forehead against the lukewarm shower walls, mentally easing back his raging hard-on. When it was unnoticeable, he turned off the water and exited.
	Simon was over by the bunk beds, as usual, watching a returned Buster and a contented Sabrina sleep together on their bottom bunk. The bobcat had been returned that morning, no strings attached. He looked fine, only a little shaken up. Tristan didn't think anyone cared about the details. They were just happy to have him back.
	"Where's the ball?" Tristan asked.
	"Under the covers." Simon smiled mischievously. "Took it from them when they weren't looking, sir. I've noticed that they get agitated when it's in plain view, like they feel they're being forced to play against their will."
	"They're a competitive lot, all right." It would have been nice to see some color. Above him, Tristan felt the hot lenses of the video cameras burning a hole into his head. "Any problems, concerning yourself?"
	"Myself, sir?"
	"Any at all. You can tell me."
	Simon blinked, drawing into himself. "Well… nothing specific, sir. That is, nothing I can think of, offhand-"
	"Are any of your friends from Knothole here?"
	"No, sir, not on this floor."
	"Aha. Are you having trouble fitting in?"
	"… Forgive me, sir, but I don't consider 'fitting in' as very important. Our number one priority should be…" Simon lowered his voice. "Escape, sir-"
	"Yeah." Tristan cut in, his brow furrowing. "Yeah… right… but Robert hasn't come back yet."
	Simon reluctantly nodded.
	"He's supposed to soon, right?"
	"It's what he said, sir."
	"He's late."
	"Yes-"
	"Until then, until he comes back, what do we have?"
	"… Sir, Robotnik's watching us."
	"I'm not so sure it's him, anymore…" Tristan said, thoughtfully. Then, "I've been watching you, Simon. You look at them, but you don't participate. You just talk to me."
	"Sir, I-"
	"Holly and the girls keep to themselves and they don't bother anyone. My concern is that you're choosing sides."
	"But-"
	"I like talking with you, Simon, I always have. You're a good fighter and I like your loyalty. Don't make the mistake of thinking that you and I are allies. There are no sides here. Save it for when we get out."
	When, not if. Still, he liked this. He liked trying to hurt the poor kid, catching him off guard, feeling superior-
	Tristan cleared his throat. "You have a girlfriend, Simon?"
	"… No, sir."
	"No one?"
	"No. Sir."
	He leaned in close. "You ever had sex?"
	Simon tensed up. He tried to look away but couldn't escape Tristan's piercing gaze, real or reflected. "Once, sir."
	Tristan failed at stifling a chuckle. "Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?"
	"S- I… I don't know."
	"You can barely feel anything. Weren't sure why you liked it, still, but you did. On some primal level, it was still nice. Do you get why it works the way it does?"
	"Not really."
	"Couldn't wait to get there, and then you do, and you don't care for it."
	"… Yes."
	"It's detestable when you aren't doing it."
	"Yes."
	"You still want it."
	"Yes."
	Tristan smiled. "Isn't so hard not calling me sir, is it?"
	Sudden, high-pitched shrieks came from A3, snapping Tristan to full alert so hard that he felt his nerves catch fire. Without knowing it, the same thing had happened again: he had gotten comfortable. On an unconscious level, he never thought anything could go wrong in this cell.
	His legs carried him to the source of the cries, the center cluster of bunks on the opposite side. Sabrina's face was frozen in terror. Her final shrieks died and faded when she ran out of breath and retreated out of the bottom bunk. Tristan noticed that she was covered in blood.
	Without the noise, he finally heard it: guttural retching, followed by muffled splashes. Durango and the others gathered around Tristan, frozen in place by what they saw on the bottom bunk. Buster was vomiting blood. A lot of it.
	The sheets had turned completely red by the time Tristan won the battle to move. His hands shot out and gripped Buster by his heaving shoulders, pulling him to a sitting positions. The others took two steps back when a geyser sprayed outwards and landed at their feet. Tristan almost fell trying to pull Buster to his feet.
	"Help me!"
	Durango and Shirk slipped over themselves getting under Buster's arms. "Get him to the shower!" one of them said over the roar of gushing fluid. Sabrina backpedaled out of their way, her expression the same.
	Buster's legs had ceased to move, so Tristan took the initiative and wrapped his soaked arms around them. Together, the three managed to carry him as it poured and poured out of him. Buster was gritting his teeth to try and stop the flow.
	At the entrance to the bathroom, Buster let loose a racking heave, knocking Tristan off balance, and he fell, knee first into the hot, bright red trail. He let go of the legs and Durango and Shirk dragged Buster the rest of the way inside, flipping him onto his back.
	Tristan's vision blurred from the edges inward. Feeling woozy, he sat down. The prisoners from A1 were watching, and he thought about how he must have looked to them, sitting in a line of blood, covered in it from the chest down, not doing a goddamn thing about it.
	Durango ducked at another burst, a lot already covering him. There was no sign of it stopping, and he had no way of looking down Buster's throat to see what was causing it. While Shirk and Durango tried in vain to save him, while Holly and Jenna looked on from a distance, while Sabrina cried and cowered in their arms, while Simon was nowhere to be seen, Tristan was already moving on to the next problem in his mind. He decided to wait for the chaos to die down. After all, how much more could he have left inside of him?
Not clean… 	Not clean…
	Sabrina had still been sleeping in Buster's old bed, wrapping herself completely in his sheets and hiding. Against Tristan's worst fears, sides were being chosen.
	"Not clean."
	Of course Buster's body had been collected by the following morning, replaced with fruit and clean sheets.
	Durango had alienated the group by refusing to back down on the details. Tristan marveled at how quickly they had lost control. After Shirk and Holly managed to verbally abuse Durango into submission, he had spent the rest of the day trying to find the general in A5, to no avail. Things were bad, and with the first torture list's week anniversary on the horizon, it wasn't looking too good.
	But what worried Tristan the most was the bathroom. The state of it. The rest of the cell was impeccably spotless as ever, all traces of Buster's blood removed. The bathroom, however, still retained a subtle tint of red, glowing pink behind his squinted eyes. This is where he had been spending more and more of his time. He studied the walls carefully, seeing a stain here, a smear there. He thought he saw mildew on the ceiling.
	He especially didn't take it for granted when he examined the twin faucets, the "hot" valve in particular. The H was partially rubbed off.
	Curiouser and curiouser.
	A familiar clink and he was brought out of it. He heard where the screw landed, but didn't bother picking it up. He turned the valves up to full blast, shivering under the lukewarm water. All he had to do was wait.
	He heard Robert's ladder bang against the window. Tristan shuffled over to the wall, waiting for the red fox's head to appear between the bars. Pink water circled down the drain.
	"No Simon this time?" Robert asked.
	He shook his head.
	"Huh. Who are you?"
	Tristan ignored the question. "Where have you been?"
	The red fox looked taken aback. "Just… around. Working."
	Tristan waited for him to continue, but all he did was stare at him, like it was his turn to speak. "… Well?" he finally said.
	"Pardon?"
	"What's the plan?"
	"I'm sorry, plan?"
	"… Tell me you've been working on a way to get us out."
	"Oh. Yes, of course I have."
	"Well?"
	"I don't have one yet."
	Tristan felt the anger bubble inside of him like a lava flow. "You have all the time in the fucking world to dick around, don't you?" He bit back his voice before it became too loud.
	Robert, meanwhile, looked unfazed by the outburst, like he had been expecting it. "I understand how you-"
	"Sounds to me like you don't understand SHIT!" he spat, his knees weakening. He felt a rush of dizziness collide into him. "You're not… helping us…"
	Robert stayed quiet, watching Tristan stagger around the bathroom with his head in his hands. He halted against the showerhead wall, turning one glaring eye to Robert.
	"Traitor."
	That did get a reaction. As Robert's face curled back into an expression of shock, Tristan felt the dizziness being replaced with relief. To finally say it to his face, after all these weeks of nothing… it was worth it. Traitor. He waited for the cascade of bullshit to come from Robert's mouth.
	"I'm sorry you feel that way…" Robert inhaled deeply, painfully. "What can I do to prove you wrong?"
	That was it. No excuses. No groveling. No promises. Tristan probed the fox for emotions; his blue eyes glowed against the dark Robotropolis sky, his facial fur brushed unevenly, casting a misshapen silhouette. He had his head lowered in shame.
	Inside, Tristan was already cursing himself for being optimistic, still having hope inside of him.
	"I have something you can do for me, Robert."
	He looked at Tristan, his face molded in an imitation of confusion, dried blood trailing down the side of his head.
	"You can get me a gun."
 *Chapter 22*: Robert V

 	ROBERT

They were upset, and that was completely understandable, given the circumstances. 	Robert slumped in the heavy wooden chair, playing idly with the soldering gun. He was disappointed with their lack of cooperation, and hoped it wouldn't take long to earn their trust. He wished there was something he could do to speed all of this up. He was capable of delicate work, but not when it applied to other people.
	Time wasn't a luxury they could afford, but he couldn't force them to understand. They'd have to do it on their own.
	He stood to his feet and paced. What could he do to think, now that working was no longer enough. He could venture outside with the gun and visit the forges again, the entrances to the underground, the ruins in the west sector, the SWATbot factories, the outskirts of the Great Forest. Return hours later and work on the microchip.
	There was nothing else to do.
	He wondered if he'd go insane, if he already was. Aimless wandering was not a road sign for mental health. That was the problem. He didn't know how long he could wait before he starved to death. Or before he was captured and thrown in with the rest of them. Or before he went stark-raving bonkers and couldn't help them anyway.
	Get a gun.
	Get. a. gun. 
	He wouldn't trust himself in their situation either.
	Robert paced a little longer, then sat down and continued working.
	"Then again, he could have meant any kind of weapon, not necessarily a gun. Perhaps I should have asked him to specify. What do you think? I think I should have. Too late now, I suppose. Although… how long do you think it would take me to run back and ask him? An hour? What if I ran? … Eh… forget it."
	He watched another SWATbot march past his position. He didn't bother to duck.
	"How does he expect me to get a gun, anyway? It's ridiculous. You know how ridiculous that is?"
	The clomping of boots on loose dirt and metal faded into the distance as the SWATbot headed into the nearby factory.
	"No, there's no chance in hell of him getting mine, NICOLE. No chance. He doesn't know I have it and that's the way it's going to stay. It wouldn't do him much good. I don't know how many bullets I have left in this thing."
	The next patrol guard turned a corner in the scrap and made its way to the entrance, about ready to cross Robert's position.
	"I have my own shit to worry about. I could be inside right now, safe. I could be in the forest. I…" Robert scratched the side of his head, feeling an unfamiliar jolt. "I'm nobody's errand boy."
	He clicked on the electric saw and swung at the base of the bot's skull, severing the main chords, and the SWATbot went down with barely a word. He used the momentum of its fall to pull it out of sight. He went to work, twisting the bot's head off of its shoulders and hollowing out the inside with the drill.
	"They better trust me after this." Working on removing the chest plates, he wondered idly why he brought NICOLE along in the first place. She was turning into a liability, and worried that she might betray him any day. He was amazed that he had gotten this far with her, always at his side. Every mission.
	The boots were the hard part. He ended up having to cut them entirely in half, then weld them back together after they had been hollowed out. He kept looking over his shoulder, feeling like he was being watched.
	When the task was finished, he worked himself into the costume, standing to his feet after slamming one foot, then the other, into the sharp boots. The waist and chest plates snapped into place with ease. The arms were a bit more difficult, especially after he had one arm into the gun cavity. He made it work eventually. Kicking the SWATbot viscera out of the way, he put the helmet on last, struggling to get it on straight.
	Finished, he stood in front of NICOLE, hands on his hips, posing. "How do I look?"
	"TOO SHORT."
	"Like they'll know the difference," he said as he gathered his tools. He put NICOLE into his duffle bag and zipped it closed. "Hibernate until I need you."
	Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he made his way into the factory. He heard the sounds of gears clicking into each other, muffled through the helmet. The smell of oil. Immediately as he entered, a squad of patrol bots to his far left spotted him, watching him walk towards the back. Robert kept up his nonchalant pace.
	"Keep cool, keep cool, don't panic until you hear the blaster fire." It was hard to walk in the SWAT suit, and the overpowering smell of the oil had an odd effect on him. He was having trouble staying with the moment, feeling his mind drift somewhere far away. He kept himself steady by remembering that all they needed was one excuse, one sign of organic behavior, and they would cut him down.
	Near the center of the building, he spotted what he was looking for: a metal staircase spiraling up to the top level. He quickened his pace, taking the steps two at a time while holding the duffle bag against his back. Behind him he heard the faint clicking of the SWATbots trying to send him transmissions. They were suspicious.
	"Already. Damn…"
	He ascended as far as he could go, conquering each step mechanically, one at a time. Robert squinted his eyes, trying to see through the red visor. He had no peripheral vision.
	The ceiling of the main SWATbot factory ended after the fifth story. The only way to continue was to travel to the very end of the catwalk and ascend the small metal stepladder to the final level. NICOLE had told him that if he destroyed the generator at the top, it would bring down the entire complex.
	He was at the top of the catwalk. Robert dropped to one knee and pulled out the bulk of the weight from the duffle bag: thirty feet of thickly wrapped rope. He tied one end of it around a loop in the floor of the walkway, making sure the other end of the rope dropped above a clear area of the bottom floor. He looked down from five stories up, shaking his head, getting dizzy.
	Finished, he stood to his feet and re-slung the bag over his shoulder. He smiled. Easy breezy.
	The sounds of SWATbots churning out into finished soldiers faded when he entered the sixth story. Dark shadows swallowed him after he had climbed as far as he could go. He brought NICOLE back out and turned her on.
	"Scan the area for 'bot-heads, if you please."
	NICOLE let loose some ticks and beeps. "ALL CLEAR. YOU'RE ALMOST THERE."
	Robert sighed with relief has he removed his helmet, brushing back his thick hair. His eyes adjusted immediately to the darkness. He was surrounded by rows of humming iron bulkheads, valves jutting out at him like gnarled branches on a tree. He dropped the helmet and continued on.
	Eventually, he reached the target.
	As much as he did know, he didn't understand a lot about the power Robotnik and Snively had managed to harness. The target resembled a large test tube, but it glowed bright blue and vibrated the air around it with such intensity that Robert felt his teeth chattering. The glass casing looked at least five inches thick.
	At the base of the target was a small briefcase. A repair kit. It couldn't have looked more out of place if it had been gift wrapped.
	"Hmmm…" What an illusionist.
	Not wanting to waste time, he walked to the base of the generator and grabbed the case, the handle forming perfectly with the shape of his palm. With his free hand he pulled out his handgun. Stepping back, he aimed it at the center of the tube. He gave the trigger a tug.
	The casing took the blast and cracked up the middle. The entry hole, about the size of bolt head, emitted blue fire in wild, acidic arcs. Bulkheads disintegrated left and right. Iron crashed to the floor. Robert tore out of there as fast as he could, holstering the pistol.
	Back on the catwalk, the rest of the factory showed no signs of slowing down, not yet. Robert spotted a squad of SWATbots making their way up to his level. His bag strapped firmly to his back, he held on tight to the briefcase and grabbed the rope. He vaulted over the railing and slid three stories down.
	They would be waiting for him at the bottom. When the rope ended after the second story, Robert let go and fell the rest of the way. He landed on hard concrete, using his rope burned hand to brace his fall. Four bot-heads raised their arms.
	"HALT! INTRUDER!"
	"I never get tired of that," he thought as he pulled an EMP grenade out of his bag. He threw it into their fold, ten feet away, and ran. Two plasma rounds were fired after him before the grenade exploded in a flash of white light. Robert barely heard the SWATbots clank against the concrete.
	Above him, the factory began showing the first signs of breaking apart, machines whirring helplessly under the strain of their out-of-control generator.
	With a quickness that Robert felt might even have surprised Sonic, his legs carried him halfway to the exit as he pulled out grenade after grenade and flung them at anything moving. Flashes of light and more SWATbot reinforcements crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
	Near the exit, he reached into the bag and felt his last grenade, the only incendiary grenade he had. He kept it clutched in his palm as he ran, waiting for an opportunity to use it.
	Just before the factory fell, Robert made it outside, barreling headlong into the hot, dusty air. He didn't look behind him, but heard the factory collapse in on itself, metal struts buckling under the pressure of its own falling roof. Animated shadows in front of him. His own spit burning in his mouth, his legs pounding painfully against the dirt; he couldn't help but smile.
	He didn't stop running until he was back inside of Chuck's. He caught his breath, leaning against the door. He put the incendiary grenade back into his bag and pulled out NICOLE.
	"No more EMP grenades," he said after he thumbed her open. "Fine by me. Having those things so close by had me scared shitless, to tell you the truth." He laughed with available breath. Inside the gloom of the house, he noticed that he was still carrying the briefcase.
	Robert set the case down on the work table. It was the kind with the number locks, and the latches that flicked up after you moved the buttons side to side. Robert sat down and pressed them away from each other. The latches clicked open, and he slumped in relief.
	He lifted the lid, hoping it would be something useful. He couldn't wait to get back to work.
 *Chapter 23*: Tayor III

 	TAYLOR

Snively's private office is much more inviting than I would have imagined. The color scheme is dark and muted, but strangely relaxing. There are recessed gallery lights in the ceiling which cast a soft, warm glow on his mahogany desk and matching furniture. There is nothing on the walls -- no artwork, maps or otherwise -- which is a little odd, although there's a vast window behind his desk that essentially frames the entire room. I suppose it looks out onto the Robotropolis courtyard, but it's nighttime and it's raining so I can't tell for sure. 	I'm lying on the leather couch next to the bookcase, staring up at the grayish ceiling. I fold my hands over my stomach and glance at Snively's desk. His chair is turned away from me towards the window. The silence in here is a little unnerving.
	"So why am I here?" My own voice almost startles me.
	His chair doesn't move. "I invited you here because I think you may have information that we could use."
	"Isn't that what the torture chamber is for?"
	"This doesn't have to hurt. We're just chatting."
	I glance briefly around the room. No SWATbots, no security cameras. "What makes you think I won't try to run?"
	He gives a cool chuckle, turning his chair to face me. "Where would you run to?"
	I say nothing. Snively stands, encircling the room as he continues. "You can't run to Knothole; it's been completely vacated. And you can't seek help from your friends, because they're either imprisoned or roboticized. Or dead."
	He grabs a chair and pulls it next to the couch, taking a seat beside me. "However, I suppose you could seek help from another Freedom Fighter group..."
	Now it's my turn to laugh. "Yeah, except I don't know where any of the other groups are. I was born and raised in Knothole. I've never left."
	"Ah, true. But you might know somebody who does know, hmm?"
	"I don't see how that helps me. Like you said, everybody's in prison. And besides..." I close my eyes, choking down the urge to cry again. "Well, it's not like I have anything left anyway."
	Snively leans back in his chair, putting a hand to his chin. "Let me ask you something, Taylor..."
	Taylor. He called me Taylor. That's out of character for him.
	"...do you enjoy living in your cell?"
	I don't even have to think about it. "I hate that fucking cell," I snap, "and the people I share it with."
	"Precisely." He smiles wickedly. "So?"
	"So what?"
	"So... I dunno. Anybody in there you might recommend for the torture chamber?"
	I bolt upright. "God no! I could never do that!"
	He cackles. "But why not? This is just between the two of us. They'd never know, trust me."
	"But it's sick and wrong!"
	"I know! Isn't it wonderful?"
	"NO!"
	"Oh come on, you're no fun. You can't think of anybody, anybody at all, who might know something useful to us? Think about it, Taylor. They're so cruel to you."
	He's doing it again -- using my name. He's trying hard to convince me that this is a friendly conversation or something. "So what's in this for me? The satisfaction that these people are being tortured to death? Come on, I'm not that desperate."
	He shrugs. "A private cell, maybe?"
	"I'll be honest with you, Snively. I don't really know any of my cellmates."
	Snively raises an eyebrow. "None?"
	"Well, okay, except for Rex. He's an asshole."
	"Ha! Perfect!" He whips out a small notepad and a pen.
	"But I'm not sure what he knows, if anything. It's not like he's the smartest guy in the world, either."
	"Oh, that doesn't matter. Anybody else?"
	Colin. Colin's parents brought him to Knothole from the Southern regiment. That was years ago, but he might still know something.
	No. Stop that, Taylor. You can't do that.
	I hold my breath, fighting back tears. He doesn't deserve this. He might have been unfaithful to me, but that's no excuse for me to betray him. We were together and happy for five years. That means something.
	"Perhaps," Snively says, "you might know of somebody in another cell...?"
	I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I hesitate before answering.
	"Yes."
	"Excellent. And who might that be?"
	I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.
	"Lisa. I think she might know something about the Southern regiment."
 *Chapter 24*: A2 and A3 VII

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

Holly felt his hands around her shoulders after she turned on the shower. It was difficult not to succumb to his warmth. 	"We can't..."
	"I just want to talk," he said, but his hands remained in place. In fact, they were gripping her shoulders harder.
	She wanted to say that it was okay that he wanted more than just talk, that she in fact wanted it too, and wanted nothing more than for them to be together without worrying about their cellmates. But what she said was, "Get out." She shivered violently as his hands moved toward her chest. "They saw you come in here, Tristan. They'll know."
	"I've given up on trying to…" He was close to her ear. "There's nothing more I can do."
	"Then, you've given up on me," she said, sad.
	He let go of her. "I haven't given up on you."
	"Our water tastes like it's mixed with bleach. We're barely given enough to eat. The toilet is making weird noises. It's freezing." She showed her teeth to the wall. "We're done."
	"I tried…"
	"You did."
	"I really tried, hon. I wanted more than anything to escape, to rescue everyone. But… there's nothing we can do. Nothing. He has us. Dead to rights, he has us. He has every angle covered."
	"And what's this, then?" She hadn't moved away from him, could still feel him hips pressing against her. "You've given up on being a saint?"
	"What is it you expect me to do?" He was whispering again, making her shiver worse from his hot breath.
	Holly closed her eyes. "Your work isn't done. Neither is mine. But, heheh, no worries. I am prepared for this." She turned to him, her gray focusing under the water, her hair falling out and clogging the floor drain. "Listen… I can't hear them anymore. They've stopped working.
	Tristan eyed the window to their left.
	"It won't be long now."
	Tristan tried to hug her but she slipped away and exited. He watched her scamper off, cold water trailing behind her. Her legs looked too weak to carry herself.
	He didn't know how long he stood there before he heard a familiar voice coming from the barred bathroom window. "What's with all the dead fruit outside?"
	"Never mind." He broke himself out of the trance's grasp. "You have something for me?"
	Robert reached an arm through the bars and dropped the tool without a word. Tristan caught it with both hands, leaning to compensate for the weight.
	"What the hell is it?" Tristan asked, examining the tool closely.
	"Sorry. It looked rare enough that I thought it would… you know… I realize it's no gun."
	"No…" It looked like some hardcore super wrench, able to twist anything off of its screw. Heavy, weighted by the thick crescent at its end. The glimmering silver would have looked precious in a place like Knothole, but in the cells, it looked like everything else. "Where did you get it?"
	"I found it. In a factory." He watched Tristan examine the device. "I apologize. It's probably useless to you. Honestly, I was hoping it would buy me some more time. To find you a gun."
	He had been expecting Robert to bail out on him, to never see him again. But this mysterious stranger had actually done something.
	Something practically useless. "Robert… you're our last hope. You know that, right?"
	Those big blue eyes only stared back at him.
	"You can still save a lot of us. If you hurry."
	Robert's reply was a short nod.
	"As for this, it's fine. I wouldn't know what to do with a gun, anyway." But he probably would have shot himself with it.
	Robert nodded again, this time a farewell, his head disappearing from view.
	Tristan felt like he was walking into daylight for the first time in a long time. His eyes squinted shut when he reemerged into A3, his skin tingling with a wave of warmth and his thinning hair standing up on end. It was the heat of the cameras, Snively or Robotnik or whoever staring down on him.
	Tristan thought back to Shirk trying to knock them down, using the ball. He wondered if he could hit it on the first try.
	He brought his arm back and let it fly. There must have been an amazing connection to his muscles, his arm made for the sole purpose of hitting the camera dead-on, right through its lense. The casing broke apart and Tristan watched it fall all the way down, and it hit the ground with the sound of shattering plastic. A shit-heap on the floor, and at the top, there was no sign of something ever being suspended up there.
	His cellmates heard the crash and had gathered around the camera. It had smashed apart too easily… the impact had sounded hollow.
	At their feet, a small piece of white paper was poking out of the wreckage. Durango pulled it out carefully and held it away from his face, hands shaking. The others didn't have to lean in to read the large black letters.
	NICE TRY
 *Chapter 25*: E1

 	CELL E1

Erase me. 	Increased pressure around my throat.
	Still stuck in this shit hole of a cell. Been stuck here for months. The food no longer tastes good -- I can't even eat it. Robotnik, he won't give me more unless I finish it all. Every rotten, disgusting helping.
	The shower shoots nothing but cold water now, so I don't use it anymore. A breeze blows in from the outside, through the open window two-hundred miles above my head. It smells like winter, it smells like the forest is dying. Smoke.
	I'm put back into bed each night and when I wake up I have to heave both myself and my broken body onto the floor to eat, to piss, to shit. Some days I don't even make it to the bathroom. What's the point?
	I miss her, I miss Sabrina and her support, her love. She's somewhere below me, down on one of the floors, dying, just like me. We never had any kids. I regret that now.
	The bathroom is full of my piss because I can't lift myself up to the toilet, and the drain in the floor is clogged, but no worries, I lost my sense of smell long ago. As long as I can't smell it, I can pretend it's something else.
	"Nick…"
	Snively, the bastard, he was the one who broke my legs. He told me it was a test in resonation via high voltage.
	Two needles as thick as thermometers, in each leg, straight into the femur. My profound moment leaving me here to rot. Chances for escape, gone. Snively likes to listen to music when he does it, on a volume loud enough for me to hear it days later.
	The memory of the pain is enough to keep me company. He flips the switch up and a localized arc surges into the marrow, cracking the bone in half, vertical. This in merely thirty seconds. He switches the generator off long enough to hear his favorite part of the song. I'm crying and I can feel blood seeping through the cracks, my kneecap moving as I struggle against the straps. Snively moves one of the needles. He cranks it back on.
	I really wish I would have had kids with her. Girls. Two beautiful girls. Snively looks at my shattered upper legs under X-Ray and says our next session will be scheduled as soon as my legs heal.
	I wake up in my cell the next morning and my feet have turned dark purple from lack of blood. Weeks ago. Months ago. My cell used to be clean. My sheets turn redder and redder, it gets colder and colder. It was so hot that first day.
	Winter. Winter is here. This long away from Knothole. From her.
	Our next session, he lets me watch.
	"Nick."
	The pieces of the bone come apart too easy, melted glue stretching in the cracks, new fragments forming. No music this time around. He throws me back to the pond. I get to see what happens in cells E3 and E4.
	They're right next to me. I see them and they pretend not to see me. They pass a large black beach ball around, they eat, they laugh. I didn't get a ball. Snively tells me to try to take care of my legs so next session will be more interesting. I don't even use my arms to get out of bed anymore.
	I didn't get a ball.
	The next appointment, the inside of my legs are bone soup. He extracts a sample over my screaming and stares at me like I did something wrong. He shakes his head, settles for shattering a left heel, and puts me back in my room. The others get a ball and I get a doll.
	It's me. A twin brother to my reflection in the walls. A goddamn twin. Waking up to it the first time, it scared the shit out of me.
	If I look like this, my hair is coarse and faded, my legs bend easily in every direction, my hands have no fingers, and my mouth is stitched shut. The same stitches outline my entire body and end at the inseam. My eyes are large black X's.
	A game. The games we play with each other. Why did the subject of children never come up?
	Our first year anniversary was on the horizon, but we never talked about trying to have kids. We had sex around her cycle constantly. Conscious avoidance, we were both guilty of it. It was a game. We were waiting for the other one to bring it up first, to have a cute little argument about it, the kind the other couples have. I love her for this, I really do. We were living a fairy-tale, one that we had so painstakingly constructed ourselves. Romantic outlaws. Star-crossed lovers. Us against the world. Two days after the last session with Snively and my bed is gone.
	I wake up on the cold floor, my thin, bloody sheet draped around me, my doll, my mirror image staring right at me. The twisted stitches forming a grin. See nothing, say nothing. Even he tortures me, as a part of the game. There's breakfast right next to him. I don't even need to check to know that it's decomposing.
	I've told Snively everything I know, screamed every angle, counted to two million twice and back. Now, we no longer speak to each other. Call it what it is. Sabrina and I, we didn't need sex to survive as a couple.
	We did it twice a month at most. Don't get me wrong, it was brilliant, but like everything about us, it was more of a ritual, one that served to hide what we were really feeling. In private, there wasn't a need for the games, not like it is here. Alone, we were at our absolute best, and we hardly ever needed to speak to each other. The food is mushier than ever, dark brown and as dry as a desert sea.
	The urge to piss comes every three days, I think. It's how I tell time now. The corners of the room are the same color as the fruit, painted with liquid shit. Mine. Mine. Mine. A result of my diet, everything passing through me. Shit everywhere. The doll manages to remain spotless.
	Why does he feel the need to do this to me if he can watch me on the monitors? Greedy, if you want my opinion. How did I get into this? How did we all piss him off so much? He still plays the game when I'm all alone. It gets so quiet sometimes that I hear laughter, and music. Electricity. Her voice. Saying my name.
	"Nick." 
	I'm thinking what purpose the doll serves, and I'm sure I get it. The clean doll is really me and I'm really the unwanted mess. Who could love this?
	I want them, Sabrina. Kids. I want them. The disgusting mockery of it all. I recognize this doll more than I can recognize myself in the mirror. I don't want you to see me, not like this. A game. It's all a game, Sabrina.
	It's a long crawl to the bathroom. I get the feeling Snively didn't even care if I knew something. Cold piss soaks into my skin. I can't stop shivering. My palms fall onto the floor and my eyes burn with the splashes. My blood-soaked bed sheet sucks up moisture, changing color. The doll is watching me from the middle of the room. It's tough to breathe.
	Around the bottom of the toilet, I wrap the sheet around it in a large circle and pull the sheet behind my back. The knot around my neck tightens.
	Nick. He's watching.
	My arm muscles are almost gone but I don't need that much, only a little, just a little bit, some time, some time to choke. I just need to pass out and that will be enough, and I won't wake up.
	Noose.
	Knowing you're there is enough.
	I can feel it now, the pain leaving my legs. The doll is emotionless. He isn't smiling.
 *Chapter 26*: A2 and A3 VIII

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

It felt like a dream. 	His right hand was still on the wrench, buried in the ripped folds of his pillow. He felt relieved at first that they didn't take it from him yet. Then the thought of it made him afraid.
	He could still feel the eyes on him, watching him while they thought he was asleep, even after they had knocked down every camera with the wrench and found all of them hollow fabrications. Of course. Why would their captors' only eyes be in plain view?
	What scared him the most was how he couldn't go back to sleep. It had been getting harder and harder to get out of bed every morning, but now he felt energized. His stomach wasn't turning over and in on itself and his muscles didn't feel worn down to nothing. He felt fine.
	Also, he was reasonably sure that his eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything. An unnatural sort of darkness, like a black cloud had enveloped him. He reached outwards. He ran his fingers over the surface of the glass wall, surprised at how inviting it felt. He wished he could melt into it, swallow its perfection. Understand how it was made. Why it was made.
	Tristan's vision returned to him, steadily clearing its way as though all the lights had just been on and were suddenly turned off. He tried to remember when he had gone to sleep, and once again, failed.
	"Son of a bitch…"
	The glass started warming up under his fingers. He reacted by pressing his palm flat against it and pushing with all his weight. He gritted his teeth under the pressure on his skull. The feeling was like waking up the first time.
	He saw that the occupants of A1 were staring at him.
	Tristan tried smiling at the thought that they were all together. He caught himself just in time, his headache pressing harder along with his hand against the glass. His four neighbors turned at what was happening in their cell: white smoke, coming in from nowhere and everywhere. Kevin was closest to the glass, the easiest for Tristan to see that he wasn't even trying to hold his breath. Five seconds and all four of them collapsed to the floor.
	"NO!"
	He found it within himself to move, his emotions the last to return.
	"NO! NO! STAY AWAY FROM THEM! STOP IT!"
	He had the wrench unsheathed from the pillow and brought it against the glass, feeling sharp pain travel all the way up to his shoulder. He bit down on it and kept hitting, forcing the muscles to fire harder and harder, hoping the wrench would break or at least his arm would. Smoke continued to fill A1. Against their northern wall, he saw something slide upwards.
	"STOP IT! STOP IT! DON'T TAKE THEM!"
	Four figures entered the cell, their red eyes piercing the fog. They moved to the bodies.
	"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU FUCKING COWARD MOTHERFUCKER!"
	Tristan backed off from the wall, sliding out of his bed. He found the strength to turn away.
	"We have to help them! We have to do something!"
	He looked to each of the bunks in the darkness of his cell. No one was moving.
	"WAKE UP!"
	Nothing.
	He trotted two steps to the nearest bunk, keeping unfocused from the hypnotic pull of the disappearing figures.
	He tugged hard at the blanket with both hands. "Simon, we-"
	He stopped short of finishing. Simon was sound asleep, breathing steadily. Tristan let go and backed away, and turned to Durango and Shirk's bunks. Their faces shared the same contented expression. Everyone breathing in unison.
	The wrench in his hand suddenly went cold, biting through to the skin, to the bone. Now, he wanted more than anything to get rid of it. What good would it do to keep it?
	I can't save them
	Holly was sleeping as soundly as the rest of them, but Tristan saw her smile as more of a grimace. He fell to his knees at her side.
	"I know what you've been doing. I can see it in your eyes…"
	I can't save what's important to me. 
	"I can't watch you do it to yourself. You're killing me." He noticed then…
	I can't
	He noticed then that all of the bunks were filled.
	I
	Everyone else's.
	I
	Someone was back.
	Under Sabrina's bunk, the bed was occupied, someone's bulk under the covers. He counted again and again and made sure they all made eight. He forced his legs to move away, but no matter how fast he moved, the form got bigger, bigger, bigger
	Buster, forgive me. 
	stronger, meanerHelp me. 
	it sneered back at him
	He blinked. He had made it to the bathroom, crawled backwards on all fours. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen the window, the Robotropolis sky strangely clear, allowing the moonlight to shine through.
	Get rid of it.
	No. Use it. 
	Try, please try. 
	Anymore, it was the only place he felt safe.
	He tried his hardest to recreate the connection he had when knocking down the camera, taking a moment out before swinging against the base of the toilet. The bang sounded exactly the same as the bang against the glass. With every wind-up and swing he felt his hope slip further and further away. After awhile, he didn't feel it anymore, but it wasn't unusual. It was familiar. He found a slight comfort in feeling this way with every swing, swing, swing, subtracting and picking away at himself to see where he ended and he realized that whoever did this to them didn't have the courage to try the experiment on himself and needed them NEEDED THEM for this; it was important work. No one had depended on him before this
	Holly. 
	No dents or cracks were forming.
	A cry escaped him as he stood to his feet and it suddenly turned into a scream and the connection was back, and he brought the wrench back and threw it at the window, at the moon. It arced through the bars and knocked it down.
	And he had seen it.
	The sky was cloudy again. It had gone dark.
	Fell right out of view like it was alive.
	No more moon.
	The face…
	No moon at all.
	It had been Sonic's.
voices… 	"Hey, Durango, how'd your morning go?"
	"How does shit treat a toilet?"
	Someone coughed twice and cleared their throat.
	"Glad to see you're back to normal. Maybe you'll lighten up. Hey, Tristan, wakey wakey, it's time for lunch!"
	Tristan groaned and lifted himself. It happened that the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Buster's bed, across the cell. It was empty.
	All back to normal.
	Shirk and Durango were surrounding the food bowl. "Hey, come on, man! If you close your eyes, it's almost like you're eating pussy."
	He had to force a smile and it was as difficult as getting out of bed. It had all been a dream, and a large parted of him didn't want it to be over. "Ha."
	"Geez, you look like hell. Are you okay?"
	As he sat up, he caught a brief glimpse of A1. It looked empty. "… Fine." Voices. He heard three of them, whispering in the corner of the A3 cell. He sat up and craned his head, trying to see. One of the voices sounded unfamiliar. "Who's that?"
	"New guy." Durango said without looking. "Don't bother hurting yourself asking him questions. He can't help us."
	Tristan nodded but stood up and walked over to them anyway. Their conversation faded in.
	"… Deserted?"
	"Completely deserted."
	"Are you sure?"
	"Positive. We turned that place upside down looking for signs of life. It looked like it had been empty for years." Bowman finished his story with a nod, taking a tiny bite out of an apple, and almost spitting it out in disgust. Seated around him, Sabrina and Simon lowered their heads in defeat.
	"You run into anybody on the way to the city?" Tristan asked.
	Bowman shook his head. "No. The SWATbots caught us by surprise at the outskirts of Knothole. If there's still a resistance in the forest, I don't know about it." He paused under the weight of his own words. He watched Simon crawl away, unable to listen to anything else. "Sorry."
	"What about your people in the mountains?"
	"We sent a runner back to tell them about Knothole, but I doubt they'll know about the cells in time. From what I've been told, the plan is to fit them in somewhere, too."
	"If what they're building is a bigger prison," Tristan lamented, suddenly letting loose two ragged coughs. He was hungry again.
	"What I can't figure is how this was done entirely under our noses, without any changes in SWATbot production or mining of outside resources. Mobius has been continuing on its present course for some time now."
	"Something we're not seeing..."
	Bowman cleared his throat. "Listen… I've also been told that you have contact with someone on the outside. What about him?"
	Tristan felt a surge of anger. "Forget about that. It's nothing." He stormed off into A2, his stomach growling at him.
	Bowman was at a loss for what to say. Sabrina leaned forward, whispering: "I should have told you."
	"Did I come at a bad time?"
	"We were hoping you had some good news is all."
	"How many of you are in here?"
	Sabrina sniffed quietly. "You make eight again. You replaced Buster." She paused. "Snively tortured and killed him."
	Bowman's eyes went wide. "I see."
	"We won't be eight for much longer…" She motioned to A1. "There used to be four of them. They were all there, yesterday. Now it's empty. They were taken all at once." Sabrina stood to her feet. "Enjoy the bed."
	Bowman watched her walk away, and slipped onto the mattress, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above him. He heard someone crying. To his left, a duroc pig was curled up on the top bunk, her skinny arms wrapped around her shoulders, slivers of gray hair wildly jutting outwards. She wasn't breathing.
 *Chapter 27*: E3 and E4

 	CELLS E3 AND E4

"-ke up." 	Matt woke up and felt something metal wrapped around his neck.
	He touched it warily with his left hand, and it took him a moment to assure himself that it was real.
	He rolled over and looked for his reflection, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
	But…
	The mirrors were missing…
	Replaced, with an intensely white surface.
	He heard the others stirring as he rolled out of bed and stumbled to his feet. He was used to the headaches, but these new walls were intensely disorienting. His bunkmate, Hy, who slept above him, cried out in surprise. Matt saw that he also had a metal collar around his neck.
	"What the-? What the hell is this!" Hy began trying in vain to pry the collar off, digging his sharp claws into the metal. It wouldn't budge.
	Matt gave his own collar another curious tug. Tight, and thick. It didn't feel like he'd be able to get it off. He cast a suspicious glance at the security monitors, wondering if he or they were watching.
	"What are you planning this time?"
	He was amazed at how calm he was.
	The center bunks emptied themselves of their mobile occupants. Rebecca and Allison hopped to the floor and began examining each other's collars. At the opposite wall in E3, Red was banging his against his bunk supports, trying to break it off. The beds jumped two inches with every blow. Dan, all skin and thinning fur, was doing his best to calm him down.
	"Strange…" Matt checked his own bunk, and it was no longer connected to the floor either. In fact, he could almost lift the entire structure using both of his arms. He rubbed his eyes, still not used to his new surroundings. He saw that even the floor and ceiling had gone completely white.
	"Hey! Everybody, come look at this!" It was Steve, calling from E3. Those who could walk gathered around what he had found.
	The food bowl. Matt had forgotten about it, so used to how full it was every morning. Now…
	Red picked one up, examining it closely. "Why would we be given pistols?"
	Rebecca pointed at the other guns in the bowl, mentally counting all eight. "One for all of us."
	"Certainly looks that way," Steve said, picking one up for himself. Heavy, long barrel, silver finish, black trigger guard, two lights on the right side.
	When everyone had grasped their respective firearm, Matt noticed that there was one more left. "Did he…? Huh. He left one for Lola, too."
	"How thoughtful," Allison mumbled.
	They guiltily stole glances at her still unconscious form. For the last two days, since she had been given back, they were wondering how they were going to feed her if she didn't wake up soon.
	"I'll take hers," piped an excited Steve, swiping Lola's from the bowl before someone could protest.
	The prisoners held their guns gently, feeling the weight of them, unsure of what to do next. Red aimed his at one of security cameras. After all, guns are useless hunks of metal without ammunition. It would be a cruel trick on Robotnik's part. Cruel, but he was perfectly capable of doing it.
	He pulled the trigger.
	Nothing happened. "Damn."
	Dan sat on the floor, still staring at his. "I don't know… You think he did this just to screw with us?"
	"Certainly looks that way." Steve said, almost under his breath, sitting down next to him and trying to pry the ammunition clip out of one of the guns, to no success.
	"Seems pretty pointless, don't you think?"
	"I agree," Matt said, kicking the empty food bowl into one of the bathrooms. It clanged loudly three times, bouncing off the walls, before spinning into the bathroom.
	"What do you think the collars are for?" Dan asked, breathing heavily.
	"Got me."
	Allison worked her way into the circle. "We have different colors on each of ours, too." She turned her shoulders, showing the back of her neck. "See?"
	They saw a tiny square in the center of the collar. Hers was purple.
	Red tried to turn his collar around in vain. It seemed attached to his skin. "Ow."
	Steve saved him the trouble and snuck a quick look. "Blue." He looked at Dan's too, leaning over from where he was sitting. "Black."
	Matt dropped to his knees and bent down so someone could check his. "Orange." At the same time he gently turned Steve's head and looked. "Yellow."
	Dan looked around, not seeing Rebecca nearby. Finally, he spotted her. She was in the bathroom in E3, sitting on the toilet, her legs practically protruding out of the door. Dan ran to her, nonplussed at her surprised reaction. He checked the back of her neck, ignoring her protests. He ran back to the others, a slight smile on his face.
	"Green." he said. In the background, Rebecca pulled in her legs as far as she could.
	At the same time, Allison had been checking Hy's. "Red."
	"Somebody see if Lola has one."
	Hy stood to his feet and hopped quickly over to Lola's side. Sure enough, she had a collar on too. Hy hesitated when it came time to move her, but all he needed was a moment. He lifted her head tenderly and checked the back of her neck. "White." He slowly lowered her head back down on her pillow.
	Yesterday, it had been business as usual. Passing the time had become the highest priority, ignoring how gradually, impossibly fucked things were becoming. Ignoring the cold showers, the breeze blowing from the barred windows, the fact that their neighbor from E1 had gone into the bathroom and never come out again. Hardest of all was trying to ignore Lola's condition. It had been easy when she wasn't there; they all just assumed she was dead. When she was back in her bunk, the hopelessness of it all became painfully apparent.
	Matt had an odd feeling… that there was something he was missing, something that had managed to slip under his radar. "There was…" he stopped, shrinking under their looks. He wasn't quite sure where his thoughts were taking him. "Was there anything that… anybody noticed this morning? Anything unusual?" They still stared at him. "Other than the obvious."
	Steve was staring at the floor, squinting his eyes. "I think I know what you mean. It doesn't feel like a normal morning."
	There was the sound of a flushing toilet. Rebecca came out and rejoined them. She yawned loudly as she sat down. "Not just talking about the walls and the beds, are you?"
	Dan's wheezy breathing abruptly ceased, he eyes going slightly wide. They all turned to him, chilled at the expression on his face. "A voice."
	They were gassed every night; they knew that. It took the fight out of them early on, especially after they discovered that holding their breaths did no good. They were gassed long before any secret doors were opened and their rooms were cleaned up and organized. Or, anyhow, that was easier to believe, easier than thinking that they just didn't have the lung power to go the precious extra minute.
	In the mornings, they all woke up under their own power, and in some cases, hours after the first few opened their eyes, no longer under the influence of the gas. However, this time, with the exception of Lola, they had all woken up at more or less the same time. That hadn't happened since the first few days of their capture.
	"Over the speakers. Shit…"
	"Anybody remember what it said?"
	Dan pressed his palms against his temples, sealing his eyes shut. "Something about-"
	"Five minutes."
	The voice from above made everyone jump, about has high as they did the first time the torture list was announced. Volume was a part of it, but it was also the way the voice was focused. It dug in like a knife. This time, it bore a strong resemblance to Snively's.
	Matt was the first one to break out of his surprise. "Five minutes until what?"
	They listened for more static, wearing identical masks of fear, wishing that they would never have to find out the answer to that question.
	Hy disconnected himself from the group, over to the central bunk beds. He looked like he was searching for an internal off switch.
	"One of Snively's games?" asked Dan.
	"Or Robotnik's." Allison said.
	"Like this place is his fucking playground." Red almost flung the gun across the room, but stopped himself before he let it fly. "I'm getting mighty, might, mighty sick of it."
	"A game…" they heard Hy say. He was still staring at the bunk beds.
	"It might be a game, but it doesn't have to have rules. Robotnik can do whatever he wants to us," Allison said, waiting in the expected moment of silence that usually came after she said something.
	"Messing with us. Like you said, old man."
	Dan nodded back at Red. "Not a pretty thought, is it?"
	"Let's say that it is a game, and it does have rules," Matt put forth, standing up. "What would be the object of the game?"
	"Stay alive for the next five minutes?" Allison said, clearly enjoying it on some level.
	Matt looked around, deciding to take her seriously. "Nothing's happening. The game… starts in five minutes?"
	"We have even less than that, don't we?"
	"I don't want to just be sitting here whenever it begins," Rebecca said, also standing.
	Dan appeared to be worried, under serious emotional strain. "Wait, wait, wait… how can we be sure that whatever happens is going to be dangerous?"
	"He gave us guns," Steve said. "What does that tell you?"
	"Not to use against each other, I hope. I couldn't… that is, I wouldn't be able to…" Dan didn't finish.
	"So it's a game, right?" Hy came back to them, from the bunks. "He woke us up at the same time, gave us guns, and unhooked our bunks from the floor. He's also giving us time to prepare."
	"To get our shit together," Red added, ecstatic at the idea of figuring something out. "To put together a strategy."
	"For defense?"
	"Fuckin' a for defense. I bet we can get the beds pulled over there, in front of the bathrooms-"
	"So certain that they're coming from the blank wall, Red?" Allison asked. "What if they moved us to an identical cell, so they can surround us when we try to outsmart him?"
	There was a brief moment before he answered with: "Then we're fucked, aren't we?"
	"Aren't we."
	Hy was back at Lola's side. "She can't fight. Let's move her into one of the bathrooms and box her in." He managed to carry her by himself into the E3 commode while Steve, Matt, and Red worked on bringing the bunks down.
	Dan stood in the center of E3 as they swarmed and worked, unaffected by the loud banging of the bunks hitting the floor. He was still staring at his gun.
	"Let's cover up the E3 bathroom entirely with these three bunks," Red was saying. "Hy, you don't mind being boxed in with her, do you? That way, he and Lola are protected. We'll put that last bunk over the E4 bathroom for cover, and we can duck in and out from there if we need to."
	"I like how you try to adapt to situations, Red," Allison said to him, right by his ear as he lifted the left E4 bunk. "You play the hero, like we're all on stage and we play the characters that are supposed to admire you. You're getting better at it, at least."
	Red grunted and shuffled away from her, mumbling "Cast-iron bitch…" when he was out of her earshot.
	Dan, meanwhile, was still looking intently at the gun he was given. As the bunks were strategically placed over the entrances of the bathrooms and Hy and Lola hid in the E3 one, as Steve twirled his guns and stretched in the corner, as Rebecca and Matt and Allison listened to Red barking plans of attack and how to fire their weapons if and when they began to work, he still stared.
	"One minute."
	Hearing Snively's voice again brought Dan out of it, and what ended up clinching what he had been rolling around in his mind ever since he had been abruptly tortured. How long ago was that? He couldn't remember.
	Snively had showed no mercy. It was brutal, but it had a strange sort of finality to it. When Dan had closed his eyes at the end, he had thought it was for good.
	Imagine his surprise when he could open them again. He was still alive.
	It had felt wrong from the start.
	With an unfamiliar confidence coating his voice like honey, he asked the group across the cells without turning to them, "Who wants another gun?"
	He didn't hear anything from them at first, but could imagine their reactions; Red would be the most pissed about it. A second passed before he heard Allison chuckling and envisioned her turning away and stepping back a couple of feet.
	"… Well? Who wants it?"
	There was the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He couldn't tell if they belonged to more than two of them.
	"… Are you fucking kidding?"
	Good ol' Red. Dan felt himself smiling.
	"Hey! Old man, I asked-"
	"I heard, I heard, I ain't deef." The pronunciation usually got a couple of laughs. Not this time. "I'm weary."
	"We all are. If you think you're going to get special treatment because-"
	"I don't expect anything from anyone, Red. Although, I'd think it very big of all of you if you allow me to do this."
	"Do what?" Matt asked.
	Dan ran his tongue across his teeth, pulling a smirk and turning his head to look at them. "Step down."
	Red looked too shocked to breathe, but at least Steve and Matt appeared to get it, lowered their eyes and slumping.
	"Step down!" Red had regained his voice. "What the fuck is that?"
	"It means, sonny, that I don't want to do this anymore."
	"And it's bullshit! No one gets to step down, not in here." He had his hands flexing tightly, one around the gun, one balled into a fist.
	"I get it, I get it. And I don't want it." Dan was surprised that he wasn't losing his nerve. He felt free. "I've lived long enough."
	"No…"
	"I'm sorry I can't be useful to you guys anymore."
	"No! You piece of shit, you goddamn piece of shit!" Red was screaming, practically touching noses with Dan. "You don't quit on us! You don't leave us here to die!"
	Matt had stepped forward and was debating on whether or not he should physically restrain him. "Come on, Red, just-"
	"Just what!"
	"… Let him go."
	Red stayed where he was, right in Dan's face, staring unblinking into those soft, weathered eyes.
	"I understand how you feel about this," Dan said quietly. "Please, understand how I feel."
	Seconds passed and Red finally blinked. He opened his free hand. "Gimme the fuckin thing."
	Dan handed him his gun. His smirk extended into a toothy smile. "Good luck, all of you."
	Red turned away before he saw Dan sit down on the floor. Steve and Matt followed after a moment's hesitation. Rebecca and Allison were waiting for them between the bathrooms, in the split between the cells.
	"Okay, here's how it's going to go down." Red wedged one of the guns under his armpit, gesturing with his newly freed hand. "Steve and I are going to hunker down on opposite sides of the cell. You three," he pointed to Rebecca, Allison, and Matt. "are staying inside of the E4 bathroom and are going to fire at whatever comes, but you're going to be careful about it. Let us do most of the risky stuff."
	"Of course," Allison said, rolling her eyes.
	"Go. Now."
	He watched the three of them go into the bathroom, dragging the last bunk over the entrance as though it were a door. It still looked pretty pathetic.
	"5..."
	"You think we're going to live through this?" Steve asked him.
	"4..."
	"No. But it feels good to have a plan."
	"3... 2..."
	They ran for cover at either sides of the bathrooms, going to their knees and pulling both of their pistols up in front of them, aiming at the far wall. Steve was shaking with excitement.
	"1..."
	They waited for the explosion, whatever it was that deserved so much buildup. They didn't get anything. Static disappeared from the unseen speakers, Snively's voice cut off after the final number like it was interrupted.
	For a few moments, it was silent. Nothing was happening.
	Several times, Matt turned away from his view from between the bunks, pacing the cramped space of the bathroom, returning seconds later to see if anything had happened. Allison shot him a dirty look after the third go around. "Cut it out," she whispered.
	"Sorry. Can't help it." He leaned down again to look, this time at Dan. He was still seated in the center of the opposite half of the cell. He appeared to be deep in meditation, his legs loosely crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Matt said something under his breath.
	"What was that?" Rebecca whispered to him without turning.
	He smiled at her, covering his embarrassment. "Nothing."
	Whoosh. 
	It came from the E3 side; the sound of a doorway sliding open. Their fingers tightened around the triggers of their guns, barrels pointed at the now missing section of the north wall. White light poured in and prevented them from seeing anything clearly.
	"Nobody move!" Red yelled, keeping both guns steadily aimed.
	As if on cue, the first clank sounded and echoed throughout their cell. More came, one after the other. Footsteps. Closer and closer, they came. Red squinted, trying to see through the white haze. He was about to bark another order when it came into view.
	It moved like an awkward bipedal insect, sporting an external skeleton it clearly wasn't accustomed to and straining like it was trying to make itself taller. The rhythmic footsteps they had heard didn't mirror its actual footsteps at all. Every footfall looked like it pained the metal creature. Magenta tinted oil leaked from its joints. It's hands stretched outwards, like it was blind.
	Allison leaned down for a look. She couldn't stop herself from laughing. "You've got to be kidding."
	The metal creature's eyes lit up and focused in her direction, letting out a pathetic squeal that held a spirit of malice but came out sounding like a strangled cry.
	"Hold your fire!" Red called. "Going out!"
	"Here comes the hero," Allison whispered as Red moved into the open, holding twin barrels at the creature's swiveling head. She was the only one who didn't have her gun raised.
	Red moved closer and the squeals from the 'bot grew louder, the eyes focusing on him. He was two feet away and the 'bot took a wide, fisted swipe at him. He dodged it easily, taking two steps back.
	Allison looked to Matt for his reaction and found that he was squinting his eyes. "I don't get it…" he mumbled.
	Two loud round discharges, plasma bursts from Red's guns screamed home into the metal creature's face, blowing it wide open like a flower. The husk fell down twitching. It didn't get a chance to scream.
	Red carefully kicked at its body, satisfied when it didn't attack. "Clear!"
	Allison was about to push the bunk out of the way when Snively's voice came back. "Five minutes."
	Hearing the voice again brought Matt's nerves back to the surface. He frantically pushed the bunk out of the way and emerged into the cell, taking deep, cleansing breaths.
	"Huh. I guess they work." Red was saying, gripping his guns tighter, relieved. "And we know where the door is."
	"You think we can slip a bunk in there real quick next time? Wedge it open?"
	Red cast a look at the cameras, watching them. "Doubt it. We can try."
	"That would have been the time to do it."
	"No kidding." He gave the fallen 'bot another kick. More magenta oozed out from its head wound. "I didn't see the door close."
	"Neither did I. Too fast."
	"It'd probably cut one of us in half." Red noticed, for the first time, that Matt had exited the bathroom. "Too cramped in there?"
	He nodded. "Five minutes... What's next?"
	"Hate to say it," Red said, smiling sardonically. "But I hope it's something more challenging next time." He fell back into his 'visibly sobered' mode. "Yo, Hy!" he yelled. "How you doing in there?"
	Hy's voice came back muffled and strained. "Doing okay. Worried."
	"Hang tight, man. We're working on a way out." He looked back down at the droid and found Steve sticking one of his hands into the flowered skull. "Now… why would you want to go and do that?"
	Steve pulled his hand out and stood up, pink tissue gripped firmly between his fingers. "Brain matter."
	They all took a step back, the familiarity of the enemy at their feet only now hitting them. Rebecca's cry of "What's going on?" fell on deaf ears. Time passed around them like a roaring river.
	"Look at it. Doesn't resemble us in the slightest. If it didn't have a brain, we wouldn't think twice."
	"Is this what we're doing?" Words were falling out of Red involuntarily, in whispers. A part of him was violently ashamed; he had an urge to cover up any evidence that he had done what he had done. But there was no hiding it, and there was no escaping the blowback. "Why would he make it… look like that?"
	"It's true… they fixed it…" Just as he had feared, Allison was out of the bathroom and standing at their sides. "I told you that your gung-ho attitude would bite your ass one day, didn't I?"
	He bared his fangs. "Didn't you hear it scream? I don't think it wanted to be our friend."
	"'It.'" She paused, thinking. "You're right. I suppose it doesn't matter if we kill one of our own in here, does it? Or did you think that we'd all forget about it? What happens in here stays in here-"
	Red was attempting to laugh it off, breaking eye contact with her and forcing his boiling anger down to a hot simmer. "How about you, uh, get off my fucking back about it, hmm?"
	"I'm hip," Allison said, showing Red her palms and smiling briefly before returning to her cave. Matt followed a moment behind, still looking at the metal body on the floor. Steve brought up the rear and moved the bunk back into place, locking them in.
	"You're okay," Steve said, back at Red's side. "He was dead already."
	The thought didn't comfort him. "So are we," he said. His eyes fell back on the blank wall. "Let's wait before trying anything with the door. Absorb a pattern, you know?"
	"See where else it can come from. I getcha." Steve shook his hand free of the folds of brain he had gripped. "Disgusting."
	"One minute."
	Red pointed one of his guns at the cameras again and pulled the trigger. No round discharged. "Fuck. Only works on the 'bots." He choked on that last word, placing the back of his hand over his lips, trying to hide it.
	"Red… they're going to try and kill us."
	He nodded, squinting his watery eyes shut.
	"Get your head back in the game. Our lives are at stake."
	He nodded again and brought his arm down. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I was… thinking of something else."
	They stood there until the voice returned.
	"5..."
	And he was back.
	"4..."
	Adrenaline came off pause and flowing through him again, weapons an extension of his own bone, blood, sinew, will power; eyes aflame; muscles contracting to their fullest. He wanted to live.
	"3... 2..."
	He wanted all of them to live.
	"1..."
	Like before, the number cut out abruptly, leaving them without static or sound. Red and Steve were less worried about getting back to their positions in time but made it quick enough to have plenty of silence to swim in.
	Matt watched them disappear from view. He moved slightly to his right and saw Dan sitting in the exact same position in E3, eyes closed and hands folded in his lap. On their side in E4, the metal body sat in a spreading pool of oil that inched closer and closer to the old man's spot. Matt's mouth moved and words came out in a breath.
	"Hmm?" Rebecca nudged him.
	He motioned to Dan. "Serious about this, isn't he?"
	"Admirable," she said, with a grim reluctance in her throat. She briefly eyed the metallic body. "If that happens to me… do the same."
	"Likewise."
	Allison moved between them again. "If you two want to fuck, I can go outside."
	Rebecca smirked good-naturedly. "Thanks, but-"
	Whoosh.
	An identically sized door slid open in the E4 half of the cell, white light once again spilling out and blinding them. This time, they could hear a frantic whirring growing gradually louder.
	"Approaching!" Red again, shuffling into view with both guns raised. He maneuvered around Dan to the door. "You better move, old man. You're going to be torn in two."
	Steve spied an opportunity and sped up the process, running up to Dan and dragging him to the space between the two bathrooms, on the cell fold. Dan didn't resist. Hell, he didn't even open his eyes.
	Meanwhile, Matt stared right into the white light, his ears flattening against his head under the loudness of the whirring. He saw a shape move just as Steve reemerged and blocked his view.
	"Shit." The cramped space didn't allow for much of an adjustment. He could see an edge of Red, both of his guns slowly lowering to his sides. The sight of it turned his stomach inside out, stabbing a dagger of fear into his heart. He brought his own gun up and pointed it in the direction of the door, at Steve's back.
	Every second killed him, his own breath more deafening than the whirring which sounded just beyond the body that blocked his view. He was too afraid to move, let alone say anything to Steve about it or ask Rebecca what she was seeing or what Allison pretended she didn't care about. He knew it was horrifying, whatever it was, an accident too terrible to look away. He didn't want to see but he needed to.
	And suddenly, the whirring stopped, just when it sounded the nearest. He squinted at the edges of Steve's form and saw something metal where the door ended and the white light began. It was so wide it looked like it wouldn't fit into their cell.
	But apparently it did, because the door came back down, the white light disappeared, and the metal was still there, inside, with them. The whirring came back, deafening, and it must have moved closer because Steve backpedaled and watching it climb over the body of its fallen comrade, crushing the skeleton like bone.
	"Fucking shoot it!" Rebecca yelled practically into Matt's ear but he barely heard it; perhaps because it wasn't directed at him. It was as soft as a scream from his own head. Please, just fucking shoot it, whatever it is. 
	Red had his guns back up and pulled the triggers again and again, giving Steve enough time to move and draw the 'bot away from the bathroom. Matt saw it for the first time: a tank with a torso; arms with drills for hands; a blank face with two yellow eyes glaring from its forehead. Its tracks looked mean and jagged, digging into the floor and scraping it. Actually scraping it! Denting it! Matt began to shake uncontrollably as plasma rounds burnt the air and filled the cell with smoke. He watched the bot's armor grow red and cave inwards with every direct hit and he shook harder. He forgot that he had his gun raised and his finger twitched on the trigger just as Steve crossed in front of him.
	He screamed and lowered the pistol as he saw a round tumble out. He watched the bright orange burst run its course but it didn't appear to hit its target. Steve never reacted; he just kept circling the droid and fired rounds into connections between joints and supposed weak spots, hoping it was doing damage and taking the slowed movement and frantic gyrations as a good sign.
	Steve saw, at the last moment, the 'bot's eyes glow a bright orange. He jumped aside out of instinct and narrowly avoided being cut up the middle by a fast moving laser beam. Green flashed over him. He landed on a roll, and when we was back on his feet and ready to fire, Red had already scored the killing blow to the head and the 'bot was motionless.
	They waited for Snively's voice again.
	"Five minutes."
	They never thought they'd be relieved to hear it.
	Matt jumped through the narrow space of the bunk and came up to Steve's side. "You okay?"
	"What? Oh, yeah, fine. Barely got out of the way of that stupid beam. Cheap bastard…"
	Red put his guns down on the floor and leaned against the droid, trying to push it. It was no use. It was stuck fast, cut right into the floor. "Goddammit." He picked one of his guns back up. "Can't catch a fucking break."
	The sound of the bunk legs rubbing against the floor echoed around them. Allison and Rebecca came out.
	"Good, water," Steve said as he ran by. He had the shower on a moment later and they heard him drinking.
	"Red…" Matt said, speaking like he had to cut every word out with a scalpel. "I think I… shot Steve."
	It took Red a moment to absorb the information. "Like, nearly missed him?"
	"No, no… I'm pretty sure I hit him."
	"… Huh. Steve! Get over here!"
	Ever punctual, Steve was back to his original position as immediate as he could manage. "Sup?"
	Red eyed him up and down. "You're okay?"
	"Yeah. I'm fine." He shrugged. "No worries."
	Red cast a weird look at Matt.
	"Seriously!" Matt insisted. "I accidentally shot at him, hit him in the back." He circled around Steve, looking for a gaping wound and not finding it. "It didn't look like I missed."
	"You must have," Red said. "But next time, how about you keep your goddamn finger off the trigger if you're just-" he stopped short when he noticed the expression on Matt's face.
	Matt had gone breathless, unblinking. He was staring at the back of Steve's head. His lips barely moved when he said, "Steve… your color… it was yellow, right?"
	"Uh, I don't know." Steve gave his collar a tug. "I kinda forgot about these stupid things."
	"It was yellow. I swear it was. Now, it's blue."
	Red crossed to Steve's back and looked. "You're sure it wasn't blue before?"
	"We all had different colors, right?" Matt gripped the back of Red's collar. "Because yours is blue, too."
	"This would be a lot less confusing if your name wasn't a color, Red," Allison said.
	"And I'd be a lot less angry if you were stillborn." He tried turning his collar around to look and he was met with the same piercing pain as last time. "I fuckinghate these things!"
	"Everything okay out there?" Hy yelled from his bathroom hideout.
	"Fine! Peachy." Red growled back. "Forget it, fuck it, let's concentrate on the next one, we only have a couple more to go."
	"Wait, wait, hang on a second," Matt frantically spoke, much to Red's glaring disapproval.
	"We don't have a second-"
	"Listen to me: what if we're being given more of a chance to survive than we're seeing?"
	It was quiet as they waited for him to go on, only Red's heavy, angered breathing permeating the silence. Allison broke it with: "I, for one, am curious."
	Matt went on slower, careful with his articulation. "You can feel a vibration in these collars, and the color display on the back is warmer than the rest of it. It's performing a process… and I wasn't sure what it could possibly be until-" he gestured, eyes lowered, to Steve. "I didn't miss. I hit you. We're walking around with shields." He met eye contact with the man he had shot. "I'm sorry."
	"No big deal," Steve said, somewhat drunk on the information. "Whatever makes us smarter."
	"What's with the color change, then?" Rebecca asked, enraptured, shaking.
	"Ever seen a rainbow?"
	Allison snickered. "A what?" But it hit her immediately afterwards. "Oh."
	"The color spectrum," he continued for her. "They darken as the shields lose energy. We were all given different points to start with."
	"So, what's point zero?"
	"Well… which one of us had black?"
	In the gap between the question and the time it was going to take for them to remember the answer, something happened. A clink, the sound of metal gently kissing the floor, so sweet and so loud that they all knew where it came from.
	Dan.
	He still sat cross-legged, uncomfortable on the cell fold, his eyes still squeezed shut, only now he held the metal collar in his lap. He had let it hit the floor in order to get their attention. "It just… came off," he said. "I didn't want to… make a big deal about it…"
	Red, seething with anger, stomped towards him. "What the fuck are you thinking! Are you trying to take us down with you!"
	"Nothing of the sort, sonny-"
	"Cut the old fart shit!" Red didn't mean for it to happen, but had gripped Dan by the loose skin on his neck and was pressing the barrel of his gun so hard against the temple that they were both wincing from the force. "Keep anything from me again and I'll tear your heart out."
	As if realizing what he was doing, Red backed off, throwing Dan out of his hand like a piece of trash, the old man's head slamming against the partitional trench in the wall. He closed his eyes again as Red stormed away.
	"Okay," Red snarled through clenched teeth. "I'm through playing around." In a blur, he flipped one of the guns around in his hand and chucked it like a tomahawk at one of the security cameras. It shattered and fell. "We're getting out of here," he said as he threw his other one, scoring another direct hit. He motioned to Steve. "Help me get one of the bunks covering Hy."
	"You sure they won't fall?"
	"Don't worry, I can hold the rest in place!" came Hy's voice, full of confidence.
	"My man; I knew I could count on you," Red said as he picked both guns back up, ready to toss them again.
	"Just don't forget about us."
	"One minute."
	Both of Red's guns missed the last two cameras on the first try but he managed to knock them down on the second and third. He left them on the floor and ran to the bunks covering E3's bathroom. He had it upright by the time Steve was by his side. Together, they moved it back and picked it up. Matt came to help.
	"No, no, get the one covering yours."
	Matt took the task and ran for it, grabbing Rebecca along the way for help, leaving Allison standing by herself, a bit bewildered. Red and Steve maneuvered the bunk around the second 'bot and placed it on the floor in front of the mystery wall, approximating the center. Steve eyed it briefly, searching for a seam, and gave up on it. Together, he and Red pressed the beds against the wall, leaving as little space as possible.
	They finished just as Rebecca and Matt had theirs up and moving. They struggled to the wall and set it down.
	"A little to the left," Allison mumbled, watching. "It'll be more center."
	Matt nodded to her, unable to suppress a wink. "Thanks."
	"5... 4..."
	Everyone quickly ran and retrieved their guns, then came back to the bunks.
	"3..."
	"What now?"
	"2..."
	"Yeah, what now?"
	"1..."
	"Wait." Red stared up at the second 'bot as the static cut out, watching the magenta oil leaking out. He let out a deep, painful sigh. "Wait."
	Whoosh. 
	Their friend the white light arrived early, pouring in from the E4 side. Rebecca, Allison, and Matt all pushed their shoulders into the bunk in unison an instant later. They pushed, pushed, pushed…
	"It isn't moving! It won't fit!" Matt cried out.
	Red and Steve took up positions on either side, shielding their eyes from the blinding glare. "Stop, stop for sec." They pulled the bunk away and tilted it diagonally, trying to wedge it under the door, or where they thought the door ended under that burning light that seemed to melt into their cell. "Now, try it now!" They tried again, pushing it against the open door with all their strength. They felt it give inwards and a pang of excitement washed over all of them and they pushed even harder, working it left and right but no matter how they did it, it felt like pushing a square peg into a round hole. They tried and tried and tried until they felt a resistance. They were pushed away from the door by a unknown force, batted back like they were a mere annoyance. They bounced back like a piston on its down stroke. Rebecca made a break for the door. Their excitement turned and ran, leaving them with a cold, icy chill.
	They were doomed.
	The unknown force pushed again, hard, sliding across the cell and slamming against the opposite wall. A rainbow of colors flashed before their eyes. Most of them were blown out of its path but Matt was stuck hanging on the bunk as it rammed against the bathroom.
	Steve heard a deafening crack as he landed. A moment of waltzing through the haze and he looked back up at the door. The white light was gone, and in its place, there was another metal figure.
	"God…" Allison choked out from the ground, on her stomach. She had seen that kind before. They all had. It was a regular Roboticized unit, horrifyingly familiar in too many ways. It stared at them with glowing red eyes, full of programmed contempt and ready to act on it. It stepped closer, searching for a target.
	Red lifted his head from the floor and couldn't tell where he was. He heard screaming from two different sources and the slow progression of metal footsteps, clank clank clank, some rounds discharging and burning the air, senses assaulting him from all angles and he felt nothing. He eyed both of his guns and noticed that two blue lights were flickering on it. He pointed one of them at his head and fired. No round came out. Broken.
	Steve got shakily to his knees, one of the guns weighing down his arm, the other gone. Focusing, he raised it and tried to hold it steady. The bot took notice and it advanced. Steve had it targeted between the eyes, through the heart, then the shoulder… "Help," he said without anyone knowing it. "Help me."
	Rounds fired again and again, closer to hitting the target. It wasn't until Allison finally hit it that the 'bot turned its glowing eyes on her, shifting its attention from Steve's shaky aim. It moved at her faster, and she pulled the trigger again and again, missing mostly but scoring one or two direct hits on its face, denting it inwards into an unrecognizable mess, and it got easier the more distorted it became and she scored more and more hits as it advanced faster than she would have imagined and she couldn't get out of those gleaming outstretched arms in time.
	He had been watching and crawling slowly behind them on his hands and knees but Steve quickened his pace when Allison shielded her face from the metal claws and was captured, her left forearm gripped in the 'bots hands. He scrambled up in spite of the pain and saw her arm bend further and further. It seemed so quick and yet he absorbed every detail, and Steve forced his legs to move, move as the 'bot bent her arm, little by little at first, more as time wore on and the skin began to break and he heard the crack and Allison watched her arm break right in front of her, watching it with a sort of numb fascination, and she didn't start screaming until the 'bot twisted it off.
	Shrill shrieking in his ears louder than the pounding of his own blood, Steve gathered up all he had and stood to his feet. Vomit rose in his throat and he let it come, as long as he could make to them. Something burned down his chin and onto his chest as he fell onto the back of the 'bot, wrapping his free arm around its neck, pointing the gun point blank at its head. He fired, feeling a cold blast of heat cover his arm, his hand, his face. Cold turned into heat and he twitched across the trigger and stayed wrapped around the enemy until his muscles wouldn't work. He didn't know how long that was but the 'bot had dropped Allison, at least. He saw under a cloud of smoke and his own burnt flesh that he caused considerable damage. Good. He grinned through blood and charred lips as the 'bot snarled a garbled taunt and picked him up by the throat and pressed him against the wall. Through his working eye, he noticed sharp knives extending on the 'bot's free hand, like giant scissors. Steve went ahead and retched through his grin, unable to say any of the last words that were running through his mind, and the two sharp talons dug into the wall on either side of his neck. The 'bot let him go and he hanged there at first, vaguely noticing the claws digging into his neck. He ignored everything else and stared into those excited red eyes, and the 'bot ended it slowly, grabbing Steve's head by his hair and pulling it away from the wall and into the edges of steel, gradually decapitating him, severing through fur, skin, and muscle like it wasn't even there. Steve tried backing away from the cut but the 'bot held him fast and pulled without a break in speed. He felt his larynx crush and he cried out once before it was cut off entirely, and he heard a small sound, like a membrane being cut open. The blade came across his windpipe and he could no longer breathe and he began to drown in his own blood as it ran into his lungs, and he choked and gasped out of the gaping hole in his throat, still staring into those unfeeling, unsympathetic eyes. His head was pulled further and he lost the ability to try to resist. He felt his heart pump harder and blood gushed into his throat, down his chest, on the floor, everywhere. Suddenly, it felt like someone was holding a match to the back of his neck. His vision tilted. The movement of his head faltered and his spinal cord was exposed to open air and his nerves flickered and caught fire and his other sensations were overwhelmed. The pain was unbearable. The 'bot tugged his head one final time.
	Red heard Steve's head hit the floor just before the body did. The gun fell out of the body's limp fingers and slid across the floor, stopping when it collided with Red's nose. He thought he had entered a completely different world. No recognition flickered. Was this their cell? Had they lived here? He stood up. What the hell was going on? He aimed his firearm at the base of the 'bot's exposed skull and fired. The recoil knocked him back to the floor.
	"Five minutes."
	Silence. He didn't know how long he laid there, on his back, feeling the pounding in his neck and wondering if it was coming from his blood or his collar. His eyes snapped open when he heard gunfire and a muffled scream.
	Allison felt instantly better, back to staring at her arm, enraptured, sniffing at the cauterized flesh and burnt fur, the other half of her arm lying in front of her, the fingers grasping at her. She noticed Steve's body next to her, intertwined with the deactivated droid, and she coughed once. "Red," she said. She took another deep breath and tried again. "Red."
	"What?" he answered back, annoyed, feeling drained.
	"Can you see Rebecca?"
	Red sighed deeply, sitting up. He opened his eyes and didn't really look. "No."
	"I'm here," she called weakly from the open E4 bathroom. "Matt… He's dead."
	Allison leaned forward to look. She saw Rebecca sitting next to his contorted corpse. He had been crushed by the bunk.
	Red took a deep breath. "Hy!"
	"Yeah! You guys okay? I heard-"
	"We're fine, Hy… just fine. How are you?"
	"Her heartbeat's irregular! I think something's wrong!"
	It got hard to breathe as Red slammed his head back down. "Motherfucker… you fucking welching piece of shit… goddamn you…" Red didn't remember knocking down the video cameras, and looked frantically for them, in every corner. "Show yourself! Fight me like a fucking man!"
	"You had your chance to do that."
	He thought it came from the speakers at first, but when he followed the source, he saw that it was Allison. "What… what the hell..?"
	"Snively told me all about it, Red," she said, smug and full of anger despite the pain she was in. "Told me all about the little talk you guys had."
	"Just like you… just like you to believe something he said-"
	"He showed me… He showed me the fucking videotape! You fucking liar!"
	Red shot up from the ground, coming at Allison. "He said he was going to save us, keep us from harm! I didn't hear you bitching when your mouth was full, you fucking cunt!"
	She struggled to her feet too, gripping her smoking gun tighter. "You gave them up! You gave up our fucking friends because you gave in, you coward! You gave in to his bullshit just because he blew some smoke up your ass! Fuck you!" she shrieked, her eyes bulging out of her head.
	"I thought-"
	"Shut up! They're dead!" She pointed to the north. "They're all dead because of you!"
	"He would have found them eventually-"
	"Bullshit!"
	BANG. Allison blinked as bright purple mixed with the yellow of the plasma blast flashed over her. Her collar disconnected itself from her neck and clanked on the ground against the bodies they stood on.
	Red kept his gun pointed at her. "One more. One more fucking word."
	They started at each other, waiting for a sudden move. Red peered into her eyes, watching her wondering if she was fast enough to get one, just one shot off before he cut her down. He saw her vision light off of him once and that was all the reason he needed. He fired off a round and burned a hole right through her chest, cauterizing her heart. Her body smacked against the wall and fell out of his view.
	"One minute."
	A pang hit him from behind as he waited. Like a slow, rising tide, he began to feel something again. Another pang, hotter this time, and he actually began to cry, a relief of pressure on his throat, vision blurring with all the colors of the rainbow.
	Rebecca shot Red in the back one more time and killed him, despair clutching at her heart strings. Her gun fell out of her hand onto her lap, disappearing into a mass of shredded flesh.
	"5... 4... 3... 2..."
	She didn't have the energy to look.
	"1..."
	Whoosh. 
	No light poured in. She couldn't hear any approaching footsteps. "I… lost them." She allowed a look at her severed legs, curious if they were still on the other side of the door. "Oh well. I don't… need them… anym…"
	Rebecca closed her eyes and didn't open them again.
	Dan tilted his head, watching her slump forward. "Hmm." He slumped along with her, forcing himself deeper, deeper, where it was warm, where everything was fine…
	Hy had heard the voice from the speaker. He squinted through the bunks and seeing the two doors open, both in E3 and E4. Soft, welcoming light was cutting through the smoke-filled cell. Blood was everywhere, but… it looked fine.
	A wave of relief washed over him as he put down his gun and crawled over to Lola's body. "It's over. It's all over. We're free."
	She convulsed once, a echoed vibration in her throat. It sounded like "Free…"
	Hy leaned down close to pick her up. He didn't know what he was going to do on the outside, if he needed to run or fight. He didn't care. Getting out was winning enough.
	Lola's eyes slowly opened, focusing on him. Her body was warm, and getting warmer. Her eyes glowed red. "Free."
	Even after that, he wasn't afraid. He held her in his arms as she grew hot. He just wanted to make it to the door, just to look, he just wanted to see-
	BOOM.
	Lola's body came apart. The explosion took out the entire cell, blowing the insides apart and heating it up like an oven. The cells below didn't feel a thing.
 *Chapter 28*: Robert VI

 	ROBERT

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" 	Robert wearily closed the door behind him. The room still smelled like blood so he breathed through his mouth. "I thought I turned you off before I left."
	"WELL, YOU ARE BETTER AT TURNING ME OFF THAN YOU ARE AT TURNING ME ON."
	"Now now…" He went right to the work table, slumping far into the chair. He wiped his oily hands clean with a nearby cloth. "NICOLE… what happened to the scrap I collected yesterday?"
	"YOU TOOK IT AWAY, ROBERT. THIS MORNING."
	"I did?" He was quiet for a moment. "I guess I did."
	"I SUPPOSE, THEN, YOU DON'T REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID WITH IT?"
	"I'm trying my best," he hissed, under his breath. "I'm working day and night."
	"OF COURSE YOU ARE, ROBERT. I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU SLEEP."
	"With you constantly bitching at me, it's no wonder." He got up and walked over to the computer monitors.
	"SONIC FEELS THE SAME WAY."
	"… Does he?"
	"I SAW HIM JUST THE OTHER DAY, BEFORE HE LEFT. HE SAID HE HAD TO TAKE CARE OF SOME THINGS. HE SAID THE TOP FLOORS OF CELLS WERE ON FIRE AND HE WANTED TO SEE."
	"… You're cranky? You want to do something?"
	"THAT WOULD BE NICE, FOR ONCE." She was calling from somewhere near the weapons. Robert didn't remember where exactly he had left her. She sounded disappointed.
	"Good. I've got the urge. How's your signal with Robotropolis' mainframe?"
	"STEADY." She let loose two pitiful beeps, cutting off the second one. "ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE UP FOR THIS? IT MIGHT TAKE AWHILEzzZ."
	I was in the forest when it happened. 
	"The sun went down about an hour ago. I have all night."
	Throbbing clouds of white smoke blowing through Knothole, through the streets and into people's houses. SWATbots squads, out of nowhere, closing in from all directions. Alarms claxoning into the night. Utter chaos. I was in the forest. 
	Almost ten of us were still awake by the end of it, including Sal. We met at Griff's after hightailing out of Knothole's outskirts, following NICOLE's map. The others were out of breath, so I did my best to recount what I saw, what we saw. 
	Knothole had been found. 
	Griff didn't believe us, not at first. I think we were all still reeling from it, clinging tight to "no way" mode. Sally asked him if he noticed anything unusual coming from Robotropolis over the last couple of months, anything he thought was too unimportant to report. 
	Griff couldn't answer. The surveillance computers had been acting real funny lately, he said, and nothing they did solved the problem. However, near as they could tell, Robotropolis had been quiet. 
	It was Sally, of course, who suggested we go back and rescue the others. She had been one of the lucky ones, awake when the canisters exploded and the white clouds descended. She said she saw someone collapse to the ground as she was running to the alarms, and that was how she figured that the smoke was a kind of sleeping gas. Also, no one else had woken up when the alarms were triggered.
	It couldn't be good, whatever this attack was supposed to do to us. We all assumed Robotocization. 
	Griff lent us his unused stock of grenades, and gave us some modified SWATbot guns, just in case. His theory was that a rebel SWATbot outfit had gotten lucky and stumbled across Knothole, using their last resources and capturing who they could with one of Robotnik's old experimental gas projects. He didn't sound too concerned about the whole thing. 
	All the same, we told him to close off the tunnels and stay on high alert. We told him we'd be back in an hour. 
	On the way, Sally-girl told me what she thought it was, whispering as the scouts continued ahead of us. 
	Up until that point, we hadn't heard a peep from Snively since Doomsday. We all thought he had gone underground, and with nothing for us to fight, rebuilding Mobius was slow going. Sally wanted to start with the allied territories before coming to the big project, Mobotropolis, which she said would take more than who we had in Knothole. It would take the efforts of all the citizens of Mobius. 
	Bottom line, we only traveled into Robotropolis when we needed to. We relied on Griff for the real intel. I guess it was a mistake. 
	We traveled through the forest under the moonlight, hoping to cut off the prisoner transport before they made it to the city. It would be a big SWAT group, and we'd have to be careful, downright surgical with our rescue. The rifles went to the marksmen. I took the bulk of the grenades, as usual. Sally and Marissa were the rescuers. We'd be the diversion. 
	Our group met theirs surprisingly quick. The marksmen fanned out and carefully took their positions in the trees. Sally spotted the prisoner carriers in the center of the SWAT group, surrounded by what looked like three squads of 'bots. 
	Kneeling behind a tree trunk, old feelings began coming back to me, gung-ho type stuff. The need for speed, juice and jam time, in a Sonic second, all running through me like an electrical current. A wave of adrenaline crashed into me and before I knew it, my legs were carrying me in circles around the bots, the world spinning faster and faster, and I was laughing, taunting them like I used to. A part of me I forgot had existed, awakened. The showboating kid that I had outgrown came viciously back to life. It felt like this was the first time I had run in a year, which in reality wasn't true; I ran all the time, inside and outside of the Great Forest, to the south across the desert. Boring stuff, really, but I didn't realize it until I was back in the thick of things, face to face with danger once again. 
	I loved it. I loved the fight while it lasted. Those were the best days of my life, the ones where I thought I could die at any moment. And the weird thing is, I wasn't afraid. Not of these hacks made of metal. No matter how out of practice I was, I'm still better than they ever can be. I'm still faster and I'll always be faster. 
	Gunshots rang around me, all of them aimed at those guarding the prisoner transports. I stayed at the edge of the crowd and drew fire away from the prisoners, clearing the way for Sal and Marissa. Two grenades took out an entire squad I had lured into one tightly packed area. My smile was beginning to hurt. 
	I didn't see how it happened. I remember being nearly blindsided by a large black blur, traveling at breakneck speeds in the direction of the city. I only ducked out of instinct, but Spike told me later that I was lucky he didn't burn my head off with the round he fired. 
	We were all alone again, in the midst of the SWATbot graveyard we had created, the smell of sulfur thick in the air, fog creeping in from the west. Our enemies had fled back to their home.
	Sally and Marissa hadn't made it to the transport. They didn't get the chance. Some 'bot had called the retreat before they could make a move, and the prisoner transport had rocketed away. That was what the black blur was. 
	"I think I might have hit one of the rockets," Spike said, sounding so hopeful. 
	Our group was down to eight. Two had been hit by plasma blasts. One had suffered a shoulder injury. This was enough for Sally to suggest returning to Griff's for rearming. 
	I don't disagree with her much anymore, at least not lately, but this entire situation was getting on my nerves. As much fun as it was, I wanted it over as soon as possible. "You guys go ahead and go back to Griff's. Meanwhile, I'll be rescuing the others. I'll have them back before sunrise."
	"…You can't be serious." 
	Sometimes, I think she fights with me just because it's me. "Someone has to have all the fun."
	"This isn't fun, Sonic! I have a real bad feeling about this. There's something else at work here…"
	We agreed on that, but I wasn't about to admit it. "Come on, it's me. What's the worst that can happen?"
	"Would you like a list?"
	"If you can finish it before I get back."
	I don't see what she looks like after I zoom off. I imagine a look of shock mixed with ragged coughing from the spray of dirt, maybe a shaking of a clenched fist in my direction. I'm probably wrong. She has to be used to me by now. 
	The survivors fell behind me, and I picked up the pace, following the twisted path of destruction. The trees were still sizzling from the rocket fire. Further along the trail, the path began twisting more and more, first left, then right, and further to the left. Spike must have really hit it. Stray SWATbots, running injured from the battle, lagged behind the transport. I put them out of their misery with a quick spin dash, keeping up the pace. It hurt less and less. 
	The Great Forest ends at the top of an incline that overlooks half of Robotropolis. I came to a stop where the destruction ended, squinting my eyes against the dust. In the distance, I could see a plume of black smoke rising above two buildings at the edge of the city. 
	A jog and I was at the crash site. The prisoner carriers had slammed into two old abandoned houses, their rockets still sputtering pathetic coughs of red flame. Stone rubble everywhere. The rear carriers were empty, no one inside. The two lead carriers were turned on their sides, the doors wide open. 
	Around me were about ten bodies, thrown clear of the first transport collision. I checked the one closest to me. 
	Dead. 
	My first thought was about Spike, and how I hoped he'd never see this. He'd blame himself. Clusters of footprints were stamped in the dust around the empty transports. They led in the direction of the city. I was about to leave when I heard something. Scuffling, metal shifting against metal, coming from the lead transport. A second later, a bright red forehead poked out of the door. The rest of his body followed, falling to the ground with a loud thump. 
	A survivor. The color of his fur was bright enough to stand out even in the dark. He didn't look injured, but he didn't look like he could walk, either. The gas must have still been affecting him. 
	He twitched uncontrollably when I scooped him up into my arms. I sped off in the direction of Chuck's house, careful not to kick up any dirt in case I needed to follow the footprints, but something told me that they were smart enough not to leave an obvious trail like that behind, not unless it was a trap.
	I tapped on the door quietly, staying on my guard. 
	"Why, Sonne, what's- oh my…"
	"Hey, Unc, give me a hand with this kid." Together, we carried him to the corner bed, pushing aside the red curtains. He didn't open his eyes once.
	"What happened?"
	"He survived a crash in the south sector." I took a deep breath, the deepest I could take. "Knothole's been found, Chuck."
	"No…" His bright red eyes lowered to the floor. He shook his head in disbelief.
	"There are about seven of us left... They're at Griff's right now."
	"Dear oh dear-"
	"The SWATbutts have the rest. We need to find out where they're being taken. Your computers still up?"
	It took a moment for him to answer. "Actually, they've been on the fritz for the last two months."
	"Figures. Can we give it a shot anyway?"
	"Of course." He managed to tear himself away from the sleeping fox, sliding over to the computer console. He clicked on the display monitors and typed in some commands. We were met with a static-infected image of different parts of Robotropolis.
	"Sheesh! I see what you mean…"
	"What are we looking for, exactly?"
	"A large group, carrying loads of prisoners. We don't have a lot of time. Can you fix this?"
	"Hmmm…" He stood up from his chair and went over to the worktable. A SpyEye was resting at its center. "I still have a couple of tricks up the old sleeve."
	He opened the panel on the back of the SpyEye and activated it. It hovered above the table as he came back to the computer console. 
	"We can control it from here," he said, flying the SpyEye out the door. 
	The monitors switched from the static surveillance cameras to the mobile 'bot we had flying above the city. Chuck typed in commands and it flew high enough to stay out of sight. We found the SWAT squad in the central district, carrying the prisoners in their arms. From the looks of it, they were all still sleeping. 
	"Thanks. I'm outta here."
	"Wait!" He pointed to the upper right portion of the screen. "They're stopping." 
	The lead SWATbot had dropped his prisoners and was punching a code into the steel siding of a building. "Can't you get any closer?"
	"Too late. They're going in." The long line of 'bots head into the building, one by one, ants retreating into an anthill. 
	"Where is that?"
	"Near the Acorn palace, but Sonic-"
	Out of there before he could finish, running as fast as I could across the city. Chuck's place wasn't far from the old palace, not for me. Go straight, hang a right two blocks up, straight on 37 and you can't miss it. It was all coming back. 
	I made it right as the rear SWATbot was entering the building. I quickly spun into a ball and rolled for the door as it began to close. I bored through and took off the SWATbot's head, coming down behind him. His body fell on my back and the sleeping prisoners fell to the floor, but I barely noticed. 
	The building was a lot larger than it had looked on the outside, and there were worker bots. Everywhere. Crawling along the walls, pounding in insulation and carrying long sheets of metal, lining the entire interior with it, buffing the ceiling and floors to a reflective shine. Robotropolis was definitely alive. 
	I saw this through a transparent wall, in a corridor that ran along the length of the building. Every one of the SWATbots I had been tailing dropped the prisoners they had been carrying and turned to face me. 
	"That's my cue. Later, Boltbutts!" 
	I used my legs to push the weight I had off my back. I clicked the anti-grav buttons on my heels and ran up the nearby wall, a trail of fire in my wake, the need for a power ring growing stronger. At the top, there was a square entrance for the second floor. Even with no plasma shots screaming after me, I didn't take any chances and took my way out. 
	On the second floor, I came face to face with another SWATbot squad, and they were ready for me. 
	"Bad move, hedgehog, mondo bad move…"
	They all jumped forward, and I would have made it, if I had remembered that there was no place to run to. I jumped back and both of my feet planted me against the wall above the hole. A split second later, all of the SWAT bodies collided with me and we fell back down to the ground floor. The catwalk hadn't been built yet. There was nothing to break our fall.

	I woke up in a familiar place: 
	The Robotocization chamber. 
	I got up on my knees, feeling groggy. My hands pressed up against the glass and my eyes came back into focus. An old friend was staring back at me. "Snively."
	"Oh good, the rodent's alive," That smirk of his, that damn smirk. 
	"We were real worried about you, Sniv. You don't call, you don't write. What gives?"
	"I've been busy these days, hedgehog." He walked back into darkness and suddenly the lights kicked on. He was sitting in Robotnik's chair. "Quite busy."
	"Doing a little role-playing, hmmm?"
	He smiled wider, whipping his cape theatrically into the air, chuckling. "We've actually caught you, Sonic. It appears as though you've run out of tricks, and this time, no one is coming to save you."
	I couldn't help but smile. "That's what you think."
	"Oh! So confident, are we? Is this what you're referring to?"
	Surveillance monitors came to life behind him, painting the room red. They displayed huge fires raging out of control, small huts made out of waste collapsing under their own weight, raining smoke and ash. In the background SWATbot troops hunted for survivors. 
	"No…"
	"Pathetic that the underground resistance didn't give us more… resistance. Heheheheh… you freedom fighters really are out of practice."
	"No." Griff… Sally… 
	"Afraid so. How sad. You didn't even get to say goodbye to them. They spent their final moments on Mobius thinking that you were going to save them."
	He doesn't begin a long maniacal laugh. He just looks at me, waiting for me to say something.
	"You better throw that switch, needle-nose, because if I ever get out of this thing, I'm going to rip you apart." And I meant it, too. I was so angry that I was going blind. 
	He must have seen that, because he activated the machine without another word. Electricity arced all around me, my spine going rigid, arms stretching at my sides. I couldn't move. It started at my feet, metal covering my toes, my ankles, my shins. Heavy. No feeling. I felt something trying to get inside my brain, a voice or… something, but I fought it back with all I had, all of it as best as I could, even though it hurt worse than anything, even though it wasn't working and I could still feel my skin slowly turning into metal, creeping higher and higher…
	All at once, it stopped. My senses must have been all screwed up because I didn't hear the explosion until after I was free. Maybe even after I saw her. 
	Sally-girl. Still alive. Saving my neck once again. 
	Snively dived behind his chair, crying out in fright. Sally, rapid-firing from two handheld plamsa rifles, aimed in my direction. The glass tube shattered out of the way and I collapsed to the floor with a CLANG. Above me, the air burned with expelled rounds. Sally was turning the place into cheese. 
	Feeling disappeared completely. I couldn't get up. I remember reaching out towards her, wanting so bad to carry her away from there…
	But someone had picked me up and started carrying me out of there. Chuck. Who else. The two must have gotten together after Griff's place had been ransacked. 
	I watched her rapid-fire some more plasma at surrounding 'bot-heads, covering our retreat, but not enough to open her an exit. Sniv must have called security. They were closing in. I started to struggle in Chuck's strong arms, still reaching out to her. I've never been that helpless before. Never that feeble. I was always the hero. It was my job to protect her. 
	I failed. 
	If Chuck had only been a little faster, I wouldn't have seen it. I wouldn't have seen the breaking apart of the computer consoles, or the security droids raise their arms at Sally and fire… I wouldn't have seen her-
	If only I had been faster. If only I hadn't screwed up. 
	Darkness, again. Nothing unconscious about it. I had a lot of time to think. 
	The next time the light came back, I was in Chuck's place, lying down in the corner cot. There was a figure standing over me. He was holding a gun. 
	It was the kid, the fox with the red fur. He was going to be okay. 
	"What's your name, kid?" Tails… Tails, I'm so sorry…
	"Robert," he says, barely moving. Everything from the waist up felt like it was on fire. 
	Rotor. Bunnie. Dulcy. Antoine. I'm sorry… "Do me a favor, kid."
	Uncle Chuck…
	"Shoot me."
	Help…
	"Shoot me."
	"INFORMATION RETRIEVAL COMPLETE, ROBERT."
	The flash is all I see
	Robert shook himself out of his daydream. "Excellent, NICOLE, what do you have for me?"
	The display screens flicked to a different image, what looked like an astronomic schematic.
	"What's this?"
	"zWHAT YOU SENT ME IN FOR, OF COURSE."
	"No need to be a total cunt about it." Robert tried to make sense of the display, scratching the side of his head, ignoring the pain. It was what appeared to be a navigational course, one that began on Mobius and headed in a straight line to a larger, greener planet. The distance looked to be about four light years.
	"zzHOW IS THIS USEFUL, ROBERT?z"
	"You tell me, you know just about everything in the fucking world, don't you?-"
	"zZzzz"
	"-sly little bitch, wasting my fucking time-"
	"ztZzzzt."
	"-it's a wonder the Princess got anywhere with such a worthless piece of scrap."
	Silence.
	"… Nicole?"
	Nothing.
	"Nicole!" He scrambled over to where he heard her voice last, throwing aside weapon after weapon, not hearing them shatter and break against the wall. He eventually found her, and held her directly under the light. Her screen was blank. "Nicole, answer me…" He flipped her closed, then open again, hoping it would revive her. It didn't.
	The silence of Chuck's place was no longer relaxing. It was terrifying. He could feel dark forces all around him, scuffling from beyond the red curtain. He thought saw Uncle Chuck's deactivated husk moving towards him. His mind was his own worst enemy.
	Robert fell to his knees and sobbed, truly afraid for the first time in his life.
 *Chapter 29*: Colin V

 	COLIN

Taylor faces away from the glass when he falls asleep now. For days, he hasn't even looked in my direction. He knows about me and Lisa—has to. Somehow. 	If it's any consolation, she and I haven't said much to each other since it happened. It's clear that both of us are ashamed about it, although I guess that doesn't really mean anything now. Guilt is pointless. In a single act, we destroyed one relationship and contaminated another. It's doubtful, too, that we'll ever have a chance to fix what we've ruined.
	I need to talk to her. As I climb out of my bunk, however, I realize that she's not in her bed. When I reach the floor, I see that her bed is neatly made—identical to the other two. In her place are fresh towels and a bowl of overripe fruit.
	"No…"
	This is impossible. Her name wasn't on the list. There's nothing they could possibly want from her.
	"Lisa…"
	I turn just in time to see Taylor watching me. It's only for a moment, but I can tell there's venom in his expression. He looks away from me the instant I make eye contact with him.
	TAYLOR

"There's forty-nine cards in the deck now." 	"No shit? You're kidding."
	"Honest, man," Kyle insists. "Forty-nine."
	"Goddamn," says Rex. "Which ones are missing?"
	"Queen of Spades and the King of Clubs. And the Jack of Hearts makes three."
	"Damn it, somebody's trying to fuck with us. How the hell are we supposed to play now?"
	Something inside of me snaps. "Maybe," I growl, "there are more important things to worry about than your fucking game."
	Rex looks at me directly. "Anybody talking to you, faggot?"
	I turn away from him and say nothing. He doesn't matter anymore. Snively is giving me a private cell tomorrow night.
	"Fuck it," Rex says, "let's just play without those cards. Just deal 'em."
	I sigh quietly to myself. After a few moments of shuffling and dealing, I feel someone put a hand on my shoulder. "Hi, Sean," I say, expecting him to sit down next to me.
	He doesn't. "We need to talk about something."
	"What's the matter?"
	I can see that he's looking over at the neighboring cell—not Colin's, but the other one. "I've been keeping an eye on those guys," he says in a low voice. "One of them was on the torture list."
	I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that."
	"Yeah, well. He disappeared five days ago, just like you did. Only he never came back."
	Neither of us says anything. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I'm holding my breath. "So what are you getting at?" I finally ask.
	I can feel his eyes on me. I try to avoid looking at him.
	"What did they do to you in the torture room?" he asks.
	I close my eyes, remembering. "I don't want to talk about it."
	"But you came back."
	"So?"
	"Twice."
	"Look, just drop it, alright?"
	"But this is important," Sean says. His voice sounds strained—choked up, like he's about to cry. "I need to know, Taylor."
	"Know what?"
	"Oh, come on, you know damn well what I'm thinking."
	I can't take it anymore. "What?" I demand. "You're saying I cracked? You're saying I leaked something to them? Fuck you, I don't have to put up with this."
	By now, Rex and Kyle have stopped their card game. "Y'know," says Rex, standing up, "I was wondering the exact same fucking thing."
	"Yeah, they don't just do that, right?" says Kyle. "Let 'em live if they refuse to talk? Don't they just kill 'em instead?"
	"Exactly," says Rex, "that's what I'm saying. I'm saying this little cocksucker sold us out. He had to, else he'd be dead."
	I bolt to my feet, facing him. "Listen, asshole, you've got no right to accuse me of --"
	He shoves me violently into the glass wall. "Out of my face, you fucking queer."
	"What did you tell them?" Kyle demands, coming closer.
	"Answer him, faggot."
	"What did you fucking tell them?"
	I try to move past them. "Look, just leave me alone..."
	Rex stops me with his arm. "Answer the fucking question."
	"Get out of my way!"
	"You sold us out, didn't you? Just fucking admit it."
	I turn to him, just inches from his face. "Yeah, maybe I did," I whisper to him. "What are you gonna do about it?"
	His reflexes are fast; it only takes a moment for his fist to collide with my mouth. I fall to my knees, tasting blood. I look up and see that Sean is standing out of the way against the far wall. You bastard, I tell him silently. You started this. You betrayed me. He turns away.
	"Well, son of a bitch," Rex says. He pushes me over, and I feel him pull something out of my back pocket. "See this, Kyle? Guess this explains everything." The hyena throws down three playing cards on the floor in front of me: a Jack of Hearts, a Queen of Spades, and a King of Clubs.
	Snively. He must have planted them on me.
	"Get up," Rex says. "Now."
	COLIN

Because the glass is soundproof, I hear absolutely nothing when Taylor's head makes contact with it. I'm frozen—watching in disbelief, holding my breath. The scene is chaotic, but I think I can make out the hyena behind him, holding onto Taylor's ears and smashing his face repeatedly into the wall. After a few silent smacks, I begin to see spatters of blood appearing on the glass between us. With a final thrust, the hyena shoves Taylor's head into the wall so hard that I can actually hear a dull thump. The glass is obscured by an explosive, gory sunspot. 	I feel myself running forward, pushing my hands against the glass, clawing helplessly and screaming for them to stop. By now Taylor has crumpled into a pathetic heap in the middle of the cell—drenched in blood, unmoving—as the hyena and the jackal trade crushing kicks into his ribs and face. I can almost hear the snap of Taylor's neck as the jackal delivers the killing blow.
	In the cruel, sterile quiet of my cell, I finally cry. It sounds like shattered glass.
 *Chapter 30*: Lisa

 	LISA

"Awake at last. I hope you're feeling sufficiently refreshed." 	My head is pounding. When I try to move, I find that my wrists and ankles have been secured to an operating table. Snively is standing above me. "Why am I here?" I manage to say, although my mouth is sore and drier than hell.
	He casts a malevolent smile: the kind just subtle enough to register chills. "You have been referred to me by a certain prisoner, who shall remain anonymous. He said you might have some information leading to the location of one or more of your hidden Freedom Fighter outposts."
	He's lying -- he has to be. I don't know any more about the other outposts than he does. "None of us know where they are," I say plainly. "They don't tell us. Try somebody more important; you're talking to the wrong kitty."
	"Whether or not you're actually retaining useful information is irrelevant at this point. In fact, we've known where to find the rest of your friends for a number of days now."
	"Oh, is that so? I think you're full of shit."
	He shrugs. "Believe what you will. It's only a matter of time before Robotnik's forces have finally crushed your pathetic resistance. Regardless, the fact remains that Robotnik has more on his agenda than simply destroying you. Why do you think we've gone through all this trouble in the first place—this prison, this elaborate scheme?"
	"Because the roboticizer is broken, numbnuts. You've run out of ideas. Why else?"
	"Oh, you poor, naive little creature."
	He moves behind me, and soon I can hear him flipping switches at the control panel. With a mechanical whine, my operating table tilts forward and stops at a 60-degree slant. I tug at my restraints, getting nervous.
	"What are you doing?"
	He ignores me. "You might be interested to know that the roboticizer is once again operational."
	My heart stops.
	"Although Robotnik has explicitly requested that we refrain from using it for the time being—with the exception of one last victim, who will be apprehended in due time."
	Sonic. Somehow, he managed to avoid capture. Or maybe he escaped. Maybe he can still save the rest of us.
	I bite down and remain silent. Better to hide my glimmer of hope than risk snuffing it out.
	Snively approaches me from behind. "We can make plenty of our own robots, you know. We don't need to roboticize any of you. From raw components, worker-bots are no more difficult for us to manufacture than SWATbots are. The roboticizer is nothing more than a means through which we demonstrate our contempt for the enemy: humiliating you by forcing you to work for us."
	He gives a brief pause. I can feel his fingers gently brushing my cheeck. "Of course," he continues, "you might say that the roboticizer's recent malfunction was... a pause for reflection. An epiphany, if you will. Why bother to roboticize you at all? Why not humiliate you through other means? Why not ruin your lives so carefully, so thoroughly, that you have nothing left to fight for?"
	When he moves into my sight again, he lowers his voice to a whisper. "This isn't about you, Lisa. You're just one element in the equation."
	"What do you mean?"
	He is so close that our faces are nearly touching. His fingers move slowly from my neck to my waist. "He doesn't really love you."
	"Who?"
	"You know."
	"Colin?"
	"You were merely a catalyst. The first domino. We grouped all of the prisoners very carefully."
	"I don't understand..."
	"It doesn't matter." His hand is resting on the inside of my thigh. I'm naked.
	"What are you doing?"
	"Shhh. You won't feel a thing, I promise."
	I notice that he's holding a small power saw.
"No..." 	My eyes flutter open, weakly. I can't feel my legs.
	"God, Lisa, no... no no no, not you too..."
	Colin is cradling my head, sobbing. I'm laying in his arms. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and pulls me closer, comforting me with the warmth of his embrace. I feel so disconnected, like nothing is wrong. I want to tell him about Sonic. I want to tell him that we have nothing to worry about anymore—that help is on the way. I want to tell him that I love him and that I've always loved him and that I want him to be happy and that he should stay with Taylor because they're destined to be together. I'll be fine.
	But I'm too weak... too weak to say anything. I feel cold all of a sudden; I start shivering. He tightens his arms around me, crying, "No, no, Lisa, please, no," and he kisses me. I close my eyes as my last breath dissolves... and the cold vanishes.
	COLIN

There are thick, violent splashes of red everywhere in our cell: the sheets, the walls, the floor. The mirrors display the carnage in a series of never-ending reflections. She looks almost as though she has been torn open. I'm holding her in my arms when I feel her slip away, but I still can't let her go. Hours later, the nighttime anesthesia seeps into the cell, and I fall asleep next to her. 	In the morning, her body is missing. But not the blood.
We're sitting in Snively's office. He turns his desk chair to face me and sighs. "I don't approve of what they do here," he says. "All the torture and the agony and the suffering... it's so... not me. Really, I just work here. All I want is information." 	Sitting on the couch, I remain silent. I haven't spoken since Taylor and Lisa died.
	"I can understand that this is terribly upsetting for you. But let's not forget who was responsible."
	My fault. All my fault.
	"Checked on your neighbors lately? I hear they're not doing so well."
	Worse than that. One morning I awoke and thought that the occupants of my neighboring cell were still sleeping. After three days, I concluded that they were dead—all of them. Probably lethal gas. Not that the murdering bastards didn't deserve it. Nevertheless, it seems I'm surrounded by death these days.
	"This doesn't have to hurt," Snively says. "We're just chatting. I want to help you, Colin. If you give us the information we need, you won't have to go through this anymore."
	When I finally speak, it is with a strained whisper. "Will you kill me?"
	He smiles. "It would be my pleasure."
 *Chapter 31*: D2 and D3 III

 	CELLS D2 AND D3

Genius. We learn to get along without Ginger, and suddenly, she returns. My oh my, whatever would we do? 	Ginger woke up and saw all of us surrounding her, and she started screaming at the top of her lungs. We backed off, startled by her energetic thrashing and clawing, but she kept right on yelling.
	Her eyes were my favorite part. Immediately, right as they snapped open, she knew where she was, and why we were dangerous. Such horror in her eyes. Immediately. She knew.
	How many times do I have to eat before I stop being hungry? How many times do I have to fuck before I don't want to anymore? How many times do I have to sell my soul before I stop caring? How much can we take before we snap?
	I keep others at a distance in order to delay the inevitable. Inconsistency is the issue. Mood swings. I'm happy, some shmuck pisses me off, I get angry, and I stay angry for a long time. It's difficult to let things go.
	She backpedaled into the corner and we watched her sob, weak tears streaming down her cheeks. She called for Donald, asked for his protection, her outstretched arms groping wildly for him as though she were blind.
	Donald, he knew what was at stake. There was even a moment of hesitation, where he was still standing with the rest of us. You could read his last rites in that silence.
	I've only seen one other person move that fast.
	Visions of things to come. Donald's arms around her shoulders. Ginger burying her head into his chest. Inhaling one another's sweat. Listening to them fuck every night. The cell eventually smelling like their sex. Them flaunting it in front of us like a sideshow act.
	And we would have to take it. No matter how free we think we are, it all comes down to mathematics. Equations, rules, theorems, possibilities. Questions. Whether he was genuinely trying to protect her, or if it was all about pussy.
	He held onto her and she whispered into his ear, her lips rapidly brushing his cheek. I caught "Snively" and "they'll do it to us" and "smell" and "not our friends." He nodded, staring at us, his eyes growing darker the longer he listened. His hard-on pointed at her.
	Over. Gone.
	His days reduced to single digit numbers.
	This was the closest I had ever felt to a large group. It takes mob mentality to bring us together, make us close.
	Options. What substitutes for Ginger were available, ways to stave off the feeling of being rejected. Our food servings was getting mushy. Looking pretty vaginal to me. Hell, it wouldn't be edible for much longer… Why not?
	But I wasn't considering the obvious answer. What better way to kill the urge to fuck than by actually fucking. It's not as though Donald and Ginger were the only ones in the cell. I had plenty of choices from a fine stock of men, but I didn't consider it. I never considered it. If I had, I would have been disgusted by it, sure, repelled by how much I hate them, yes, but I would have caved in eventually.
	No. What I was after, plain homegrown vagina, eggs and all.
	That's what brought me out of it. It wasn't so much about sex as it was about procreation, some deep level of me had been rudely awakened and multiplied to dangerous heights. The urge would never, ever go away.
	I remember stepping away from them as they closed in on Donald and Ginger. It got harder and harder to move each foot back, left, right, left right. This strange smell was invading me, infecting my nostrils, going right to my head. Hostile takeover. Fantasies, her naked, writhing, wet, throbbing body, me pounding into her and destroying her, forcing her to keep quiet, laughing while she's crying and she doesn't stop and I cum all over her insides and she's mine and then I don't want her anymore and the others, the others they pull me off and have a go and and and it doesn't end.
	I didn't stop until I hit the back wall in the bathroom. I slid down to the floor, trying to shut down.
	Across from me, the show began. Donald tried to protect her, to the very end, drunk from a right cross from Marsh. Charlie dragged Donald away from Ginger and forced him onto his stomach, pressing both of his knees into the small of Donald's back and pinning his wrists, gripping Donald by the scruff of his neck and lifting his head, forcing him to watch. Ginger didn't put up much of a fight. Kern pushed her up against the glass and opened her up. He held her with one hand under her arm and the other between her legs. He began moving his hips back and forth, moving one of her legs over his shoulder. Already, the guys were telling him to hurry up. Kern thrust at least three more times and shuddered. He stepped back and fell to his ass, looking relieved as she fell to the floor away from him. The others looked at Kern like they couldn't believe what had just happened, unsure if they could do the same. Then they all moved towards her, but Frank got there first. He patted the top of her head, gently, staring down at her. His fingers grazed her cheek when he suddenly gripped her by her hair. Kern was in my way but I saw enough of Frank's dick to know that Ginger's mouth was on the other side of it, his thick arms forcing her head further and further, deeper and deeper, his hands gripped tight on her scalp. Charlie watched intently, every once in awhile distracted by Donald's weak struggling, but he held on tight. Frank climaxed into her throat and pushed his dick further in, her vomit mixing with his cum but I could hear her choke, gulp and swallow. He bent his shoulders and loosened his grip. She fell out of sight again, behind Kern, heaving and gagging. Frank yelled at her to keep it down and brought his foot at the bridge of her nose. A crack and she was out, cold. She slipped across the floor and I could see her better, the entrance of the bathroom obscuring her head. Frank walked out of sight and Marsh decided that he was next, practically bouncing to her limp body. He was slower about it, taking his time, kissing her neck, her chest, her arms, her hands. He stayed close to her, no space between their stomachs. It took him longer to finish. She was waking up when Oscar took his turn. He seemed more reluctant about it, like he didn't know what to do, and Ginger was squirming around, coughing and trying to close her legs as Marsh forced Oscar between them. Marsh was telling whispering all this shit to him, and I can imagine it: lick her cunt, her hairy squirrel cunt, get a taste of royalty, how will it taste, before and after, how tight is she, how wet is she. And poor Oscar was having trouble getting it up. I could see his tired, apologetic face, that look of giving up when you know you've tried your hardest and can't try any harder, that sigh that comes from so deep that it burns coming out of your mouth and stings your eyes and you can't see five seconds in front of you; all that exists is the humiliation of failing at something that so many others have succeeded at. There was a loud slam as Charlie head-butt Donald and left him unconscious. It was his turn. He was out of my line of sight for the moment as Oscar squirmed away from Ginger's heaving body. Charlie came back into view with the bouncy ball gripped tight in his hand, grinning madly. He flipped Ginger onto her stomach and shoved the ball into her mouth from behind. He put his hands on her hips and slammed into her, hard from the get-go. She clawed and scratched at the floor, spit trailing out of her mouth, her spine arched, trying to roll with him and let him in, trying to ignore it or have fun and she was moaning and crying out with every thrust and I didn't know if I was enjoying it but fuck it, I was. Of course I was. But I was clinging to the disgust at the idea of taking her after the rest of them, the feeling of being excluded, the idea that they'd be watching. Charlie finished and backed off. Oscar sulked nearby, unsure if he wanted to give it another go. A pool of blood expanded around Donald's head. Frank, Kern, and Marsh I couldn't see. Ginger, Ginger, Ginger, sitting there, waiting for me, dripping with cum from four other guys.
	I crawled forward, slipping onto my chest, my dick pressing against my lower stomach. Stop this, for fuck's sake. Anything to stop this. Sleep. I need sleep.
	I let gravity pull my head into the floor. The first hit meant nothing, but I started using my muscles, and with every subsequent hit the concentration on the sex broke and flies zoomed around inside of my skull trying find a good foothold and get back on track but I broke it with every Fall God I needed sleep Fall those repeated images of her Fall images of me fucking her Fall and the guys watching Fall losing the war with them Fall and Robotnik Fall-
It's dark for ages. 	I wake up with clear lungs and a killer headache. I manage to lift my head, skin and hair peeling off blood like the floor is made of flypaper. All the memories come back. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes…
	I can see them now, staring at me from across the cell, but… there's a rectangular space behind her, opening to a blinding white light. The outside.
	Her eyes. Her body curves back around, her flank pointing right at me. A grimace on her face that resembles a smile.
	Outside, or inside.
	Which door do I take?
	It hurts to move anything, but I managed to stand up.
	Smoke… I can smell smoke…
	There's no one else in the cell. It's quiet. We're alone. Together.
	Left here.
	So I could still have my turn.
	Nice move.
	Is it consensual if she can't object?
	I make it to her and kneel down close, my lips touching her clammy forehead as the smile fades away from her and the door closes at the exact moment her eyes do. I make my choice.
	Checkmate.
 *Chapter 32*: A2 and A3 IX

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

There was a dead silence, like all of the air had been sucked out of the cell. Bowman noticed it immediately when he woke up, even before he realized that he had woken up on the floor. Minutes with his eyes wide open and he still couldn't believe it. 	No more beds. No more mirrors. No more cameras. No more cellmates.
	And no food this morning. Even the ball was missing.
	He lazily bivouacked into the A3 bathroom, compelled to it like a magnetic pull, his jaw hanging low and his tongue hanging out of one side. He passed through the white frame, leaving the vibrant glow of the cell, his vision narrowing on the body lying at his feet, the smell of fresh strawberries in the air.
"Good morning." 	SUBJECT: SABRINA
	SPECIES: MINK
	CELL: A3
	Sabrina felt warmth against her back. She wondered if this meant that she had been secured there for a long time, or if someone else had. She had to crane her neck to see where the voice had come from.
	Snively, munching on popcorn from a bowl, smiled at her. "How are the restraints? Are they too tight?"
	She twisted her wrists and ankles, seeing if she could work them free. She gave up immediately, sinking and trying to relax. "Yes."
	"If they're cutting off circulation, then I'm wasting both my time and yours." He placed the bowl down on a nearby examination table, knocking a couple of instruments together.
	Sabrina flexed her tail under her back, feeling a cramp warming at the base of her spine. She cleared her throat. "No. They're fine."
	She knew what was coming, and felt the dead weight of defeat crush her. They were no longer bothering to announce the tortures, just picking them out of their cells at their own discretion. All of her muscles went slack under the pressure. Buster… how long had Buster lasted before he had succumbed to this?
	"There's much fun to be had." Snively said, smiling so hard it looked like it was hurting. It was so exciting. "Do you happen to know how hot blood is?"
	"… N-no…" Sabrina felt her throat go numb.
	"Come, now, this is easy. You're a mammal. 90 degrees to 100. Fahrenheit."
	"Fascinating." She was finding her rhythm quickly, listening to his droning voice and turning off her extremities. She could handle this. She could handle this.
	"A shame about Holly's baby, isn't it?"
	Not even that could bring her back out of it. "Yep."
	"Do you know what it died of?"
	"Nope."
	He was smiling even wider. "So! I've tortured you before. Forgive me if I don't remember. All of you rodents look the same."
	"Imagine that."
	"But I do seem to remember the technique you're using. Real tough, practically impossible to get answers out of." Snively stamped on the floor and an unseen machine roared to life, sputtering underneath. "It's a good thing I'm not looking for any this time around."
	She noticed for the first time the odd texture of what she was lying on. Porous. Tiny holes along the length of the table. She lifted her head as far as the restraint would allow, and saw Snively pulling four more leather straps out of his belt loop, holding them high enough so she could see. He came over to her left side and slapped all four down across her stomach.
	"I'm not lying. There really is a lot of fun ahead."
	The straps stung but it was kids stuff so far. She learned all of this before her thirteenth birthday. Stare at the wall, in this case, the ceiling, whatever cuts off the fear trigger. She felt one of the leather straps tightening around her left arm, near the shoulder.
	"And do you know what Buster died of?"
	Almost, almost, but, "No."
	"Tsk, tsk, you do. Massive blood loss." He pulled the strap tight. She felt her pulse pounding along the length of her arm. "When you saw what was happening to him, just when you started screaming your head off, what was your first thought?"
	It took her a moment to remember, but she didn't get the chance to answer.
	"See, what I did, I punctured the carotid artery inside of his throat, with a hypodermic needle. The pressure running through that artery tore the hole open wider with every pump, and the blood had nowhere else to go but into his stomach. It was only a matter of time before he got sick. Neat, huh?"
	"Mmm."
	"You thought it was something else?"
	Her heart ached and her arm felt like it was on fire but she kept her cool. She heard the sound of a blade dragging across steel.
	"I envy you. I only saw it happen on the monitors. You were privileged enough to have front row seats."
	Clamping her jaw shut, she grinded her teeth back and forth, trying to drown out Snively's voice. What came out of her was, "You let me live last time. Don't make the same mistake again."
	He managed to understand perfectly. "I won't."
	She felt the knife enter her wrist, and then it was overpowered by the explosion of blood escaping from three veins. She cried out through clenched teeth and hot spit gurgled at the back of her throat. Pain radiated up to the strap at her shoulder. She screamed for thirty seconds until her arm was dripping slowly, emptying.
	Sabrina vaguely heard Snively sighing and saying, "Amazing, all of that fluid, desperate to get out because of that pressure, that muscle pumping stubbornly every second of every day; pump, pump, pump, determined to continue no matter what. I hope I tied the strap tight enough."
	She lifted her head to look at her wrist. Blood trailed out of it and dripped through the holes in the table.
	"I'm trying to eliminate that pesky muscle from the equation, as you can see. I wonder how long your arm can last without it. What do you wager? An hour? Two hours?"
	No, no, no, no no no no he's getting the upper hand get it back, get it back, get it back-
	"I think your leg will last longer. What do you think?"
	She knew she wouldn't get that far. Her willpower was unraveling, her mind multiplying the pain in her arm by four, thinking about how much it would hurt…
	"I told you this would be fun."
	Get it back, get it back, get it back. Whatever it takes.
	She met with Snively's eyes first. He waited for something devastating to come out of her mouth. When she stuck her tongue out at him, he almost broke character and laughed.
	He cried out when she clamped her jaw back down and bit it off. She swallowed the back half of her tongue before he could get to her. She kept her jaw closed against his frantically groping fingers, and she breathed more and more air through her clenched teeth until the final remains of her tongue slipped back and blocked her windpipe. She felt blood running down her throat and Snively was calling for a medical 'bot's assistance and she grinned under his hands, scared but feeling great about it all at the same time.
"Good morning." 	SUBJECT: SHIRK
	SPECIES: RACCOON
	CELL: A2
	"I'm gonna cut you into a million pieces and send you to every star in space, motherfucker. You're gonna have to learn to breathe through your stab wounds."
	"Heel, vermin, it isn't working. If you were a fish I'd throw you back." Snively was savoring the time he was spending with this raccoon. He didn't want to do too much to him, because he was such a good source of the tension in his cell block. A guy like Shirk was a walking wrench, constantly throwing himself into every gear system in close vicinity. "Shirk is such a stupid name, by the way. Was someone trying to be funny?"
	"Your blood is gonna see daylight."
	"Nothing sees daylight in Robotropolis." There would be no intimidating this one. He was all contracting muscles and no thought for the future, but Snively had anticipated that. "How long were you a kid before we ran you all into the forest like scared insects? Five, six years? I'm wondering, did you have any friends?"
	Shirk thrashed and struggled against the restraints, chucking as many insults as his lung capacity allowed him. Snively ignored them all.
	"Or did you ever get the feeling that your parents were just paying other kids to talk to you?" That was the ultimate test; the deepest seeds of manipulation were usually the first to be uncovered, and if Shirk caught onto the game early on, the rest would be pointless. "Operators are standing by. Remember, we're giving out special treatment to those who help us find more of your kind."
	"Fucking waste of time…"
	"Untrue. It's working like gangbusters so far. We have had several cases where we didn't even need to torture prisoners for information. They simply… give it up. I'm appalled at this, naturally, being deprived of so much sound and fury signifying nothing, and with so many more coming in, it's becoming… difficult to accommodate you all. Not to worry, though; everyone will be in their rightful place when the new cell blocks are finished. You might see us as evil, Shirk, but we don't go back on our word. Ever. Those who defect will get special treatment, they will be spared any future pain, and they will live long and healthy lives." He allowed an apologetic expression to surface, inwardly hoping it was convincing enough. "They'll just have to wait a little longer, you know? If that drug-addled, chemically imbalanced brain of yours is worried about what your cellmates will think, have no fear. There are several floors in this building. We can… relocate you… So no one will know. They'll think that I killed you."
	An affirmative wasn't the point. The goal was to tell Shirk what to think without him knowing it, to give him the illusion of freedom. He wanted him to be worn down to the nub, so far gone that he no longer associated himself with his mirror image in the cells. Snively would watch day and night until that moment happened, and Shirk would no longer hold himself responsible for his own actions. Freedom really was a funny thing.
	"Let's get this over with," the raccoon said, lost in thought.
	Snively himself was eager to move on. He had already accomplished what he wanted to do, and in record time. "One more thing: be sure to ask your new cellmate how he liked it."
	He went through the motions and sent the unconscious body back before lunchtime, stifling a yawn as he moved on. Just another day in paradise.
"Sorry I'm late. I just came back from lunch." 	SUBJECT: SIMON
	SPECIES: RACCOON
	CELL: A2
	Simon twitched and cried out when he felt the weight of the book on his chest, realizing he had been awake for almost ten minutes.
	"I finished it an hour ago, just after you were brought here. It was what held me up. Riveting stuff, really."
	The raccoon strained to see the cover. "What is that? Victory Tastes Yellow?"
	"You certainly know your hardbound editions. Here, let me get that…" Snively took the book back into his hands. "This is the mink's, right? Sabrina? You can inform her, if you see her, that I kept her bookmark in place, so she can pick it back up right where she left off."
	Simon didn't bother trying to free himself. "Thank you."
	"… You're very polite. Simon, is it?"
	"Yes."
	"Hmm. Well, I appreciate your attitude. Do you mind?"
	Simon suddenly felt himself forced into a sitting position at an alarmingly quick speed. The room came into full view. Trays at his right and in the far corner of the room, tubes and wires hanging from the blinding white ceiling, sinks everywhere, a door at the end of the room. Snively standing close by.
	"As for the book, I thought it was okay," Snively went on, cradling the book in his arms and flipping through random pages. "A bit overrated, if you ask me. His previous novel, Consider Yourself Dead, was better, and I'm not just saying that because everyone likes this one, I really mean it. Personally, my favorite of his is Learn From My Mistake." A soft clap and the book was closed. "You strike me as a very intelligent life form, if you don't mind my saying so."
	"None taken."
	"We didn't find a lot of text books when we ransacked your village. I'm guessing a majority of schooling was done through direct instruction?"
	"Yes… yes, that's right. Rotor, for me."
	"Ah, sure, the walrus. We didn't see much of him running around the city, pretending to be useful, like your superiors."
	"He primarily built the weapons. Catapults and trebuchets. You saw his handiwork."
	"Again and again. You're here because I thought I should inform you…" He turned, narrowing his eyes and cracking a grin as though sharing a deep, dark secret. "Sabrina said the last thing she remembered reading was the scene just before the neon pulse." He ended the sentence as though it were a question.
	"I… don't know, I've never read it. It sounds right. Ice down the back of his shirt, was it?"
	"Mmmyes. Only… her bookmark is a good fifty pages after the neon pulse scene."
	Snively let the facts hang in the air, but Simon seemed uninterested in them. "She might be a fast reader."
	"Might be. I don't believe that, however. I don't think you do, either."
	"What makes you say that?"
	"Come now, your group has been worried about a traitor ever since you arrived. Funny that it's the first thing you animals think of. Your collective paranoia fuels hours upon hours of entertainment. You debate it quietly every day with others you think you can trust, constructing mind games and engineering defense traps, hoping to smoke out whoever did this to you, convinced for whatever reason that he or she is in your cell with you."
	"… 'Or she.'"
	"I'm only trying to help. I know that has to sound strange coming from me."
	Simon rested his head against the table, trying to relax in spite of his awkward position, his arms raised high above his head and all blood rushing to his toes. "I have a theory."
	"… Do you?"
	He nodded. "None of us can remember falling asleep when you gas us. At first, I thought it was a side effect that you and the magnanimous doctor never bothered to rectify, but then it occurred to me: the average mammal's memory settles into long-term every fifteen minutes, give or take. That's why you would have trouble remembering if someone came up and hit you in the back of the head really hard with a blunt instrument, for example." Simon took a deep breath. "Now… fifty pages is a lot, I will say that, but Sabrina is a smart girl. I trust her. I trust her a lot more than I trust you, because in the end, it is you who killed Buster. Not her."
	Snively silently stared back, teeth jammed together, looking sorely disappointed.
	"And you're probably lying, anyway."
	"Smart life form, all right…" Snively mumbled. "Something else I have to ask, to satisfy my curiosity… you end every just about sentence with 'sir' when talking to Tristan. Why?"
	"I'm sure you do the same with the benevolent Doctor Robotnik." Simon ignored the hardening in Snively's features and continued. "Although… the respect I have for Tristan isn't because I fear him. I fear for his enemies."
	"And here I thought there would be bad blood between us."
	Another click and the table slammed back into a horizontal position. A headache was beginning to form inside of Simon's skull as Snively wheeled an instrument tray to the side of the slab. Everything sped up.
	"You know, my enjoyment doesn't come from taking you animals apart…"
	Simon, nursing the pounding behind his eyes, registered the glint of a long needle heading towards his neck.
	"Putting you back together again… now that's a good time."
	He was awake for most of what happened but didn't bother screaming in response to the pain. What would be the point, after all.
"Good afternoon." 	SUBJECT: DURANGO
	SPECIES: COUGAR
	CELL: A2
	The insults between the shocks became tiresome within the first ten minutes. "I'm impressed. No, really, I am. You have a very high tolerance for pain, and that's just more enjoyable for me."
	"I'll make it to the end of this if it kills me."
	Snively chuckled briefly before saying, "Have you ever heard of collective unconsciousness?"
	"Sure, it's a bigger laugh than you are."
	"Oh, I don't think so. Coincidences in this life happen far too often for them to be meaningless." Snively lightly patted Durango's leg. "Now, I haven't told anyone about it, but the game will be ending soon."
	"You don't say."
	"You can feel it winding down, can't you? It's running out of steam, and so are we. An experiment can only go on for so long before it's the same thing over and over again. You kids, you really surprised us. Your group has done the best out of everyone."
	"This must be where we get the medals."
	"It is amazing that it has continued for this long, really."
	"You're flattering yourself. The year isn't even over yet."
	Suddenly, loud, obnoxious cackling came out of Snively's gaping wide mouth. He laughed for a long time, holding his side in pain. "Please," he said, wiping away tears. "Please, don't tell me that you don't know."
	Durango waited for it.
	"The year is over, fangs. You think we keep you animals asleep for only a night at a time? Sometimes it's for three full days and nights. We feed you your minimum survival requirements and pump you full of drugs so you're dependent upon us 24/7. You think you have it so easy? Please."
	"And now, you want me to be grateful for finally letting us go? No. No way. Even if it were true, I wouldn't thank you for ending it. You never should have started it."
	"My, my, my, touchy all of a sudden-"
	"I've been feeding you a lot of bullshit tonight, Snively, but I mean it when I say this: Don't let me live, because if you do, it'll be the biggest mistake you'll ever make in your life, which won't last much longer."
	"How unoriginally bone chilling."
	A mere flick of the wrist and Durango was thrashing around again, enough voltage running through him to power a microwave. Snively kept it on for so long that the attachments on the Durango's body began emitting white smoke.
	"And for the record, I mean it when I say that if I had a choice as to which prisoners survived this experiment, I'd sure as hell make sure that you wouldn't be one of them."
	Durango cleared his throat with one rasping cough. "Admirable."
	"Still don't believe me? I've been torturing your friends all day and I haven't asked a single question about other freedom fighter groups. Why is that?"
	"Because you're full of shit."
	"Careful…" he said, wagging a finger back and forth. "I can crank up the amps and clot half of the blood in your body in under a minute."
	"The truth is, Snively," Durango spat the name with contempt, "You're a bored little freak who's running out of ways to hurt his own prisoners, and you figure psychological torture is the next route. Only problem being… you aren't scary, and when you try to be, it isn't even funny. It's sad-"
	The generator snapped and crackled and Durango thrashed hard enough to snap his ankle in half against the table. A fang broke off and flew out of his mouth. Lights in the room dimmed and came back to full.
	While he regained his breath, he thought that he heard something. "What-tt was th-that?"
	"I think you busted an eardrum." Snively touched the side of the cougar's head and stared at the smear of blood he came back with. "That must be a bitch to wash out. All sticky and flaky and shit. It's going to be even harder when we turn off your shower."
	"I-I'm shocked beyond reason."
	"The tenants have been complaining about the temperature of the water, so we're getting rid of it entirely to stop the complaints. I know it's your primary source of fluids, but don't worry, we'll keep the toilets running. For a bit." Snively had to stifle a laugh, working it into clearing his throat. "I am sorry. I'll bet death is sounding pretty swell right about now, isn't it?"
	Durango licked his dry and cracked lips. "When do I get to speak to your partner in crime?"
	Snively's hand lighted on the ON switch. His favorite moments in life happened when he hesitated. "Never."
SUBJECT: JENN 	SPECIES: RABBIT
	CELL: A3
	"Jenn, I'm not going to ask any questions. In fact, I'm not even going to speak to you after I turn this on. But do you know what I am going to do? I'm going push this large spinning drill closer and closer to you, until it touches your fur. It's going to spin so fast that your hair will catch fire, and I'll have to pour some water on it to keep it cool. Then, once all of your fur is yanked out, or burned off, I'm going to push the drill even further forward until it breaks your skin, one layer at a time. I'm going to push it past your abdominal muscle wall and into your intestines. Do you know what then? I'm going to hold it there, just shy of your spine, and I'm going to bring the speed down a bit so that your entrails slowly twist, round and around and around. You're going to lose a lot of blood, I can tell you that much. And you're going to be in a lot of pain. A lot of pain. But, are you going to die? I hope not. I hope that you'll live through this, and you'll have learned something by the end of it. That, and honestly, stomach injuries freak me out. Seriously. I nearly faint at the thought of them. However, one way to relieve myself of this affliction is to completely saturate my senses in what I fear. Call this… therapy." He backed away from her and placed his hand gently on the power switch. "Ready?"
"Evening." 	FINAL SUBJECT: TRISTAN
	SPECIES: WOLF
	CELL: A2
	Already losing count of how long he had been by himself, Tristan was in no mood to dance. "Assuming your goal is to get information, what makes you think I'm going to be any different from the others?"
	Snively continued on into the room, only looking up after he found the right button to press. "Because you're actually going to listen to me."
	He pressed it. The restraints came loose and Tristan fell off of the upright table and down to the floor. His limbs didn't respond in time to protect himself from impact. His nose slammed into the floor, his head filled to the brim with stars.
	"Two things." Snively said after a pause. "First: if you try to hurt me, a pair of SWATbots will be in here faster than your missing blue friend, and they'll separate every atom in your body until I am satisfied."
	Tristan managed to lift his head off the ground as sensation slowly and painfully returned to his extremities. "Wouldn't dream of it."
	"Second: if you try to run out of here, you'll escape. Nothing will obstruct you from reaching the forest, the Forbidden Zone, or wherever you'd want to go. But your friends… they will suffer greatly in your absence."
	Tristan flexed his fingers and waiting patiently for the time to act. Until that moment, "I'm listening."
	There was a brief hesitation, like Snively was relishing his triumph, before he began. "I've been watching you very closely, and I'm impressed with how you've maintained order. There were some tense moments but you managed to keep everyone concerned with their own well-being without resulting in the exploitation of their cellmates. They listen to you, hold you in very high regard. Therefore, I have concluded that you are the most useful member of your cell block."
	"Useful to you?"
	"To us. How you're all acting now is how you acted back in Knothole. You didn't get as good as you are overnight. You've had experience."
	"And now, you want to know about the other freedom fighter groups." Lifting his head, Robert could see the all-knowing smile gripped over Snively's jaws.
	"Not all," he said. "We've captured most of them, as you probably guessed, but that northern group… man! Slippery as all get-out. If you have anything you'd like to impart to me, I'd really appreciate-"
	"Nope."
	"It would be a great service-"
	"Sorry."
	"But we would be most inclined-"
	"Not interested."
	"You would see Holly alive again."
	All blood flow ceased and Tristan's breath caught in his throat and weighed his head back down to the floor. He'd reacted as though he had been hit.
	"She's only been dead for twenty four hours. The Robotocization procedure flashbangs a photograph of all brain activity, saves it, and restarts it under a new default, keeping old memories stored in a hard drive externally attached to the spine. With your cooperation, we could… give Holly a second chance. We could try, anyway."
	He felt like he was coughing up blood when he finally spoke again. "How can you save her brain activity if it's been nonexistent for twenty four hours?"
	"Tristan, this deal I'm proposing… it's going to require a bit of trust on your part. Similar to how I'm going to trust you on the location of the northern group. You wouldn't waste our time with a false location, would you? That would mean that we'd Roboticize Holly, but we wouldn't undo it. She'd go right to the forges with the rest of them. Humans dig deep, Tristan. She would be working for a very long time."
	He and Holly had kept their relationship secret back in Knothole. Bad politics surrounded them, and they wanted their romance to be all their own, them against the world, no matter what. They did their damnedest not to become another tragic footnote in a long line of star-crossed lovers. Now, however, it looked as though their hard work didn't mean anything. Snively couldn't have known that they were dating in secret. They had been put together in the same cell by chance. Pure, dumb luck.
	Fate stabs you in the back from the front, Tristan thought. This deal tempted him more than running out the door did, more than getting up and clawing Snively's eyes out as soon as he was able to. There was just one thing that was bugging him… "What about her baby? You wouldn't be about to save that, right?" Tristan managed to push himself up to a sitting position. "No deal. Find the group yourself."
	Snively's full reaction was almost undetectable. He still wore that facsimile of an understanding expression, his hands clasped together, but in his eyes… severe disappointment or blinding anger.
	It was worth it.
	All of it.
	Two SWATbots had entered the room to investigate the commotion but stood by, watching as the human snarled like a rabid animal. Snively grabbed his prisoner by the neck and tossed him into a table on wheels, knocking it over and sending torture instruments in every direction. Tristan let it happen to him, taking every kick and punch like it wasn't solid. Years of pent up frustrations were being let out, and oh was it exciting. Blood splashed across Snively's unblinking face as he slammed into busted lips, broken teeth, split skin, and very little resistance. Tristan was chuckling inwardly. He didn't think the guy had it in him.
Everyone was returned to cells A2 and A3 the following day. With new injuries to nurse and new information to process, they all thought to themselves that it wouldn't be boring again for a long time. Tristan and Jenn stayed in their beds when they woke up, staring at each other from across the cells. It appeared as though Sabrina had come back the worst, now unable to speak without her tongue. Durango and Simon felt bad enough to give her their food, smashing the rotten fruit in the bowl so she could eat it like a paste. Shirk retreated into a corner and kept to himself, shaking like mad. 	Only Bowman was surprised that they had all returned. He managed to conceal his shock upon awakening, assuring himself that they wouldn't think a difference in the position of Holly's body was anything too weird. He could always blame it on his captors, if need be.
	But Bowman almost jumped out of his skin when he heard someone say that they could smell strawberries.
 *Chapter 33*: Alexis III

 	ALEXIS

Nobody—not even as strong an individual as Princess Sally—could survive for this long with zero nutrition and minimal water. At the very least, she would have died of dehydration by now. Yet the princess was still alive. It was medically perplexing; Alexis was at a complete loss for an explanation. 	Then last week she found the puncture marks on Sally's arm: small and barely detectable on the surface of her skin underneath the fur. Upon closer inspection, there also appeared to be mild bruising. Alexis knew that these marks couldn't have been from an IV; long-term intravenous feeding would be devastating to a patient's veins and cause irreparable damage. Rather, she theorized that somebody was injecting her with something at nighttime. But what?
	Regardless, the evidence was clear—Robotnik was deliberately keeping the princess alive. There weren't any incisions in her stomach, so it was likely that Sally was given artificial nutrition through a feeding tube in her mouth or nose. If that was the case, this twisted game could continue for months longer. Even years.
	Since their living conditions were gradually declining, however, Alexis highly doubted that. On the bed across from her, Tails was bundled in blankets, facing the glass wall of the empty cell beside them. He was asleep. It was getting darker outside, so she expected the inevitable anesthesia any time now. She missed the heat. And warm showers. And eating fruit that wasn't rotten. At least they were alive, though—even if the point of their survival was growing ever distant.
	Knife.
	She'd shaken the thought of it from her mind countless times… yet it was obviously placed in their cell with intricate purpose. It was anything but a normal paring knife. Though small, the blade was surgically sharp with wicked, serrated edges. In Alexis's expert hand, it would be effortless to sever a major artery and grant instant relief to anybody in that cell.
	She was holding the knife now, lightly pressing the tip of it against the inside of her left wrist. She'd seen enough attempted suicides to know that it was absolutely necessary to cut deep enough to sever the radial artery. Wrist-cutting was an inefficient suicide method, anyway; nine out of ten Mobians who tried only ended up damaging their wrist tendons beyond repair or paralyzing their own hands (and usually made the mistake of cutting horizontally instead of vertically). Besides, to do the job correctly she'd need to soak her wrists in warm water to reduce clotting and increase the blood flow—in which case, she missed her chance over a week ago when Robotnik shut their water-heater off.
	A cut to the throat, on the other hand, would be much more efficient. Even if she didn't slice all the way to the carotid artery or jugular vein, she would likely cut the trachea and choke to death on her own blood. But slashing her own throat would be complicated; it would require a mirror (no problem there) and a lot of willpower, since it would doubtlessly hurt like hell.
	No, she couldn't kill herself—if nothing else, because it would leave Tails alone and defenseless. She couldn't do that to him. And there was certainly no way she could ever bring herself to kill a child, even to put him out of his misery. Even if he consented to it.
	Princess Sally, however, was another case entirely. She was already doomed. Contrary to popular fiction, Alexis knew that less than half of all comatose patients ever woke up, and even fewer actually made full recoveries. It was pointless to stand aside and watch her suffer. Tails was already asleep; she could finish it now and blame Robotnik in the morning. He never had to know.
	She was holding the edge of the knife blade against Sally's neck, just underneath her jaw. Carefully, she tilted the princess's head back, fully exposing her throat, and held the knife vertically between her thumb and index finger, like a pencil. With her other hand, she pressed solidly against Sally's forehead.
	The princess was so beautiful. Recently, Alexis noted that her fur was always soft and clean—her hair styled, her clothing immaculate. No doubt, Robotnik was having her bathed and groomed while Alexis and Tails were asleep. This woman alone, this pathetic, comatose Mobian, was pampered nightly while the rest of them endured cold showers and inedible food. Just in front of her, Alexis glimpsed her own reflection: a portrait of herself at the very lowest point in her life, thin from malnutrition, scraggly, exhausted. Yet she commanded the power of life and death between her fingers. One stroke was all it would take.
	No. This was exactly what Robotnik wanted. The setup—the remarkable coincidences. It was all part of his elaborate design. She'd be damned if she was going to play along.
	Moments later, she hurled the knife out of the bathroom window. When she climbed into her bunk, she was asleep before she pulled the covers up.
Alexis awoke to a horrifying scream. It was Tails. 	As she stumbled out of her bunk, the first thing she noticed was that her bed linens were missing. Then she noticed the blood.
	"Oh god…"
	One of his tails had been amputated. The knife that she'd disposed of last night was now resting in a puddle of the kid's blood on the floor. His severed tail was nowhere to be found. She scrambled to find something to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing—all of the bed linens had been removed. She hugged the boy as he trembled violently, now cold and silent with shock. "I'm so sorry," she cried, holding him furiously, "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry…"
	The bleeding gradually stopped on its own after several hours, but not before making a gruesome mess of their cell. On the bed across from them, Princess Sally was reclined comfortably on her bare mattress, hands folded on her stomach. After Tails had fallen asleep on his own, bloodstained mattress, Alexis collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably until the anesthesia came again.
 *Chapter 34*: Robert VII

 	ROBERT

His scrap was gone. There was nothing else to work with, not without going outside again. It would be dangerous. 	Robert felt accomplished, like he had just finished something big. He sat in silence, bathing in the darkness of Chuck's house, unsure of what to do next. There was an urge to break out the prisoners, but before that…
	Laying in front of him, on the worktable, Uncle Chuck's old research novel had been opened to page 318. He didn't need light to know what was written on it. He could recite it verbatim, as though the words were permanently burned into him. Chodendron Phytoxide: Metal eating plant found in the Great Forest. Dissolves metallic elements with ease; extremely dangerous to living tissue. Handle with caution. 
	Sitting in the dark. All this time, just sitting in the dark.
	He was getting used to it.
	"Nicole… please…"
	He held her close, letting her listen to his churning insides, hoping his voice would lull her out of wherever she had gone.
	"I need you. I need your help. I need to know where I can find the plant. You need to tell me where it is. Please… I'm lost without you."
	"She isn't going to answer you. You probably shouldn't have taken her for granted, huh?"
	"Nobody asked you. And anyway, you're dead."
	"Mondo dead, dead as doornail, dead as dead can be. But this is kinda weird, isn't it?"
	"I don't like your tone, hedgehog. And you stink."
	"Who's fault is that."
	The red curtains shifted slowly, back and forth, like a slow breath was falling on it from the other side. "Nicole-"
	"How would someone like you be able to talk with the dead?"
	"Someone… like me…"
	"Don't tell me you haven't figured it out yet." MPD. OCD. Cabin fever. Stir crazy. "You wish."
	Robert brought NICOLE closer, running his fingers along her smooth casing. He wondered what she would look like if she were real. "Please."
	"I see how it is. You'd like some privacy. My bad."
	Blonde. She had long, flowing, beautiful hair that could blind anyone that looked. What kind of animal?
	"Human."
	"he couldn't find it anywhere"
	Blue eyes. Feather light clothing, something flowing, like silk. Easy to remove.
	"he thought it would be so easy, he had it all worked out but it fell apart when he tried"
	A blink and it would disappear. There she would stand before him, so close, so easy to touch. He constructed her smile, found comfort in it, lost himself in it.
	"failure"
	Pounding away at her. She wouldn't say anything.
	"failure had some nasty fangs and one powerful jaw"
	She moves… moved back and forth and shook in his hands and he wanted to protect her but it was impossible when she made it this difficult, and she always made it this difficult.
	"the smoking gun in his head"
	"I trust you, baby, I trust you," he was saying, but it was slowly occurring to him that he was the one who needed to earn the trust.
	"loneliness is more dangerous"
	He was forgetting what the question was.
	"he knew it but couldn't remember and wondered if that meant he'd have to learn it all over again, or if that still counts as knowing it and all he needed to do was remember"
	He wanted her screaming.
	"the objective, the objective, how strong were the barriers"
	They were already broken.
	"floating through your own mind like a piece of debris and there is no hope to ever get better"
	He was afraid of that.
	"never, ever get better. what the hell is the matter? what the hell is the matter with you! what are you doing to her!"
	"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!"
	She clattered to the floor and Robert saw her wink out. He looked around the room and heard no voices, saw no movement.
	Alone again.
	A gray pool of blood inched closer to where Robert was sitting. He welcomed the heat. The blood sank into his toes and his eyes squeezed shut-
 *Chapter 35*: A2 and A3 X

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

"Come on, grim, geeeet up." 	"… W-water…"
	"I know, I know, I'll get you some water."
	"He-he's going to… ss-s-shut off our w-w-"
	"That doesn't mean you have to drink from the toilet yet, right?" Durango watched Tristan crawl backwards, away from the bathroom. "Look, it's still on." He hesitated, afraid that he was wrong, but then gave the shower handle a firm turn. Inside of the walls, pipes creaked and moaned but cold water came out and fell on both of them. "See?"
	Tristan stopped moving away, but still trembled. He was crying.
	"Now, next time you want water, just ask. All you have to do is ask. No big deal."
	Durango picked him up and carried him back to his bed.
	"You can't get out of bed yet, grim." He put him down gently, cradling his neck and easing his head back. "Heal first. I'm sure we have enough time left to do that."
	Tristan appeared to understand, nodding feverishly and covering his eyes with his hands. He tossed and turned and moaned Holly's name and a name no one recognized. Durango left his side to tend to what was left of the others.
It was the lichen that made the floor of the lake look like the night sky; shining blue spotlights glittering in the soft waves. Jenn could have stayed down there forever. There was a reason that she took an entire day to catch a dozen fish. 	It kept running through Shirk's mind, playing over and over again. Traitor. Day in and day out. Traitor. He narrowed down his choices. It wasn't long before he found an answer that suited him.
	Like she did most nights, Jenn went to the lake.
	Shirk was through fucking around. He didn't wait for an excuse to attack. He didn't even start off with threats. His palms opened up and he went right for the jugular.
	There was order here.
	Bowman was only barely starving, alert enough to avoid three of Shirk's claws. The thumb and index fingers made contact and opened the skin like a scarlet flower. His hair had shielded his carotid artery but Shirk still came away with blood.
	It happened, but slow. Jenn swimming to the center of the lake. Jenn dipping beneath the surface. Jenn being enveloped by-
	A spray of Shirk's blood as Bowman retaliated, snarling a wild punch across the raccoon's nose. Durango was watching from the corner, seemingly unconnected, but concerned, panic rising slow.
	-the dark water as she kicked, deeper and deeper, her vision obscured by the goggles she wore. The pressure getting stronger and stronger.
	Tristan would have stopped it, if he could. If he wanted to. That left Simon with the responsibility, but he had problems of his own.
	She swam all the way down, down to where the world forgot about her. Her ears closed as her fingers sank into the soil. She had two minutes.
	Maybe Tristan was hoping to fall asleep and never wake up again. If Holly could do it, why couldn't he.
	Jenn pushed all the air out of her lungs and watched the bubbles float to the top. It was reassuring. Out of all the ways she could die, drowning was what she feared the most. She had nightmares of getting lost in the abyss, trying to follow the bubbles up to the surface but they always seemed to float in front of her, suspended.
	Left alone because he couldn't follow her.
	Those dreams were so real. She felt the chill of the water, and the way her lungs ignited and her legs kicked tiredly for air she would never reach. She still had them, in here…
	Bowman made a smart move, going for Shirk's eyes. He grabbed on to the head, and while the raccoon clawed and scratched into his chest, Bowman extended the index claw on his other hand and calmly jammed it into the right eye, as deep as he could go.
	Jenn grew tired of waking up in the middle of the night, scared of her own stupid imagination. Perhaps Snively was right. Saturation was the only cure. In the next dream, she took control, stopped struggling and breathed in, letting water fill her lungs. Accepted it. It didn't hurt so bad after all.
	Shirk screamed and twisted, Bowman's finger stuck to his skull and the claw scraping the inside of the socket. Gritting his teeth, foam dripping down his neck, Shirk uppercut four claws as hard as he could into Bowman's chin.
	It was a shame that dying wasn't as easy as her dreams.
	Sabrina and Durango managed to pry them apart. All four of them fell to the floor. Still sitting on his bed, Simon's neck expanded like a balloon. It grew, passing his ears before he noticed it himself, his fur disconnecting from his skin. He tried to speak. The skin got thinner and thinner. Jenn screamed and didn't stop.
	The lake's boundaries stretched beyond the edge of the forest. Those in Knothole didn't venture very far, afraid of what they might find.
	Shirk held his gushing eye, laughing hysterically. Sabrina weakly pressed her palms against the holes in Bowman's neck as he struggled towards the giggling raccoon. Light passed through Simon's neck.
	So many mysteries on Mobius. Jenn swore that if the war ever ended, she would learn as much as she could about her planet.
	Sabrina heard a faint pop and something hot and wet sprayed across her back. She let go of Bowman and he slithered back to Shirk. He pushed aside Durango and brought his arm back, closing his fingers into a fist. Shirk laughed and laughed and laughed-
	Her two minutes were up, but she stayed at the bottom, feeling that escalating burn start from her stomach and move up to her lungs. The blue stars burned brighter.
	When she opened her eyes again, she saw Shirk's head split open from Bowman's blow, cutting off the laughter. Simon was hanging off of one side of his bed, his head connected to his body only by his spine, his skin now a membrane collecting around his jaws. She saw it repeated over and over again in the mirrors, on constant playback. She couldn't breathe. It hurt. It burned. The surface was never so far away.
 *Chapter 36*: Robert VIII

 	ROBERT

"I found you, you fuckers." 	The seeds were harmless but he didn't have time to grow them. He was being followed.
	For a planet conquered by a large fat man with a metal-happy grudge against anything organic, the Great Forest had been mysteriously untouched. At least for the time being.
	All he had needed was one leaf, but getting that leaf had been one heavy ordeal. He couldn't pick it up with any of his tools, not without disintegrating them to the touch. His final option was to pick one out the hard way. The plant didn't react as quickly to skin as it did to metal. He knew that he would have some time.
	It had practically melted his palms down to the skeleton, but he had what he needed. And he had done it without her.
	Breezy. 
	He grinded it into powder right there in the forest, working quickly, pouring Chuck's liquid solution over the leaf and grinding it with stone into the bowl in the dirt, his eyes burning. By midday, he had six toxide grenades ready for use. He put them into his back and came back home, to Robotropolis.
	Wind, from the west. Sonic's body twitched from the gunshot. The bloody third eye in his forehead followed me out. 
	Rendezvous was at the prison. There was a secret entrance on the north side. Digits 07734 and a steel panel slides open. The catwalk had finally been built, although they were probably going to nix the whole thing and build an elevator. Above the fifth story was where I was supposed to meet Snively. 
	"Welcome, Robert."
	The top level looked like it was going to be another cell. Already, worker 'bots were placing prisoners inside. 
	"Please, have a seat," he said.
	I sat down in the metal chair across from him. He nose reached halfway across the oak desk between us. He cleared his throat. 
	"You have something in your…" He was pointing to his forehead. 
	I reached up, running a palm through my hair. I came back with a small streak of Sonic's coagulating blood. "Sorry."
	"No, no, this is good news. You appear to have completed your assignment."
	I nodded and didn't mention how well it really had worked out. 
	"I am impressed. You really are amazing. Me, I wasn't sure if you were going to pull through, and granted, we almost did your job for you, but let's face it, the freedom fighters have a knack for saving each other at the last minute."
	He picked up a hardbound novel on his desk, showing me the cover. A faded picture of a bird trying to feed out of a yellow traffic light. I couldn't read the title. 
	"Victory Tastes Yellow. Ever read it?" He flipped it open, thumbing through the pages. "I found it in one of the Knothole apartments. There's a shortage of books around here, so I figured, what the hell." He chuckled. "I sincerely hope it isn't more of that anti-war tripe the Mobians usually write. You wouldn't believe how popular that subject is."
	We sat in silence for a few moments as he skimmed through the book. Eventually, he closed it and leaned back in his chair. 
	"What to do with you…"
	I heard a large door close behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw all of the worker 'bots exiting. They had finished with the cell. 
	"About time." Snively stood up. "Come with me for a moment. You will enjoy this."
	He put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the newly completed cell, with prisoners already occupying it. A white gas spilled out from the ceiling. 
	"Inducing consciousness." We watched as the prisoners began to move. "The others downstairs will be asleep until tomorrow morning." The prisoners stood to their feet and…
	"Children."
	"Mmhmm." He patted my shoulder. "Warfare is a strange beast, wouldn't you say? When we first conceived of this little operation, a thought occurred to us: What about the children? What do we do with them once we have them in our grasp?" Larger valves in the ceiling opened wide, spilling water. The cell began filling up fast. "We debated it for a long time, until finally, we decided." It reached the children's knees. They started to panic. "No more fooling around. Children are how civilizations live on. They're tougher than you'd think. They always find some way of surviving. Well, we wouldn't make the same mistake twice."
	I looked at Snively, the smile on his face. He was serious. 
	"We figured, if we are monsters, then so be it."
	The water rose higher and higher. Some of the older kids tried to keep the younger ones afloat. They looked at us like they could see us. 
	"This is more benevolent than the alternative. I'm sure the freedom fighters would have wanted it this way."
	The entire cell soon filled up to the top. All of the children drowned. Snively was still squeezing my shoulders, trying to get a reaction out of me, but I couldn't move. I didn't know how I felt. 
	When I could move again, I was alone, still watching the bodies of the children float around the tank. The gun was still in my hand. I ran out of there as fast as I could. 
	Robotropolis felt empty. Nothing moved except for the ground ahead of me. I went back to Chuck's. Sonic's body was still there. At Chuck's feet, there was the crowbar I used to smash his processor. His electronic equipment still smoking from the timed EMP grenade. 
	I didn't feel like my work was done. There was more to do… more… in the Great Forest. 
	Knothole. 
	"Time to go."
	I didn't make it very far, just to the outskirts of Robotropolis. I managed to stop myself. 
	I understood, but… did I really have to do it?
	Could I defy my own programming?
	Did Snively know this was going to happen? Or did I fool him?
	The gun… It had worked on Sonic. Would it work on me?
	Robert fingered the bullet hole in the side of his head, but he was afraid to go too deep. He didn't want to push it further inside.
	Easily. 
	He was back at Chuck's. He had taken everything he needed outside. The metal extendable ladder, the toxide grenades, a hard copy of the planet that NICOLE had shown him. He made sure he wasn't forgetting anything.
	He tore the curtain down from the bed. He looked down at Sonic's corpse. "You'll want to see this."
	He chucked the curtain outside, leaving the front door cracked open. He sat down at the worktable, in front of NICOLE's deactivated shell.
	"I know what I am, darling. I know the truth." Why he could put a bullet through the eyes of a SWATbot fifty yards away. Why he could run without getting tired. Why he never ate. Why he never slept.
	He dipped the entire length of his right arm into the nearby can of kerosene. He waited two seconds, then pulled it back out. He knocked it over and the rest of it spilled out onto the floor. It spread like a pool of blood.
	Robert picked up the welding torch and pointed it at his arm.
	"Sick."
	He pulled the trigger and flames engulfed his limb. He stood to his feet, holding his arm away from his face, hair burning like fuses down to his skin. The worktable went up like a flag of surrender.
	He backed away from the fire, still holding his arm out. He waited, still hoping that it would hurt, sooner or later. Molten skin dripped onto his feet.
	Nothing. The flames were moving up to his shoulder and he didn't feel anything other than the heat.
	"Sick."
	Robert went outside and wrapped his burning arm in the red curtain, smothering the flames. When he was sure it was out, he slowly pulled the curtain away. He saw the fingers first. Blackened metal. He flexed and they clicked and groaned. He marveled at how convincing the skin had been.
	He waited longer.
	Chuck's house was burning down, igniting the pile of trash and metal it was hidden under. Robert gathered his things and watched. It was starting to rain. The last of the legacy of Mobotropolis disappeared before his eyes.
	"If we are monsters, so be it."
 *Chapter 37*: Kris

 	KRIS

"What the fuck was that all about?" 	Snively turned in his chair, facing her with a smile and taking a sip of tea. "Ah, good, you're here."
	"No thanks to you, asshole."
	"My, my, my! Touchy this evening. What seems to be the trouble?"
	As usual, he had a way of calming her without even trying. She felt ashamed already. "Just… did you have to put up that much of a show this time? One of those fucking 'bots knocked me out cold."
	"Don't blame the SWATbots, Kris. They do the best they can."
	"Who should I blame, then?"
	She stopped there. If she went further, she realized, she might piss him off.
	"They don't have an attack dial on the side of their heads," Snively said, setting down his teacup. "It's either stand by, capture, or kill. Besides, presentation is everything—especially if you don't want your friends to suspect you're working for me."
	"I don't think they care, as long as I fuck them."
	"There's something we agree on." He leaned back in his chair, smiling even wider. "Compliments in regards to your latest performance. Clever use of the bag of marbles we gave you. Very sexy."
	"Uh huh."
	"Oh, don't be so modest. Take pride in your work."
	"You seem to think I have control over what happens to me."
	"Men are prone to suggestion when blood is out of their brains. At any rate, it's easier to say yes to a woman than say no and go through all the drama. I hear blood is a terrible lubricant."
	"Spare me."
	"Spare you? But that's so not me."
	"Oh, that's right. You're the one who likes to pull the wings off a fly just to see if it learns to run."
	"Terrible analogy. Do you want it simpler? Do you want to win? Do you want an easier way out?"
	"…Easier?"
	"None of you have figured it out yet, although two of the others are getting close. I expect a breakthrough any day now."
	"What the hell are you talking about?"
	"Alright, then, we'll stay on topic. Riddles are cheap." Snively rose to his feet and approached her. "Take a walk with me, Kris. I have a surprise for you today."
	Kris rubbed the back of her head, feeling nauseous already, but allowed him to get close. Together, they walked out of his office via a door she didn't seem to remember entering through. They walked through the access hall.
	"Tell me," he said, sounding genuinely concerned, "is everything to your liking? Are you comfortable?"
	"I guess. All things considered."
	"Right." He slipped an arm around her waist. "Of course."
	Her head was spinning. She was trying to remember something he said, back in his office, but his behavior was throwing her off guard. She decided to keeping playing his game. "I have more information for you, if you want it."
	"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary."
	Coy little bastard. He always made it difficult. "I think… I know something about Holly." She paused. "She's still alive, right?"
	Snively yawned. "Refresh my memory. Pig?"
	Kris nodded. "We didn't talk much, but it was enough to… well, I noticed a change."
	"Mmm, did you?"
	She caught him looking at his watch. Apparently her skills for suspense were less attuned than Snively's.
	"I think she was seeing someone," she continued, trying to hook him. "And keeping it a secret."
	"You take my breath away."
	Kris bit her lower lip, resisting the urge to smack him. Strangely, though, in spite of the awkwardness, she felt good about this meeting: like they were coming to a sort of end, and all she needed to do was make the final move.
	She smiled at him. "No hints, Snively?"
	His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. "What are you afraid of this time? Why the need to peddle information to me?"
	"It's what you wanted, re—"
	He held up his free hand. "I'm not a cannon, my pet. I'm not going to suddenly stop feeding you contraceptives, and I'm not going to slice and dice any of your close comrades. Timothy and Duncan couldn't fuck their way out of balls, but I can live with it." He patted her on the ass. "I said I wanted to show you something. We're going for a walk. Relax. While you can."
	This had to be a test. "I sound afraid to you?" She straightened up and dared to pull inches away from him.
	"…No, no, you're right. You got me. It's my absolute favorite part about you. You've got nuts, kid."
	She couldn't help but chuckle, and this was enough to allow Snively to pull her back to him.
	"I'm serious—an enormous pair. Most of them cowered in fear when they saw me enter the torture chamber. But not you. Not you."
	Two years of political debate, head to head with the Princess, had given her an extremely convincing sense of bravado. She was proud of it.
	"What was it you said to me when I told you that the Roboticizers were fixed? 'You're full of shit, go fuck yourself'? Priceless."
	Both of them broke into a brief chuckling fit. "I still believe it," she said.
	"I know. You never told me why."
	"Because…" She smiled, sensing an opening. "You and Robotnik don't have the restraint for this. It's an experiment born out of frustration, and you're both overcompensating for a feeling of inadequacy."
	"Both? What makes you think Robotnik is behind this?"
	His tone made her second guess the path she had been traveling on, but it was too late to turn back now. "I believe that about as strongly as I believe that the Roboticizers are hopelessly out of commission. It's what the two of you do. It's as much a part of you as your inflamed need to interrogate and your sick obsession with group sex."
	"Hmmm." His footsteps slowed and his arm withdrew from her waist. "Anything else you can tell me?"
	She paused to think. "Oh, about them? Let's see… Red likes to be in charge."
	"Pfft. I hope that was a joke."
	"Heheh." She paused again as Snively came to a complete stop and turned to face her. She decided to name some off. "Dwane had a huge crush on Allison's sister, Ginger; Lola's father was killed by Tristan in a botched recon mission; Olly and Oscar were having some kind of secret fuck affair, I think…" She shrugged. "Brandon likes blood oranges."
	Snively blinked once, looking extremely displeased. "Would it be futile to ask about the location of the other freedom fighter groups?"
	Her instincts answered "yes" for her, but the question still caught her off guard.
	"Thought so," he said. He turned to face the wall, pulling a remote out of his pocket.
	Why would he ask that? He hadn't asked that question since… it seemed like months ago. At the early stage of their working relationship. He wanted non obvious information, but she stubbornly and firmly drew the line at revealing military data. He accepted. That was the agreement.
	He had never bothered to ask her since then…
	She was silent as he pressed the button that caused the wall to disappear, so they could see into her cell. She had seen this before, so the action didn't surprise her. But what she saw inside did.
	"As it turns out," Snively continued, "we've had another informant for quite some time. I think I like her better than you."
	God, it was ending after all.
	"You… weren't…"
	"No," he said plainly, without emotion. "I wasn't."
	They both watched the occupants of cells D4 and D5, changed by their metal exteriors, claws gleaming harshly and eyes glowing bright red, staring back at them.
	"In fact, it's working better than ever now. You know we can choose which parts of the brain remain dormant? Total sci-fi."
	He put a strong hand on her shoulder, but she barely felt it. She was lost in the eyes…
	"Don't let the appearance fool you. They're going to act more or less the same."
	The eyes, all six pairs of them…
	"Look. They can smell you."
	They were hungry.
	Snively simultaneously clicked the button to open the door and pushed Kris into the cell. Another click and door was closed again. She fell to her knees as her metallic cellmates moved, claws outstretched for her, and as the realization hit and she clawed frantically at the door she was sure she just entered through, Snively smiled, observing the results.
	He tapped on the glass. "Did I mention that blood is a terrible lubricant?"
 *Chapter 38*: A2 and A3 XI

 	CELLS A2 AND A3

"A… little higher..." Durango grunted, holding Sabrina on his shoulders. With every breath he got another whiff of the mildew two inches in front of him. He tried to look up, feeling his own neck screaming at him, blood rushing to all the painful parts of his body that refused to mend, shivering every time his chest brushed against the shower wall. "Squeeze my head twice if you're there." His head was pressed on both sides by her ankles. He visually traced a line from her crotch to the diameter of her stomach to her rips poking out from her black and white patched skin. "G'head."	
	Her body shook and her tail swished back and forth and she vigorously wiped all of their food on the window sill. A foul smell blew in with a gust of wind. Durango exhaled, waiting patiently. "I've seen them in the city before. It's dark all the time so they're out at all hours. Scavenging, right? They're wily bastards, but the smog makes 'em slow. We can grab one."
	Her movement slowed down.
	"Come on, it'll be fun, yeah? They don't go too far into the city, but hell, it's worth a try. You done? Two squeezes." She flexed her legs again. "All right, grab the bars for a second, I'm going to step out from under you." He let go of her ankles and stepped back. He reached up and got both hands around her waist, just below her bottom ribs, his fingers almost meeting in the middle. "Right, let go."
	Sabrina slid away from the wall and he guided her down, his hands sliding up and brushing her chest, palms landing firmly in her armpits as her feet touched the floor.
	"Smells awful. They love it. They'll come in, and we'll have something to eat." His nose touched the back of her head, and he breathed in deep. The foul smell went away. He finally released her. She turned to face him, showing her swollen cheeks, dried blood caked around her lips, dark circles under her eyes. "Tristan… he has a way of killing our will to live, doesn't he?" He admired their handiwork, the pool of rotten fruit at the top streaking down to meet his own along the wall, trailing down to the bathroom floor. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Ah well. Everything we need to survive is right here." He pointed at his temple. "… Except for food. Food would be nice. You know, real food." He motioned to the wall with an arm around her shoulder, and when it came back down it was on her right breast.
	He didn't know why he couldn't move it. He didn't know why she didn't move it for him. But every second that passed, he felt less and less ashamed of leaving it there.
	"… Good thing those bars aren't electrified, huh? That would… suck slightly more."
	Sabrina had patches of fur on her stomach but above that, it was relatively untouched. He closed his fingers and moved his hand up, brushing back what was left of her fur.
	"I should shut my trap. I'll give them ideas."
	Flesh raised between his index finger and his middle finger. He clamped down on it. Her chest moved faster, more air coming in and out of her nose. She always made sure to keep her lips tightly closed. Fear was in her eyes, almost hidden under the half closed eyelids.
	"Electricity. That's what I got. Pierced me with all kinds of wires. Couldn't see through all the cords." He grabbed her wrist with his free arm and pressed her hand against his stomach. "See?"
	Her fingers burrowed to the skin where she felt the entry holes, still forming scabs around his damp wounds. She moved deeper, carefully, where the inner meat was charred.
	"Fucked us pretty hard, didn't he? Those two years we had to ourselves… No war, no fighting… God, that was tough. Lingering death, it's humiliating, isn't it? Pathetic… slow… no honor in it. I can't feel anything. Whenever someone died, and we had to spend hours at their side, waiting for them to pass… That was the only time I wanted our war back. I missed it. And those nights, I couldn't sleep because I was so angry. I wanted it all to make sense again."
	He faltered. She hadn't resisted, but she might have if she could still speak. She couldn't deny that it felt good but she couldn't go along with it. And neither could he.
	Durango sighed, letting go of her. "Don't tell Tristan."
	"Tell Tristan what?"
	He came into the bathroom as they turned to the exit, standing on both legs this time, giving Sabrina a curt nod. She blew by him, head lowered.
	Durango cast him a dishonest smile. "Ohhhh, this is awkward."
	Tristan looked hardly well enough to stay upright. His anger made it worse. "What in the hell were you two doing in here?"
	Durango didn't lose his smug expression. "Thirsty?"
	Tristan briefly looked at the shower spout. Embarrassed, he stayed at the door and mumbled, "Don't trust it."
	"I know, I know. Best to leave the girls alone, huh? I personally don't get it. Mopey, mopey, mopey. Why are they so fucking sad all the time?"
	"Drawing a complete blank."
	"You having fun yet?"
	"Fuck you, Durango. Fuck you." Tristan dropped to his knees mid-sentence, his clouded eyes pointing at him from underneath his hairline, red scars and wounds still masking the rest of his expression.
	"Yeah right, fuck me, fuck me… I'm not helping you to your goddamn feet this time. You can return to being the smug saint when your traitor friend returns and actually does something useful. Meanwhile I'm sick and tired of sitting around doing nothing. I don't know what your fucking deal is."
	Tristan's head rolled back, banging against the toilet. He didn't notice. "Stupid… just… stupid…"
	"Yeah yeah yeah…" Durango turned away, looking back to the food smeared on the wall and window. It calmed him. "You don't believe me, grim, but this will work. And if it doesn't… well, wait a bit and we'll have something to eat anyway."
	A faint scratching silenced the bathroom. Two red eyes floated at the bottom of the window bars and a second later the full creature slithered in. A jet black rodent, a rat, dripping foam from its mouth, its claws scratching unbearably along the wall. Tristan was aghast, so surprised that the scheme had actually worked that he had forgotten his irrational phobia of the bathroom and had leaned in closer.
	It followed the path of rotten food down the wall, carefully, one oil-covered paw at a time. Finally the rat reached the bottom and pressed its nose on the trail, to the motherload by the drain. Durango didn't move a muscle. He even managed to strangle the growling of his stomach.
	And suddenly, the rodent stopped, as if it were nearsighted and only then noticed the two of them watching. It lowered its head and seemed to sneer at them before whipping around and tearing off in the direction that it came.
	"NO!" Durango dived with both hands outstretched and caught it on the wall by the very last centimeter of its tail. He used the freer hand to get a firmer grip. He pried the rat away from the wall and slammed it down on the floor.
	A flash of light blinded both of them as the rat came apart, puffs of smoke and flame sending burnt hair and blackened gears all about the bathroom. Durango shielded his face and cried out in surprise, knocking Tristan back to his instincts, reacting by twisting the shower knobs to full power.
	Tristan stared in shock as cold water fell on them both and doused the flames. "He… he didn't shut it off-"
	"Mother FUCKER!" Durango appeared to have recovered, with only mild scratches covering his face.
	Meanwhile, Tristan was still staring at the stream of water, unaware that he was freezing. "I assumed that… Huh. I was wrong. It seemed like the next logical-"
	"Oh, who gives a shit," Durango moaned, slamming the back of his head against the wall. "That little fucker told me he was going to do it too."
	"But-"
	"No, grim, no! He's fucking with our expectations! He knew that you'd assume about the water, that I'd believe it, and the next thing I'd do after trying to fuck Sabrina would be to find ourselves some fucking FOOD!" With that he picked up the remains of the rat and chucked it out of the bathroom, gripping it tight enough to imbed the gears in his palm. "Well I'm done with this. They win."
	Tristan shook his head. "They don't win until we're dead."
	"You sure about that?" Durango got on his knees and shuffled to where Tristan was standing, desperation in his voice increasing. "See, you've been holding out for an end other than death, escape or whatever, am I right? At first I thought that was different from wanting to escape but we were both on the same page. Winning isn't surviving long enough to get out of here, don't you think? Like squeezing blood out of a stone after awhile, ha. Listen, listen, what if the only way to win is to beat him to the punch just this once?"
	"I don't know-"
	"Bullshit!" He yelled through clenched, yellowed teeth. "You've thought about it. See, the only thing is, to do it, we need someone else's help. Dunno if you've noticed, but our options here are somewhat limited."
	Tristan stared back at him, growing increasingly frightened. He felt the walls closing in and Durango's eyes burning into his own.
	"Oh for fuck's sake, do I have to spell it out for you!" Durango crawled over to the toilet. "It's been clogged for a long damn time. If we hurry, we can finish before he flushes it by remote or-"
	"No, no no no no no." Tristan finally understood. "I'm not doing this…" But he couldn't leave.
	Here the tears finally came. There were no sobs or further hysterics but there was plenty of water. "Please."
	Tristan thought about what this would mean, what this would actually entail…
	"Please…"
	And he couldn't bring himself to care what happened anymore. "Lower your head."
	Durango did as he was told, obediently leaning, like he was receiving absolution.
	"Put your arms behind your back." He waited. Then Tristan positioned himself over him, using his legs to pin down the arms and using his weight to pin Durango to the seat. He put both hands on the back of Durango's head, tightly gripping the hair. "Don't struggle."
	That was impossible.
	This scenario felt too familiar.
	Once it started it would be downright cruel to stop. He pushed Durango's head down, and stopped worrying about his arm strength when he realized that Durango would have even less neck and back strength. There was trouble immediately. Durango sucked in water but soon he'd run out of depth, and there was no way to refill the bowl. Tristan put all of his weight down on the body under him, regretting not placing his neck directly over the lip of the bowl, where he could crush the windpipe instead of merely forcing the head down. The stench was overpowering. He kept the pressure on, feeling a giving of inner bodily structure, eventually, a break. Here is where Durango began to really fight it, managing to pry his arms loose of Tristan's legs and push up on the bowl, trying to free himself.
	"NO! NO!" He had to finish it, no, no, he couldn't stop. He pushed the head further down, with everything he had, and the will to survive continued on and on and on until it winked out. His arms slackened. His body slackened.
	Tristan noticed after awhile that he was still holding the head under, just in case. And he didn't even think about it. Like riding a bike.
	"You're too late," he whispered to himself. No joy in this. None at all.
	Another body to add to the other bathroom, along with Holly and Shirk and Bowman and Simon. Bodies that would never leave, like the dreams they all kept having, or better still the occupants of A1, resurfacing cloudy and murky with eyes that glowed through the dense fog and seemed so real that Tristan couldn't look away from the glass as he heard noises behind him like they were the ones making them, and they weren't really reflections. He remembered them dead, and yet they were in the exact same position, every nightmare, watching him sleep.
	And sleeping close to them was still surprisingly easy.
	It had been over for a long time. Tristan stood to his feet, feeling woozy, the weight of the task ahead wearing on him. He wondered if he should even bother, and was sickened that he felt that way, and even more sickened by how weak he had been. He had given in.
	They had both been wrong. Robotnik wins when they begin doing his job for him, when they begin making it easy for him.
	And he thought he would have confidence in every decision he would ever make. He had been kidding himself.
	In spite of it accomplishing nothing, Tristan began to cry.
	And that's when the doors to all of the cells opened.
 *Chapter 39*: Brandon

 	BRANDON

Here is how it happened.  	I knew something was wrong right away, and my heart was suddenly throbbing against my chest like it was trying to escape. I'd match that desire in mere moments, clawing at the walls of my new prison for just one more clear breath of the outside world. I kept my eyes closed as long as I could, absorbing the lack of smell and the smooth surface I was face down on. Control the panic. If not, make a promise that I will return.
	When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else. It could have been a different planet if it wasn't so typical.
	Him.
	Then I thought, "No, he couldn't be back." I wasn't attached. I could push away from it. I laid down and I took it. I let go. he fact that we were all stupid enough to get caught is the most shameful thing that could have happened, and it did. By being there, we suffered the greatest blow. No sense in being high and mighty anymore.
	Bad enough with the mirrors surrounding me, but it got worse when one of the walls disappeared, and I saw the rest of them.
	We all lost it, running at full speed to the glass and attempting to claw our way of the hole we had dug ourselves into. Hard feelings.
	I had previously held a grudge against them for not sticking with the training and forgetting the feeling that our days are numbered. Our enemy had been vanquished, but that didn't mean we were safe. The machine breaks down, we break down.
	I kept myself sharp and look where it got me. Look at what my training did for me.
	But… I regained control. It was hours later but the pieces were picked up and reassembled. I soaked in the details of my surroundings. Back on the bike. You never forget how.
	Surveillance cameras in all four corners, up by the ceiling, far out of reach. Three mirrored walls, with one glass wall that looks into four other cells. A5 posted at the top. Small bathroom with toilet and shower spout, drain the center of the floor. Two knobs, hot and cold. Barred window, out of reach. Warm breeze blowing in with the faint smell of dead grass overpowered by the oil and rust. Conclusion: Robotropolis, north, far but not too far. The pipes work no problem, hot and cold corresponding correctly to their temperatures. No movement from the cameras. No exits. End of the line.
	The worst feelings came from my midsection. I felt like I had lost some weight, and my stomach was empty. It wanted to growl. I needed a drink.
	I was energetic. I wanted do something.
	I don't have long. 
	Exploring the cell took a lot less time than I thought it would. There wasn't much to accomplish after that, and I was already used to the heat of being watched. Truthfully, I was getting used to everything very fast, so much so that it was disturbing.
	I found a comfortable place to sit, in the corner under one of the cameras, my back against the clear wall. I imagined I was back in the forest, on guard duty. Graveyard watch. The trick to not falling asleep was to keep your eyes open and your mind busy. My method? Memories. Old memories from Mobotropolis were the most interesting. I'd replay them as if I were watching them for the first time, rewinding and backtracking if my mind got eager and skipped ahead. One memory ate up fifteen minutes and I'd break out of it, the darkness of the forest registering once again. I'd perform a quick perimeter scan, and repeat the process again with a new memory.
	This worked well enough in the cell, too, as long as I could make it last, but thoughts kept butting in and ruining the playback. Regret for not being more alert the night I was taken here. Regret for not saying something to Sally when she decided it would be best to concentrate on studying Robotnik's old technology, rather than cleaning up our city. Frustration at not knowing who it was that caught us. A rogue faction of old Mobians? That Lazar fucker? Snively? Naugus? … Robotnik?
	And none of it mattered. There was nothing I could do to change this. Nothing to do but wait for the top brass to salvage us. To wait for Princess Sally… and Sonic.
	I turned around and watched my fellow prisoners. They were still exploring their cell.
	I was surprised to see that cells A2 and A3 weren't separated. They could physically interact with each other. And I hadn't noticed before, but A4 was completely empty. Not entirely cut off, but just enough so…
	Why was this done?
	Once it starts, there's no stopping it. 
	I recognized them, or rather I had seen them all in Knothole at some point. Durango, Kevin, Sabrina, Ralph, Simon, and Tristan I had actually fought beside. Good soldiers. Good kids. I had to squint to see them in A1, and they appeared to be doing the same as A2 and A3. It was a long time before they began to communicate, and interaction was minimal. They were afraid.
	I found myself watching Tristan. He wasn't doing much. Walking around dazed, like the rest. Trying in vain to make sense of it all.
	Tristan. Typical of him. Eventually, he stopped moving and chose a bed, one closest to the A1 crowd. His cellmates followed his lead, choosing their place to sleep. They were too preoccupied to notice me.
	Time crawled by. I leaned back against the wall and tried to relax…
	She wasn't always crying, I remember. 
	My family traveled a lot, and as a result I got sick a lot. It never hit me along the way, always at the end, where the weight of the trip would catch up and collect into this giant eruption of vomit. Terrible sickness. Not unusual for kids my age, I was told, and I hated it but I always had to come with them, my mom and my dad; they assured me I would get used to it. I had to come with them over and over again, the same route out of the city and across the desert to the green palm colonies in the west. They loved it, my parents. They wanted to continuously move west, like there was always a haven out there, where we could lead better lives if we just had a little more, just a little more money to buy that little piece of heaven, where everyone would be happy except for me because we'd have to keep moving fucking west.
	This all happened, I'm sure, in the spring before the coup; the beginning of spring, where it was still freezing cold but flowers were blooming and grass was the sort of green that blinded you. There was the rain. Continuous downpour. Sometimes it would hail. And that was the closest I would get to ever seeing snow.
	The trips to the edge of Mobotropolis were tiring enough to get me a good nap and kill half the journey, but no matter how much I slept I always got sick. I'd get tired by watching the road, following the cars, reading the signs. We took so many trips that I knew where most of the signs were, enough to notice that they had built a new one, on the very edge of the city.
	You are now leaving I think. Return to us. It was a picture of fox girl, very young, smiling widely. Larger than life. She could swallow us whole. We'd pass by it and shortly afterwards, I could sleep, her face burned into the back of my mind. Every trip, the sign would deteriorate, get worse, with the sun beating down on it in the morning and the rain clouds suddenly moving in to finish her off. The picture updated before my eyelids fell, fell, fell. The girl grew older and older, her smile more and more crooked as the paint cracked and chipped and washed away down those big blue eyes, curving around her cheeks and disappearing out of sight. Our final trip out before the coup, she wasn't cute and she wasn't happy. She was old and sad and she was crying, and every time I remember this I think about how it was a perfect cover poster for the coup and ensuing war with Robotnik but oddly I also think about rape and torture-
	… Sleep came as a total surprise. It snuck up on me like it used to on those trips west, complete with the waking up and the feeling like shit. Wading through it I tried to remember falling asleep but I couldn't and I ended up throwing every other thought out the window when I noticed the bowl full of fruit in the middle of the floor.
	Oranges.
	Blood oranges. I can't describe the feeling of seeing an actual color for the first time in… how long had it been? Not too long, I was sure, but as hungry as I was I didn't want to destroy the image. The oranges had been arranged so nicely, so…
	It was my memory, or my concept of the world outside, materialized. Physical, concrete proof. It brought the weight of the situation down hard on me. Sleep wouldn't fix this.
	I did manage to work up the nerve to move the beautiful display of food, and once I touched it, I could barely resist wolfing down the entire bowl, skin and all. If I had, I would have devoured the ball that had been buried underneath.
	I'm embarrassed to admit it. All that complaining the previous day about giving in to comfort, and here I was, content to stay in this prison as long as I was fed.
	The others had gotten food too. I saw one of the kids discreetly hide one of his pieces under his bed sheets. I bet he thought he was so clever. Well, if I saw it, whoever was behind those cameras sure as hell saw it, too. The food in my mouth went rotten. I saw Tristan sitting at his bed, finishing half of his ration and hiding the other half in his covers, like the other kid except much more confident about it. Like it was his idea and it would be the type of idea that he'd have.
	I can't pinpoint why this made me angry, but it was just so like him, trying to outsmart a system that was made to be unoutsmartable. He wanted to step outside and find an easy way to break the supports, a weak spot that the inventor surely missed when he made it. He has learned nothing. How disappointing.
	Whoever did this to us wasn't stupid. He went through all of this trouble to put us in a maze and make us suffer, and he set it up so that he could watch it all unfold. To watch us play the game.
	The fruit tasted good again and I finished it all. Afterwards, I set the ball aside and examined the light plastic bowl, turning it over and over in my hands. I tried bending it. Tough stuff. Couldn't break it. I placed all of the leftover skin into the bowl. Then I grabbed the ball and started throwing it against the mirrored wall, over and over again, aiming for myself and putting all I had into every toss. I kept it up as long as I could before I was too tired to catch it and I let it bounce away, into the bathroom, while I fell to my ass and rested. Get to the end.
	Waiting. That was the worst thing about it, because the days were so goddamn long. I was too wired to sleep and too captured to do something useful. Entirely cut off, and there was nothing to keep me company, nothing except for my own reflection…
	White smoke spills into the street from the house along the dark side of the road. It looks like something is on fire. I get scared. There's a scar that will always remind me of him, and of what he could have been. Evolution ends at conception. My parents waited a long time before they had me. I know more about the mistakes they've made than I do about them. My parents.
	Mom. Dad. 
	I had my doubts until I learned what the scar was. I thought I was adopted. I thought I was a mistake. I thought up all kinds of scenarios that involved them both, back to when they were dating to when they are married. If they ever fought, if Dad ever had an affair, if mom ever had an abortion or a miscarriage. So much they would never tell me and I would never know. I thought that when I came along, their fucked up lives were fixed. Turned out that mine was the fucked up one, and they were the ones who fixed it.
	It was an undisturbed childhood. Home schooling. Sheltered existence. The soul was there but the love was mysteriously absent. I was along for the ride. Their careers were the vacation and I was the job. They let me do my own thing, and my own thing was learning not to rely so much on them. There is a little boy outside my window. He watches me sleep. 
	Appendicitis. Appendectomy. Hysterectomy? Don't know.
	I asked them about the scar and I expected a lie. They gave me the truth, right up front. A happy, open and honest childhood. No illusions, no disadvantages. Who knows where it could have gone if Robotnik didn't give me the proper outlet for all that anger, doing me the favor of killing mom and dad before I had the chance. 
	He's watching right now.
	The scar is still there. Sometimes, it itches. And before I wake up, I can feel another heartbeat and I can hear another breath coming in and out in out in out-
	… I woke up scared. Still in the cell. Worry on the brain.
	I made sure I was alone.
	There was the food bowl, in the same spot, filled back up, once again with oranges. Nothing but blood oranges. I noticed that the other cells received all kinds of variety. Pears. Apples. Bananas sometimes. None for me.
	I wondered how the food got here, right in front of me, without me waking up to hear it. A secret door in the floor, or along the walls. Or the ceiling. Somewhere. They could make sure I was asleep first before… hmm…
	I had entertained a brief thought that perhaps the cameras were facades, ways to pacify us. I didn't know how they could be so entertained, on twenty-four hour watch. It's a lot to absorb. But they have to watch us, to make sure that what they're doing is working.
	They would watch for moments like these.
	I ate it all, regardless. They tasted exactly like the ones I used to grow. Perfect.
	Worries. Concerns.
	I had never slept that well, and yet I could fall asleep without realizing it and I could go under so deep that I could, hey, get kidnapped in my sleep. And I was still able to have dreams.
	How do we all wake up at the same time?
	Tristan. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan. 
	I watched him, studying his face as he tried to exert control over his cellmates, tell them how calm they should be. Blank stare. He's either lying or he isn't. He's either so surprised that he's in here with us after he gave up Knothole's position that he's drunk with it all, or I'm completely wrong. I got more tosses of the ball in that evening before once again collapsing from exhaustion. All this bloodflow kept me from thinking, but as soon as I finished the thoughts were back with a vengeance. Tristan. Tristan Tristan Tristan. What was thy motive? Why haven't you learned…
	"Got it, everyone? All right. Dismissed."
	This one took place on the very last leg of Knothole's desire to leave their comfortable homes. Already, villagers were digging warm little holes and burying themselves in farming or research. Even Sonic was busy babysitting supply trains to the other factions. There was but one group of serious soldiers left and trust me, they weren't that serious.
	My final mission ordered by Princess Sally could be described as completely and totally fucking unnecessary. Routine reconnaissance of the underground forges, gather information on status of the Robians, determine viable and practical method of deactivation. We had no access to Robotnik's headquarters. We didn't know where it was, and we couldn't find the origin of the signal that was controlling them. If the brass had a contingency plan for this, they weren't informing the grunts.
	I was aware of the contingency plan. Hell, it was mine. An EMP air burst, wiping out all above-ground electronics. It would render the Robians confused but at least they wouldn't come at us on sight, like the SWATbots. I was all for it, the Princess wasn't. It was a last resort for her.
	The job now was to set up a net to record the exact wavelengths of the orders being received by the receptors, perhaps track down the source or at least block it. Whatever. It was something.
	"What, you want to put a bell on them so we'll all know when they're coming?"
	"Trust me. We'll know."
	So I was left to lead a tiny group of soldiers barely willing to leave the village outskirts, let alone the forest. Our military at work, ladies and gentlemen. All but for the glory of the crown.
	At least they followed orders. I ordered silence when we reached the kilometer limit. We arrived at the edge of the city. A sewer hole in the street opened to a series of tunnels, abandoned by Griff and his crew after Doomsday. We had to bring our own lighting, and use the power sources sparingly. I sent two of the soldiers, Greg and Vincent, off to the northeast. That left Tristan and I to take on the northwest. The tunnels were dead, all the lights long winked out. Old steel walls around us dry but the curved bottom still wet and emitting a foul odor. Tristan and I walked on opposite sides of the tunnel, treading on the foot-wide walkways. He had control of the light, holding it steady on our path. We had a long way to walk.
	A zip caught his attention, and he lost his footing, one leg submerging into the murky water. I stopped walking and continued opening my bag. 
	"Ugh. Gross." Tristan shook his legs and regained his footing, turning the light back on the path and his attention back to me.
	"Watch your step. Slippery." I closed my bag and carefully, I used my knife to peel the orange.
	"Blood oranges?"
	"Mmm. Would you like one?"
	"No. They make me tired." He was still preoccupied with his soaking leg. "How many of those did you bring?"
	"Lots." I let the peels drop into the water. 
	"Grow your own, huh?"
	"It's all that I do." I couldn't stop eating them. I had the orange naked and I holstered the knife. I detached one section and chewed it down. "… Your final mission?"
	"Yep… You?"
	Never. "… Yeah… me too." I swallowed the rest of it whole. It didn't help. 
	We were silent until we reached the first junction of tunnels, which was fine by me. I was anxious. Random bouts of claustrophobia. I finished eating. The time came to choose another direction, choose another direction another-
	… My mouth had gone dry by simply dreaming about it, about the hell of my last official mission. Our utter failure had given all of them an excuse to quit trying. Worries. Constant, constant worries. Water...
	I used to boil mine. Old, paranoid habits die hard. But I couldn't do it here. Oh, I was perfectly fine with eating the food and maybe I would have been okay with the water if I didn't have to drink it out of the shower faucet, or the toilet. If it would come to that.
	It didn't taste different. I didn't think that it did, but I could have been fooling myself. The mind plays tricks. When I was finally comfortable enough to take a shower, I'd stand under the stream for a long time, letting the water run into my mouth and put all my mental power into the taste. Varied results. Inconclusive.
	Remember the desert. 
	I wanted to try something. A little experiment of my own. I stayed in the shower for a long time, to see if the temperature changed, if the color changed, if the pressure changed. I tried to make the time stretch to hours before I finally turned it off. Those watching us were obviously having better luck with their experiments. It was no longer fear of the cameras, but frustration. I was annoyed. Swatting at an elusive fly constantly buzzing around my ears. I found myself second guessing every decision to sit or stand or walk or try to sleep. How could I fool them and spite them? Of course, that was all bullshit. Needless thought noise. Instincts are a double edged sword. They can cloud your judgment the same way that they can save your life.
	Keep the game in sight. Learn to want to play, to win. Get to the end.
	The other prisoners appeared to be coming along a lot better than I was. They were still trying to remain secretive and cover their movements, but anyone who watches them for a straight hour sees the pattern.
	They had heard the noise, too. Of course, they could also see where the pounding was coming from, or not, depending on which was more cruel. The point is that I couldn't see jack shit. I tried jumping up to the window numerous times but I could never get a firm grip on the ledge. It had been rounded off.
	"I hope you're enjoying this vicious cycle of failure." Which they most certainly were. Their jobs were easy compared to ours. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't laugh at my situation and I could no longer pretend to admire the experiment. Self-defense had kicked in and it wouldn't turn off.
	I was going to win this. If it killed me.
	I took another shower. I tried to relax; I needed a drink…
	We made it on schedule to the northwest sector of Robocountry, the underground forges, the crystal mines, heat attacking us from all sides. Shadows moved along the dirt and metal walls, shape-shifting nightmares inches away, diligently digging and digging. Sounds of heavy work, but no groaning. No breathing.
	I checked my watch and hoped that Greg and Vincent made it on their end of the cavern undetected. Fuck. I was never this worried on a mission before. Stupid bureaucratic nonsense. Politics. I took my pad and pencil out of my flak jacket and scribbled a question to Tristan: Have you been here before? I handed him the entire pad without looking at him.
	Seconds later he handed the response back to me, and as long as it had taken him, I expected at least two full sentences.
	No. 
	Peachy. Just peachy. First timers were ticking time bombs, volatile concoctions that careened off course whenever they encountered obstacles. They explode at the slightest tremor, and everyone gets hurt because of them. I had tried to avoid it altogether by suffering through the nightmare once and keeping the same soldiers around me, treating them like family. Course, they either died or retired happily with their real family, who were nicer to them than I ever was. Well, so much for loyalty.
	When it came to the Robians, you never sent in first timers. Ever. I cannot be clearer about this. It's a golden rule. Rookies think they have it all figured out, that they can handle seeing their friends and their parents all dolled up like giant metal marionettes, baring fangs and claws and on the attack at first contact. They know nothing of their own nature. Rage is flammable. They think they can handle anything, until they've zipped completely out of control and gone kill-crazy. An explosive with a lit fuse, right next to me. "No." Wonderful. I love it.
	He handled it well, I have to admit. I allowed him to lead us, following the path on the map down to the line, down to the exact coordinates. Paint me surprised. And he knew a thing or two about stealth, which was refreshing. I didn't have to yank him out of harm's way once. But… his heart just wasn't in it. That crazy, deadpan expression of his I would get to know all too well. It didn't take a genius to see that he was going through the motions, performing an appointed task like a cog in a machine, as dead as the Robians he was trying so hard not to think about. There was no heart. He wasn't there. But he didn't break down. Not early on. And that I have to give him credit for. 
	We made it to the second level, where the dirt was being hauled to the surface, and we were all ready to set up our gear. Tristan set his bag down in front of him and pulled out the unit.
	"… Shit." He held out his hands, so I could see in the dim light. They were covered in moisture. The smell of melted plastic hit me. "Something's leaking."
	"Is the unit okay?"
	He wiped his hands dry and set it all up. It seemed to work fine. We were about to proceed when the alarms went off. My sidearm was out before I realized that it wasn't for us. I could feel the walls quivering. Work had ceased. 
	Greg and Vincent. 
	We set up our equipment in a hurry and left it on standby. We had more room to hurry because of the steady increase of Robians in the vicinity. Whatever they did, they must have done as much damage as they could. 
	We hurried all the way to the other side of the forges, out of breath even though we weren't running. This is what happens when a mission goes bad. All kinds of stress comes down on you and your body runs itself through a meat grinder, and if you aren't calm and collected, you can't function. You have to let the panic in, but you have to control it. You let yourself worry for others' lives and that gets you mad. You breathe. You deal. But what was weird for me that moment was that I swear I could feel the heat of the desert on my back even then, scorching me as the minutes passed, the desert the desert the desert-
	… Get up. Eat. Drink; shower. Exercise. Down to a goddamn science, eventually. Try to sleep. Try not to think. It comes down to trying to speed up the long hours in any way you can. Break it down in segments, vary activity. Keep sharp. Keep the body active. Some days I worked up enough sweat to do it, but then the ball started to fall apart. I had been throwing it too hard. It would bounce no more. After that, I didn't sleep until I was forced to. I think there's a gas. I can't stay awake forever. I never remember falling asleep. Gas. Sleeping gas. That explains how they can get the food here. Clean up the cell. The ball fell apart -- it fucked my entire schedule up. Believe me, it was tough to get back on the horse. There was also a question of concentration. My brain was getting muddled from the prolonged departure from my normal diet. I didn't mind the boredom anymore. Watching the patterns of the other cell mates was like watching the same wave crash on the same shore over and over again, but I could do it. Entertainment didn't factor. I could watch paint dry. Grass grow. Flesh rot. There was also this feeling of anxiety that would hit in the mornings. Sick of being so helpless. Alone, alone for a long time, with nothing to do, nothing at all. What does that do to a person? The body is durable, the mind isn't. Was that what they were waiting for? What they wanted to see? The slightest pressure and it shatters into pieces. How much does it hurt? How fun is it to watch? Do you enjoy it? Sure, the glass cracking is a great thing, but what if it took months, even years, for it to show the first signs of damage? You wouldn't sit through all of it, you bastards. You aren't watching me now. You're hiding an ace until later and then what? Where will you go from there? It doesn't make any sense for this to be what it seems like. It's a game. Nothing but a game. And why invent a game that only you can win at? What would be the point of watching it if you already knew the outcome. There is a way to beat this and it isn't in quitting. All well and good to have confidence but all I could do was think about it. I couldn't see a way to act.
	And then the tortures started…
	Finish the mission or die trying. The sidearm felt good in my hand, sweat collecting around the handle as we hurried to where the Robians were running, staying in the shadow of the machines. Tristan kept up close behind, watching my back. Not such a bad kid after all.
	We ran further and further until we started to hear weapons discharging. Vincent had been equipped with an automatic SWAT assault rifle, his favorite. His baby. It could have been him making the noise. More than likely.
	Different scenarios of easy, simple tasks going horribly awry because of stupid mistakes ran through my head. They had probably been spotted. I slowed to a stop behind a large steel receiving silo and forced Tristan to his knees next to me. I zipped open his backpack. "Here, hold this." I handed him one end of the remote cord, reeling the remote into my hand.
	"Can we set it off this early?"
	I didn't respond, concentrating on keying in the codes to set off our setup unit in twelve hours time. We would have to retrieve the data later, if it wasn't discovered and taken apart. I finished and put away the remote, picking my gun back up. "You might want to get a weapon out."
	He struggled with his bag for a bit and forcibly yanked the rifle out after it got caught on the zipper. He flicked it on and it warmed up as we resumed running to the noise. We followed the yells.
	We reached the end of the cavern, where the clay walls curved and rounded off into a large hallway. The Robians were gathered in a semicircle around the entrance, emitting garbled growls and snarls on the other end of the bandwidth. We had to get closer to see the SWATbots ducking on either side of the hallway, occasionally firing shots into it.
	"They're pinned down, from both sides."
	"Shit."
	There was one option that we had. It came immediately to me. It wouldn't be pretty but it would give Greg and Vincent a fighting chance. Us, however…
	"Follow my lead."
	I aimed the sidearm at the connecting wires at the top of the power generator and fired. And kept firing. There was a moment where all of the Robians turned to look at us before the lights went out. We could still see their eyes.
	"GO! MOVE!" I pulled Tristan after me in the opposite direction. "FIRE! KEEP FIRING!"
	We lit our way back to the dirt haulers, missing bits of light and jumping forward. Strobe. Strobe. Strobe. Our path bathed in red. It was entirely inefficient way to see but I spotted our way out. A yellow construction hoverpad on a pair of tracks.
	Too many sharks around. 
	Tristan vaulted over the steel hood and flipped the dashboard switches on. Headlights lit our way out, along the steel track. The Robians were closing in, lights ablaze and claws gleaming in the dark. I fired at their chest plates, impact knocking them back but not doing any permanent damage. The carriage engine rumbled and powered up, vibrating the barrel and screwing up my aim… 
	And we were off with a WHOOSH, so fast I almost fell out of the back. Tristan started to slow it down.
	"Keep up the speed! They'll give chase!"
	The pad sped up again. I had my footing. Air and hot, wet dirt rushed past me. I kept my gun trained on the path behind us, even though I couldn't see through the dark of the tunnel. Tristan went faster and faster but it was so gradual that I didn't notice. It should have occurred to me that he might have been having some trouble operating the rig. Seems there was no real way to steer and he wasn't concentrating enough on his speed. We came out of the other end like a comet; the light was murder and I was thrown from the back and into the sky blinded by the orange fire and suffocated by the darkness-
	… It was a bad day already. I woke up and immediately vomited all over myself, heaving and gasping on my bed, light red gunk spewing between my teeth. The smell of melted plastic. I stumbled to my feet but didn't make it to the bathroom in time to clear any of it. What a mess. I'd have to live with it all day. After it subsided, it was time to eat. I stumbled to the bowl and opened up the oranges with my teeth. I noticed mid-chew that the very bottom of the bowl was covered with used, dried peels. I don't know why this freaked me out.
	I couldn't calm down.
	Something was definitely, definitely rotten.
	It happened to be the day the torture lists were announced. One prisoner from every cell. I was in there somewhere. No doubt who was doing this to us after that. The first curveball. Robotnik's voice and the promise of pain to come. Letting us know that they were still there. Something more solid. A direction to send our frustration. How would they proceed with this? What were they trying to tell us?
	I needed a drink.
	I didn't want to be awake. I didn't want to sit around waiting for them to take me away and stick metal pins under my eyelids. Inject me with vein constrictors. Squeeze more sensitive regions until they burst like grapes. Pour hydrochloric acid down my throat. Drip water on my forehead. Smash my extremities with a hammer. Shine red light into my eyes. Diminish me. Kill me.
	It wasn't a long wait. 
	I wondered if I could stay immobile the entire day without making it seem like I was giving up. I could justify it. I stayed in bed. I kept my eyes closed. I realized how tired I was. Tired of seeing myself everywhere I looked. Even the bed became uncomfortable. I had to move. To the corner. Then to the bathroom. I turned the water on and balanced out the temperature. I laid on my back and leaned my head against the wall. I opened my mouth and gulped down mouthfuls. It kept me awake and the water gave me something to concentrate on. I tried to count the points of impact. I watched the opposite wall, adjusting my perception until the exit made it look like a door. I waited for it to open.
	It worked. 
	It happened like I had fallen asleep, like every other night. Only I woke up in a different room and the shock was torture enough. I couldn't move. Minutes passed before I found out that it was because of the restraints. Leather, I thought. They felt like leather. I couldn't even close my eyes because of the strap across my forehead, even though I could have sworn that they were just closed moments earlier.
	And just before that, I was in my cell.
	And before that, in Knothole.
	I kept my mouth shut, letting loose some whimpers every few minutes to relieve the pressure. I flexed my muscles to keep them alive. I counted sheep. I held my breath. The sounds of machinery hummed close to me. It would occasionally sound different, molded into another, more familiar and relatable sound. There was nothing to do but lay there and wait. Sit back and take it. Endure. Wait, while all of the images of what they could do to me ran across my eyes like newsreel footage and I conveniently forgot all of my training. Pain to come. Memories, things I didn't want to think about, they all came back. They said hello. I heard their voices, disguised as the humming of the machines. Whispers. I could hear whispers. I barely had enough energy to shiver.
	No one came…
	Remember the desert. 
	It was soft but it hurt. I hurt. 
	I tried to remain still, half buried into the hill of dirt. I heard footsteps approaching.
	"You okay?"
	I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah… I'm good. Leg's broken, but I'm just swell."
	"Shit. Sorry. I tried slowing down. The exit came up too fast." He bent down and eased me up to a sitting position.
	"Take a look. It's down near the ankle."
	Tristan withdrew a utility knife out of his jacket pocket and carefully cut the laces of my boots. He pulled it off and whistled in awe. "That's a good one. It almost broke the skin."
	"Nice."
	"A bunch of dirt all over it. Some blood, can't see a wound, though. It could have been worse."
	"Can you help me walk?"
	"Yeah. Just a sec." He ripped a piece of his jacket off and tied it around my shin, then pulled me to my feet, getting an arm under my shoulder and around my back. "My gun is gone. Couldn't find it."
	"Huh. I can't believe you didn't get hurt."
	"Us wolves have remarkable luck."
	We carefully made our way down the dirt hill to ground level, where our view of the sky all but disappeared. Dirt hills as tall as houses surrounded us on all sides. It was a maze.
	"We'll reach the end of these soon. Then, it's a long walk through the desert back to the forest."
	I laughed again. "What a last mission, huh?"
	"Better be a parade for us when we get back." His joy abruptly faded out. "I hope Vince and Greg are okay."
	I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to upset the guy carrying me. "Rally point."
	The easy part was getting out of the cluster of hills. It got harder when the sun had a clear path to bear down on us. The heat burned a hole through the sky and all of the clouds disintegrated. It got difficult immediately. I didn't last as long as I thought I could.
	The first thing the resistance did with Robotnik gone was to set up a large radio net that clouded the atmosphere between all airborne 'bots units and the old Buttnik satellite in orbit. They went haywire, lost their sense of direction. They flew until they ran out of fuel and crashed. Skeletons were all around us, half buried underneath the relentless blowing sand. And to think… -Without contact from headquarters, the 'bots wandered aimlessly until they shut down. I couldn't help but think that some of them were waiting for us.
	Walking on my one good leg and using Tristan as a crutch wasn't doing any good for my broken ankle, and he must have noticed this, because he threw me over his shoulders and did all of the walking for both of us. He had been in great shape. All well and good, but now it felt like the sun had an even easier time with me. My arms went numb.
	Seek shelter. Survive. 
	I had to have gotten nervous. Yeah, that was it. I let myself get worried. My heart rate must have gone through the roof when I saw the trail of blood behind us. There was a wound after all. Broken skin. A bone sticking out and draining me completely and marking our trail. I could smell my flesh cooking under my fur. Tristan trudged on, feet sinking deep into the burning sand, slowing down only to clear the wet hair out of his eyes. I stopped sweating. My brain fried. I scanned the horizon frantically for the nearest source of water. I was blinded by a harsh white glare.
	Tristan shifted me around on his shoulders, trying to keep up the pace. I think he saw the green of the trees up ahead, but couldn't tell if it was a mirage. "Stop fidgeting."
	I tried to focus. "If… you can go faster… that would be great."
	"Doing my best," he managed to breathe out loud enough for me to hear. 
	"It would be… well-advised. We're being followed."
	"You're delirious."
	"Sure, nobody trusts the injured guy." 
	He was actually already turning around as I said it. His body went rigid and he almost let go of me. "Oh no." He must have seen what I had seen, approaching slowly but surely, two vaguely red eyes glowing near the head of the oddly shaped white light. 
	"Start running."
	He stared off in the distance, trying to escape from the fix we were suddenly in. Sensible lies. "I can't. We won't make it. He'll catch us by nightfall."
	"Put me down. Loan me your knife. Start running." I suddenly fell to the ground, kicking up all kinds of sand but I barely felt the impact I was so far gone. "Give it to me."
	Tristan noticed the bloody trail of sand. "Did you plan on saying something about this?" he asked through clenched teeth. 
	"Hadn't occurred to me." My eyes involuntarily closed. I felt him untie his wrapping from my ankle. "No, no no no no, just hand me your fucking knife! Come on, you can do it. Passion comes from lack of ownership. Get mad."
	"Shut up."
	"You're wasting valuable running time."
	"You are one stubborn son of a bitch. Aha!" He found the wound. He squeezed it. Hard. 
	"Fucking bastard! Get your hands off me! Listen, listen, let me do it, let me do this. It went south but I can die doing it with a clear conscious, and you can live and go back to Knothole and live the rest of your life safe and happy like all of them. I don't want our future. It was my fault he found us. Let me make it right. TRISTAN! You're just too goddamn good to leave me behind, aren't you! You're fucked if you stay here!" My eyes opened again. I saw it, the demon, getting closer and closer, already larger than life, murder in its eyes. 
	"Commander… I'll be right back." He finished tying my leg off and unsheathed his knife. 
	"NO! STOP! YOU CAN'T KILL IT! IT WAS ONE OF US! IT USED TO BE ONE OF US!" I plunged into the dark fringe just as the two of them met, face to face, metal and flesh, and I heard an inch of growing before I started screaming-
	… Figure it out. That's what the voices said. "Figure it out."
	Torture. Right.
	I woke up where the food normally was, next to my bed. We are, all of us, dolphins in a sea full of sharks. I am food.
	Nothing was done to me but I felt injured nonetheless. Even more drained. More uneasy. On edge. Suspicious. They isolated me, publicly stated their knowledge of my military importance, but had no contact, had been asked no questions, tried no extractions. Was this more acknowledgement? Did they not have enough time to give me the proper attention? Or was this supposed to be the torture?
	Food that morning was mushy and inadequate. Quality had certainly dropped since my return. Would lodge a complaint with the management. Running out of gas. Getting harder and harder to move. Had to focus on something. Occupy self. The machine was wheezing and shaking. Surveillance cameras in all four corners, up by the ceiling, far out of reach. It was a strong possibility that they weren't fake. Three mirrored walls, with one glass wall that looks into four other cells. One of these walls had to be the secret door. A5 posted at the top. End of the line, bottom of the heap. Small bathroom with toilet and shower spout, drain the center of the floor. Only there so it could be taken away. Two knobs, hot and cold. An opportunity. Barred window, out of reach. The friendly reminder. Warm breeze blowing in with the faint smell of dead grass overpowered by the oil and rust. Conclusion: No conclusion. The pipes work no problem, hot and cold corresponding correctly to their temperatures,for now. The cell is cleaned every morning, food placed neatly in plain sight. Robotnik knew things he shouldn't know. He isn't clever enough to figure it all out. He's only capable of cruelty, no rational thought. The blood oranges, the isolation…
	He killed the cute fox girl. He killed my parents. New information: Bed wasn't made. I woke up long after those others did. Noises from outside were louder. Cameras were hotter, more leering. Bathroom was seedier. Rust collecting around the shower and knobs. H on right knob halfway rubbed off. And me. Just look at me. Look at how pathetic I was. Messed up hair, eyes unfocused, head rolling around. Note: possible use of drugs on my system. In food or in water. In air. 
	The day had barely started and I wanted it over. I dived in deep this time, swimming to the very center. Ran far away. I stay alive if I keep moving. Keep heading west…
	We were driving east, for once. Returning from an extended vacation, coming home to pick up some things. Driving fast on the highway, gliding over the surface. So smooth. I wasn't getting sick. Something was wrong.
	I could smell smoke.
	That was a bad sign. My sense of smell was always terrible. If I smelled it, sure as hell everyone else did too. 
	We were coming over the last hill into Mobotropolis and it was like a nightmare. There had been tall buildings that could be seen before the summit, and they were no longer there. Black smoke was spilling into the sky, staining it. Fires replaced the paved roads. Automated units swarmed the skies, spotlights on even though it was in the afternoon. The sun was winking out. 
	Our car screeched to a halt. I can't remember anything my parents said. They might not have said anything. I might have laid down across the backseat without being told to. My father jerked the car around and we sped briefly into oncoming traffic before slamming over the divide onto the westbound lane. We didn't get far before the HoverUnits descended on us, engines roaring loud enough to frappe my bones into paste.
	They fired, tearing up the road and causing our car to tip over. Gravity reversed. I stayed conscious long enough to hear them land around the wreckage of our car, murderous white light shining into my eyes. And to think, there was a parade when the city defenses were automated. 
	It's a blur after that. I was awake but I was blocking all of the visual information. Robotnik did us hard. He made the kids watch the Robotosizations. I saw my parents die. That's how it is. They're dead. Simple. And I'm dead too. No coming back from it. It all gets so vivid after seeing those glowing red eyes of theirs. Robotnik was smug when he left command to the 'bot-heads and exited the room, but I can just imagine the look on his face during the counter-attack. The few adults that remained were barely equipped with anything more than slingshots and spit-wads, and still they came for us, charging in and giving us enough cover to escape to Knothole. 
	I didn't feel so empty anymore. These people gave their lives so we could carry on. 
	Take back the city.
	Kill him.
	On the way to Knothole, most of the kids around me were crying. I wanted to. I tried very hard to be a part of them, grieve for the Mobius we all knew, the one we had left burning to a pile of ash behind us. I couldn't. It wasn't long before I stopped trying. This is why. We couldn't back down, not even when it appeared to be over. It's never over. We can't relax, and only when we destroy him with our bare hands and we see his red eyes clearly die out and we burn his body like he burned our planet to ground will we finally take one second to breathe… and then we have to keep moving keep moving or we die we make the planet ours again-
	… Not now…
	-There is a little boy that watches me sleep-
	All right, all right!
	I wasn't taken in again, for torture. Seems they wanted me to be left alone. As little contact as possible. Less room for mistakes, less room for me to escape. That's just fine. Super duper.
	Update: my hands smell like melted plastic. cameras remain motionless, walls remain motionless, no more hot water, dust, mildew on the ceiling, my own fingerprints along the walls, no more breeze from the forest, no longer moved every night back to the beds, blankets untouched, uncleaned, lack of winter coat and it's so very obviously winter (good one), food less and less fresh, less and less edible, have to wonder about water, too.
	But last night, I was moved.
	It worked. He changed the shower's temperature because he saw that I was spending too much time in there. He's watching. He cares. New information: Knothole had to have been given up. After Robotnik's return from Doomsday, he could have gotten hold of any of them and force fed them lies. Broke them down, made them weak, then promised them sanctuary for information, about the leaders. He could have easily gone back on his word after they had us all, placing the dirty traitorous fuck in the cells with us, waiting for a time to eventually reveal to all of us that he was the one who-
	Tristan. TRISTAN. 
	And here I was under the impression I wouldn't have to deal with these feelings again. But here they were, returned in my sanity's absence.
	I couldn't take it anymore. I had to leave. Or find another way.
	Sleep. I had to sleep.
	Noises I recognized... I could hear them… Through the walls. I pressed up against them and they felt paper thin. Clean air on the other side. Waiting for me. Faint, coming through that window but I got it. Come on, I could do it. All I had to do is think. The danger… that's what makes a game fun. The danger. And how would this game be dangerous? … It had to be something simple…
	I could stay in the bathroom. I wouldn't have to see them anymore. If he turned off the shower for that, what would he do if I lived there? Seek shelter. Stay alive. It's so hot. Why's it so hot in here? I try to turn on the shower but nothing but sand pours out. I back away and something nudges the back of my legs. The nearest source of water is…
	But I was put back. I was in bed.
	They wanted me to see…
	So I stayed out, one more day. I watch the others, for one. more. day.
	I blinked and I missed it. Their cell was suddenly covered in blood. One named Durango and a raccoon left the bathroom, bathed head to toe, shaking their heads. Three others were crying. Tristan… where was Tristan…?
	One of theirs had died. Obviously. He had been gotten to, tortured, toyed with, fucked with, and his strings were cut, not for their benefit, but for mine. There was a meaning that I was missing, or a lack of meaning that I was missing, or… it… is…
	He wants us to go through hell.
	That's it. He's bringing down the hammer. He's cracking in the surface.
	I frantically searched the confines of my cell, found the wrinkled, fucked up remains of the ball and threw it tiredly against the walls but it was working, threw it tiredly against the walls but it wasn't working.
	Thirsty. I needed a drink. I turned the shower on. Freezing, freezing water under an open, freezing window in a freezing environment, hell, and the pipes groaned and water was trickling out with a weak effort but I drank and drank until it stopped. It stopped coming. No more showers.
	I was still thirsty. I needed to sleep. The nearest source of water is…
	Death. They have the right idea.
	I kneeled in front of the toilet like it was an altar. Ignoring the smell, I faceplanted into the bowl and swallowed and swallowed until my throat was sore and I was forced under again…
	"What, you want to put a bell on them so we'll all know when they're coming?"
	"Trust me. We'll know."
	Back. Ohhhhhh was I back.
	It was like a dream. 
	One night. One more night, just to make sure I'm right. Letting them have me one more night. A door opens so fast that it looks like a white rectangle of light suddenly appearing on the wall. I stay motionless as I feel them enter, breathless bodies, two of them, picking up the bowl and putting more food in with such motherly care, and leaving again with the faint metal clanking of their footsteps. Quiet as a metallic mouse. It can't be a mirage. The enemy, taking care of me. At their mercy. They walk out, and at any moment I expect the secret door to disappear again but it stays. It stays. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I'm counting the seconds it's remaining in sight. I get well past five-hundred seconds before-Blood dripped from his claws. He breathed hard, standing over the mangled mess of flesh and metal at his feet. He brought his arm back and lazily threw his knife into the distance. The sky momentarily stained red. He fell to his knees. 
	"I can't carry you any more," Tristan said through clenched teeth.
	"You… fucking prick… fucking stupid prick…" Unraveling…
	"I'm sorry-"
	"Why… why wouldn't you let me do it?"
	"Too weak-"
	"I knew this was going to happen…"
	"Can't-"
	"YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KILL HIM! YOU COULD HAVE MADE IT HOME!"
	At his feet, the metal head roared, still active. It tried moving. It was calling for its comrades. 
	I was yelling. I don't know how I managed. "WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME DO IT!"
	He turned to face me, and he was different. "Because you're trapped." The fire in his eyes. "You're trapped in a cell, all by yourself. You can't get out. You won't escape. You'll never escape." This… it didn't happen. 
	There was something in the water.
	Tristan's flesh melts. He spills onto the sand, his metal bones gleaming, geysering in all directions. The sky spider-webs and breaks open. It oozes. I'm sinking into the sand and it gets dark and cloudy. I'm falling through the Robotropolis sky and when I land, it's in a holding cell-
	Get me out.
	I think the drain is clogged. Water is rising but it isn't filling out into the rest of the cell. It's stopping at the door. I try to leave. I can't. There's a force field keeping me in with the water. It reaches my neck and I can't swim up. I don't float. I try to seal my mouth shut but it still gets in, seeping through the cracks and trails down my throat. It slithers into my nostrils and connects to the first stream in my throat and blocks my airway off entirely. I can't see. Only then do I realize what it is. Oil-We made it back to Knothole, of course. Tristan carried me the rest of the way. We didn't speak. That must have helped.
	He was barely alive when we made it, just at the village's edge. We were swarmed upon and carried to the hospital. Vincent and Greg were already there. I faintly heard compliments of how brave we were, and how successful the hunt was.
	That's what we called recon missions: hunts. Sickening. I was sickened by our juvenile behavior. We would never grow up. We couldn't save this place to save ourselves.
	They strapped me down to the gurney in the hospital and they left the room. All of them. They never came back. They're dead. I couldn't close my eyes. The machines spoke to me, faint whispers that grew louder and louder until they were yelling. Lyrics to a song. He was near, oh so near. Count your heartbeat. I was afraid to look. But I did. It was him, HIM, a few weeks old, all shriveled up, eyes still sealed shut but seeing me for the fraud I am. Evil not to care. I tried to make it so that he killed himself. Get the information down. That simple. He killed himself. Memories of my death. To the point. Dead. Think as little as possible. He was dead, all right. Watch your breath exit your mouth. Better for leaving first, he did what I could never do, those times I went to the hills and stood at the very edge, lacking the nerve to take one more step. Force yourself to cry. 
	You saw it every day, rebels going out on missions they knew they wouldn't return from, flocks of birds in a frenzy flapping towards the black clouds of Robotropolis even though they know better, but maybe they knew more, that this planet is too small for us and Robotnik, and if Robotnik is destined to win, well… better now than later. Give us this day our daily dread. Maybe it's time to get smart. You won't make it to the end before the light turns red. My dead brother leans in close, twisting the skin attaching us at the stomach and…
	We're fighting for an image, a home that no longer exists. We were supposed to learn from the past, but we had a new home all this time and we took it for granted.
	… I'm lost-
	He wants us to go through hell. 
	My poor brother. Bringing more into this clear roof blue sky fungus pit is what's cruel. We are all disgusting. What the fuck were my parents thinking? I can't say it has been any better in here, but it wasn't long before I didn't miss the others. I forgot about them entirely. They'd have to get on without my assistance. I made my cell smaller, I made my world smaller. I could think about the game. 
	The game…
	The door is still open. 
	My fingers feel small. The dreams are on purpose. Won't be able to deal much longer. The cracks appear. It takes a second for the flesh to realize that it's hurt, oh so badly hurt, and then the blood escapes, pouring out, and it doesn't stop. My twin brother leans close to me and whispers…
	… everything…
	… he tells me-
	… My eyes snap open wide. I don't know how much time has passed.
	I figured it out.
	The door is still open.
	I'm hanging over the edge of the toilet seat, and I can see the food out of the corner of my eye, exactly the way they placed it in the dream. But staring back at me is my savior, all rotting teeth and drained color, and he smiles at me. And I smile at him.
	My savior.
	He leans up out of the water and plants a kiss on me, and he swallows me and keeps swallowing until I'm gone again-
	This is where I stand to my feet and walk out.
	It was clever of them. Bold, too, to have an answer to begin with. They better be willing to accept this.
	That brilliant murderous white light overwhelms me, blinds me, but I get out. Outside of the cell. I keep walking. Further and further. Lights shine down on the city, and I'm free. I win the battle even if I lost the war months ago. Years ago. Since the beginning. Right now, this feels good.
	I can't. I can't ruin this. Words will ruin this.
	I keep walking. I don't stop. I leave the prison, Robotropolis, and all of it far behind.
	And that is how it happened. 
 *Chapter 40*: Alexis IV

 	ALEXIS

"...oh, look, she's decided to join the living." 	Alexis fluttered her eyelids, wincing from the harsh light searing into her brain. As her vision unclouded, she could see Snively leaning over Princess Sally as she lay unconscious on a metal dissection table.
	The mirrors were gone. They were in the torture chamber.
	Reflexively, Alexis tried bolting upright, but she couldn't move; her wrists, ankles and torso were secured to a table with cold metal restraints. It was taking too long for her vision to clear--that worried her. She wondered if Snively had injected her with something. Blinking away the residual dark spots, she tried desperately to focus herself.
	"I didn't think I was on the list," she said slowly, forcing each syllable.
	"You weren't," he said. His tone was not without a hint of enthusiasm. "And neither was he."
	He nodded to his right, where she saw that Tails was similarly restrained on an upright steel slab. Strangely, his head was half-shaven, exposing the left portion of his bald scalp. He looked coherent, but absolutely bewildered; a thick rag was clenched between his teeth.
	Snively hopped down from his perch on Sally's table and picked up a small, handheld power tool. "This device," he said, striding over to Tails, "is called a drill. If applied with enough force to the boy's shaven skull, it'll really screw up his brain. Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha. I am truly hilarious, oh my."
	He held the device up to the light, checking the bit, fastening it. Tails watched his movements intently. A whimper escaped him.
	"In any case," Snively continued, ignoring him, "you'll notice that I was thoughtful enough to provide a gag so he could bite down on something as the drill enters his frontal lobe. Otherwise he might grind his teeth to splinters... although, come to think of it, that could be rather amusing. It's not like he'll be able to chew his food after this, anyway."
	He set the tool down.
	"Alas. I'm not quite ready for that yet."
	Tails exhaled slightly. Alexis tensed.
	"This whole scenario, you see, has gotten me rather... aroused. We don't have many outlets for these things around here. And since inter-species pedophilia isn't really my bag... well, that leaves one of you two lovely ladies."
	Twitching with anticipation, Snively crossed back to Sally's table. "You know, I've always had a thing for the princess. Gorgeous, isn't she? Even when she's a vegetable." He slid his hand delicately inside her thigh.
	Alexis tugged against her bonds. "Get away from her, you son of a bitch."
	Snively laughed. "Oh, right, because you're in such a position to threaten me. You people crack me up." He stroked the soft area between Sally's legs, teasing a little with his fingertips. "Mmmm, I wonder if she can feel that." He snickered. "Actually, you know what'd be funny? If all of a sudden I hopped on the table and started fucking her before your very eyes. God, your expression alone would be priceless."
	He stepped away. "On the other hand, it's hardly stimulating to copulate with a comatose partner. Not that I'd know from experience, of course. But then there's you..."
	Alexis shivered. Snively smiled.
	"Did you know that your restraints are actually magnetic? They're fastened permanently until I switch off the electricity--quite a clever invention, if I say so myself. It allows for such creative freedom."
	He was moving towards her.
	"You like puppy play? I can restrain you in any position I want."
	Gritting her teeth, she tried not to look at Tails. "You're going to make him watch?"
	"He has to learn sometime, doesn't he?"
	"You're sick."
	"So I've been told. Oh, and just FYI: you should feel the full effect of the drug in about fifteen minutes."
	Alexis held her breath. "What drug?"
	"Just something I've been experimenting with. I've become quite the chemist, lately, haven't I? Actually, it is to my understanding that you and Dr. Bookshire Draftwood created the formula to assist with medical procedures; the patient remains conscious and responsive, but incapable of sudden movement. Thanks to the good doctor's extensive notes on your findings, I've perfected the formula for my own purposes."
	He was standing over her now, lowering his face to hers. "I increased the potency," he whispered, touching her neck. "You'll be completely immobile. I'll release your restraints, and you'll watch me, helpless, as I'm drilling into your little friend's brain. When I'm finished, I'll release him, too, and you can watch him twitch and slobber all over himself as he bleeds to death. That, my dear, is precisely when I'll wake the princess from her coma."
	The room was dead silent--nobody breathed. After a moment, Snively climbed onto the table and straddled her waist.
	"Look at that," he said, rubbing the bulge in his pants against her bare stomach. "I'm excited just talking about it."
	She struggled helplessly. "Not waiting 'til I'm sedated?"
	"It's more fun when you're still kicking."
	"Don't make me laugh."
	"I won't..."
	BZZZAT. The lights above them suddenly sparked, and the surrounding hum of electricity groaned and fell silent. The room was plunged into darkness.
	Alexis reacted before she could even think. She felt the tightness of her metal restraints give way as the magnets lost their power; she lifted them away with ease. Snively sputtered something unintelligible, trying to pin her down, but she spiked her knee upwards and connected solidly with his testicles. He shrieked, followed by a muffled grunt as she socked him in the face with one of her cuffs. He fell off the table.
	"TAILS! Where are you?"
	There was some commotion, followed by, "Here!"
	"Run, Tails! Follow my voice! I think I saw an exit!" She scrambled off the table, knocking into equipment.
	"Alexis, WAIT--!"
	"HURRY!"
	With an electric whine, the amber-colored emergency lights flickered on. A quick glance around the room revealed that Snively had vanished. Alexis knew he'd return any minute with an army of SWATbots.
	Uh-oh. Not one, but three possible exits. She picked one and darted for it.
	"C'mon!"
	"But--"
	She rushed out the door: a hallway. To her left was a staircase leading down. Good.
	"--Alexis!"
	She turned. "What?"
	"We have to go back!"
	"Why?"
	"AUNT SALLY!" he screamed, trembling. "I'm not leaving without her!"
	"Tails, there's nothing we can--"
	"He said he could wake her up! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!"
	"There's no time!"
	"Then you go." He turned and ran back into the chamber.
	"TAILS!"
	She hesitated for a moment. Finally, she ran after him.
	"Tails, we have to leave NOW! We can't--"
	She stopped herself, gasping. Through the rightmost entrance came a swarm of countless SWATbots, guns raised.
	Tails stood frozen, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief--as though the risk of death was something that never occurred to him. Sonic wasn't there to save him this time.
	"Don't...!" he said, raising his hands.
	The explosion of laserfire tore the young fox to pieces.
 *Chapter 41*: Alexis V

 	ALEXIS

The commotion throughout the building indicated something far more serious than a random power-outage. This wasn't an erratic malfunction—this was a breakout. Above her, Alexis could hear the desperate scampering of prisoners escaping their cells and flooding the stairways, followed by the clang of metallic footsteps and rapid gunfire. Racing through the endless doors and hallways of the labyrinthine complex, she fought to put Tails and Sally out of her mind. There would be time to grieve later. 	She was about halfway down the third staircase when her muscles involuntarily relaxed. It was like passing through water—floating slowly forward in time as her legs collapsed from underneath her. She couldn't flex her hand to grip the railing. Her tumble down the remaining stairs was jolting but disturbingly painless; she couldn't tell if anything broke. With a dull slam, she found herself sprawled at the base of the staircase, looking up dazedly at the sweeping red emergency lights.
	She tried moving, but she couldn't. Snively's drug had completely paralyzed her. Ahead of her, she could see an adjacent stairway, where several prisoners were rushing past. They didn't even notice her. Probably for the better, she decided. She might as well have been dead.
	Her heartbeat jolted when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Can you get up?" someone asked. His voice was urgent, but composed. It was comforting.
	But she couldn't answer him; she could barely move her lips. Just go, she thought. I'll slow you down. I'm not worth it. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of him—a young, scruffy dingo. He seemed unfamiliar, but she recognized the look in his eyes: the kind she witnessed in medical student dropouts who never learned to detach themselves from their patients. He had seen too much death, and it haunted him.
	Run, her mind screamed. Run now, and you'll forget you saw me.
	He didn't even hesitate. The dingo knelt down and gathered her into his arms.
	No…!
	"You're gonna be okay," he whispered. He started running. Before long, the potency of the drug and trauma of the situation overwhelmed her, and Alexis fell unconscious.
	SNIVELY

As Snively burst into the observation room, Bunnie Rabbot wheeled up to him gracefully with his desk chair. "HELLO, SNIVELY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO SIT?" 	"No."
	He scanned the monitors, furious. A mass breakout was the last thing he expected to happen—ever—and he was embarrassingly ill-prepared for it.
	"WOULD YOU LIKE SOME POPCORN?"
	"No."
	He couldn't believe it: every single prison cell in the complex had been evacuated. Even with every available SWATbot unit deployed, it was inevitable that at least some of the prisoners would escape the complex. Judging from the recent power failure, it appeared that somebody had successfully sabotaged the security system. But who? And how the hell did they do it without Snively noticing? Impossible, he thought.
	"PERHAPS YOU WOULD ENJOY SOME HERBAL TEA?" said Bunnie, presenting an elaborate platter.
	"I said NO!"
	Without thinking, he whirled around and knocked the platter from her hands. The tea pot and cups and saucers tumbled dramatically, shattering on top of her in a spray of hot liquid, drenching her. Seconds later, the robot sparked and burst into flame. She released a strange, high-pitched digital scream and whirled in flaming circles around the room, head spinning as Snively frantically scrambled for a fire extinguisher. As soon as he yanked it off the wall, he pulled the pin and blasted the inferno in a gust of white foam.
	A moment of silence ticked by. He sighed, collapsing a little against the doorframe.
	"Snively," spoke a cold voice on the intercom, "haven't I warned you that liquids and electronics are incompatible?"
	He ignored him. "Sir," he said quickly, "I have SWATbots on every floor. There's been an escape—"
	"I know, Snively. Relax."
	"Relax?"
	"Everything is going according to plan. I deliberately never mentioned this part to you, because I wanted it to provoke a genuine reaction." He laughed malevolently. "And bravo, Snively; that was the most hilarious display of ineptitude I've ever seen."
	"Should I call off the SWATbots?"
	"Of course not, you dimwit. Their escape must appear authentic."
	"Then what the hell do we do? Sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"
	"Patience, Snively—each step is absolutely critical. In the meantime, I'd like for you to prepare a candlelit dinner in my private gallery. I'm inviting someone very special this evening."
	"Yes, of course sir."
	"Delicious. Good night, Snively."
	The silence that followed was unsettling. Snively sank in his chair, assessing the charred remains of his former assistant with something approaching regret. Bunnie Rabbot was the closest thing to a friend that he'd ever had.
 *Chapter 42*: Robert IX

 	ROBERT

"Everything is already written." The fear is warm.	
	Robert's own head reported the facts to him. He could feel the cold attacking the soles of his feet, the weight of the blanket around his shoulders along with the moisture falling at his feet, stained black from the oil under his skin. He flexed his metal fingers and heard them click and echo in the hallway.
	07734. It still worked. Some memories weren't mixed around.
	So much of it was, still. One report said that he was to kill SWATbots on sight, another said that he wouldn't be bothered this time, and he wouldn't have to worry.
	But he did worry. The compulsions concerned him. He moved along, completing tasks without knowing why they had to be completed. This was another one.
	Return to the cells. Clear them out.
	Level one, quick cursory check; four Roboticized bodies in A1, seven bodies in A3, cells A2, A4, and A5 empty. Level two, quick cursory check; one body in B2, four bodies in B3, cells B1, B4, and B5 empty. Level three, quick cursory check; cells C1 through C5 empty. Level four, quick cursory check; one body in D1, one body in D2 and D3, eight Roboticized bodies in D3 and D4, one flesh, cell D5 empty. Level five, quick cursory check; one body in E1, nothing at all in cells E3 and E4, two bodies in E5.
	Nothing to salvage or save.
	Threat imminent.
	List secondary objectives. Choose one. Choose one. Choose one. This re-visitation jostled something loose. Or the byproduct did. It, the bullet in the brain inched further and further inside, transmitting thoughts. It had to be the bullet, or it had damaged main drives of memory and it all switch to the subconscious chips, secondaries that the gun put in there for kicks, for the experiment, or for protection.
	There was no way of knowing anything. There was no way of learning anything. Being followed.
	His luck had held out this long, and the experiment had been working in his favor, well, his favor being that his existence could continue. That was in there too, the urge to stay alive. He had defied it once, attempted to throw it all away and end the shit as soon as possible. He could feel it coming back. There were ways. There were always ways.
	He had to nurture it before he could set it free, or else he would chicken out.
	Just clear out the cells. Go through the motions.
	Dead bodies were stuffed into the bathrooms on the bottom floor. Many others were Roboticized, but just stood there and watched him. His hand tightened around the gun.
	IT WON'T BE YOU.
	The further he traveled upwards, the more the anxiety increased. On the top floor, he wiped a line of soot and black powder of off what had been the E3 and E4 cells. His own red eyes stared back at him. How this had happened…?
	"Breezy," was caught on a loop, and he couldn't stop saying it. The toxide grenades were pressing into his back through the duffle bag. Error. Error.
	Execution of previous orders. Threat imminent.
	Clear cells of all living specimens. Careful examination- abort, abort.
	Olfactory senses functional. Sound production, ten full seconds. Five seconds of silence. Move down a floor. Threat imminent. Move down a floor. Five, four, three, two, one… Cease. CEASE forward motion, increase auditory levels, translating… vocal projection. Sec- error- ondary orders. Commence rescue operation procedures. Threat imminent.
	Descending the floors by way of the stairs felt very much like falling in slow motion. Cold air blew in from the windows and kept him airborne. He wafted down, the red cape around him blowing in the wind, the gun whispering orders to the bullet to be relayed to him, although the distance didn't make much sense to him. Why couldn't he communicate directly?
	Perhaps he was operating on 88 MHz and couldn't reach him. The bullet, therefore, had to be operating on mediumwave, around 300 kHz, and could talk to both, exchange pertinent information. This meant that Robert had to also be operating on very high frequency, at or above 88, and that was why he couldn't hear the orders directly. Secondly, here finally was proof that he really had no knowledge who the gun was or what the purpose of the entire operation was. Walls weren't coming down, questions weren't being answered. Thirdly, and here was what set "Breezy" on an unstoppable loop, was that the bullet was holding all of the keys, owning every eye trained on the open window. The bullet sees the signals, the bullet reports what he sees fit to report. No rule says it's verbatim.
	The bullet could be lying.
	He wasn't taking destiny into account.
	Predetermination.
	Lines of code.
	Every conversation that he and NICOLE had could have merely been dialogue, like every one of his missions. Set perfectly in place and all he had to do was carry it out, unaware that he wasn't making any choices whatsoever.
	If that were the case… why the love?
	She wouldn't let him in. She didn't let the gun in, either. The gun couldn't get in, so he made it that the brain was unrelentingly trusting, since both of their missions were the same. Free the prisoners. But she couldn't know that. He had to earn her trust, since he both truly wanted to impress her and to get everyone out alive. All he needed was time, to get in and get them out.
	"I failed."
	Somewhere was the screw-up. It had been working; she was beginning to trust him, she was giving him access to her bases, but he wasn't working on the prisoners. He was working on something else… something big in Knothole.
	She must have noticed. He couldn't fault her for acting accordingly. He could never fault her.
	"…"
	There had to be someone else.
	"… Robert?"
	Another number that he had missed.
	"Robert?" Threat imminent.
	His finger tightened around the trigger, too hard, and a gunshot burned into the floor at ground level, close to his foot. Great. How many is that? Seventy-seven?
	Tristan. Tristan had called out his name.
	Robert leaned into the A3 cell again and saw that there was, in fact, a survivor left. Strange.
	Very odd. For about 692, this didn't fit at all, and time passed during which lines of code reoriented around the obstacle and finally made it work, like it always did.
	Robert stood there, watching Tristan's eyes move down to the smoking gun at his side.
	There were problems. The loop had ended when the code shifted to compensate for this expected unexpected development. Suddenly, it was apparent which drives were damaged by the bullet. The main one, the big mission, the overlying purpose of it all. He couldn't remember it because it had been deleted by the most effective delete key on the planet. There was enough in him to finish it, but not enough to know what it was.
	Yeah.
	That had to be it.
	These MHz were killers. They sped up time, slowed the responses and the reflexes. Now, the moment that never ended, was clear. Universal time, what it was for everyone. At least they had that in common.
	Tristan was on his feet and slamming his fists hard into Robert, trying to damage him. Robert couldn't fight back if he wanted to, if he were allowed to.
	It didn't hurt.
	Tristan was only doing a good job in damaging himself. He had the practice. It was incomprehensible what was coming out of his mouth; something to the effect of, "Too late, too late!" The step-by-step process had left him weak. He bled easily. He would run out of energy soon, but he wouldn't have enough to-
	Luckily, Tristan collapsed to the floor just as the Roboticized Mobians in the nearby cell began to move.
	Too… late.
	Threat extremely fucking imminent.
	Take immediate evasive action.
	"Breezy" had stopped. Of course, another loop had replaced it.
	Robert grabbed Tristan's arm, pulled him to his feet, and led him quickly outside as it began. "We all serve a purpose. It isn't important that I understand mine but you must understand yours. The lives of all those you have fought for, all of your comrades, depend on it. What you thought was the test was only the preamble. The test begins now. Think of it; all the data that has been gathered from the experiment, all the time that has been spent figuring out what exactly keeps you running."
	He assumed Tristan was listening. The growling of their running pursuers as well as the increasing volume of the alarms made him nervous. Robert just kept pulling his arm and together, they ran, plunging deeper into the heart of the enemy.
	South. They were running south.
	The rain was long gone. They were being followed.
	And then, they made it.
	HERE OH NO RIGHT HERE. Pause. Loop on hold.
	There were no more Roboticized Mobians building it, so it must have finally been finished. The black building towered over them, the summit almost invisible if not for the reflection of HoverUnit searchlights swinging out behind them in the sky.
	Robert kept running and searched for the open door, finding it as the building suddenly lit up as all searchlights pointed directly at them.
	He pulled Tristan's arm harder and pushed him into the darkness. Robert stopped running, turned, and brought his gun up. He aimed at the lights of the HoverUnits. A lot of them, an entire squadron. If they landed, they would drop troops off to get him from every angle.
	Don't think about it. Pull the trigger.
	He heard an internal click and the barrel of the gun glowed bright orange and spread out in tiny balls of light. He watched the projectile travel to his target… and miss.
	Bad news. It was getting worse. He gripped the gun tighter, with both hands.
	"Sick."
	The casing around the handle cracked down the middle. He held the trigger back against the guard-
	"Sick-"
	They returned fire. More lights and colors confused his vision, but he held on, kept firing even through he could feel the blasts singing through his body, that feeling of warm water holding its shape in a straight line, getting hotter and hotter. Systems were going critical, bells and whistles sounding in his ears. The lights grew bigger, brighter, closer. His teeth gnashed together. Spit was forming in his mouth. He was losing sensation in his lower extremities. At all costs, he kept the trigger moving back and forth, the recoil telling him that at the very least, he was fighting back. That was what was important.
	More gunfire tore him apart. He moved a foot back and struggled to stay on his feet, narrowed his shoulders and hid his head behind the gun and his mismatched hands. He saw some search lights go out and spiral down to the ground behind the abandoned houses.
	He turned to take care of the others, the ones making all the noise because they were right on top of him. He fired at one with a SWAtbot hanging out of its open door and clipped its engine. It careened into the side of the black building and exploded in a blinding orange fireball. Debris made it rain again.
	If it was still daytime, he couldn't tell.
	Three spotlights convened close together in the sky. Robert recognized the formation. He tossed the gun upwards, spun around and swung his backpack to his front. Both hands plunged inside, ripping it open. He palmed two toxide grenades and hurled one after the other at the lights. This time, he connected.
	Flames projected through the acidic mist and bathed the area in a greenish glow. The sky was empty by the time the gun returned into Robert's open palm.
	It was darker.
	Quieter.
	Fire burned soundlessly at the building's summit. The emergency siren was still going off, but it was far away.
	It was no longer warm.
	"Threat imminent."
	Robert retreated into the darkness before more of them came.
	Only inside did he notice how much damage he had sustained. He legs suddenly stopped working, clicking and groaned into each other like a pair of broken support beams, forcing him violently to the floor. There was a gaping hole in his stomach and he was fountaining hydraulic fluid. His synthetic fur and skin were coming apart. His eyes wouldn't synchronize or focus. Structural integrity was a joke.
	He could sense Tristan nearby.
	Resume loop.
	"WWWWWWWWe know you, we know what you're good for, and we knew you'd survive. Your purpose is to lead the survivors to Knothole. You are to escort them off-planet and activate the auto-pilot. Where you go from there is up to you."
	… Yes?
	Robert heard strange noises coming from Tristan. Choked off words again, condensation impacting the floor, dry heaving, but it so hard to see in there. The only source of light was coming from deeper inside the structure, and there was no way, no way at all…
	Something was horribly wrong. This wasn't going as planned.
	A response was called for. Some kind of confirmation.
	Loop. Retain all vocal inflections and pauses. "We all serve a purpose. It isn't important that I understand mine but you must understand yours. The lives of all those you have fought for, all of your friends, depend on it. What you thought was the test was only the preamble. The test begins now. Cannot stop the cascade. Think of it; all the data that has been gathered from the experiment, all the time that has been spent figuring out what exactly keeps you running. But we'll cross that bridge after we burn it. We know you, we know what you're good for, and we knew you'd survive. Your purpose is to lead the survivors to Knothole. You are to escort them off-planet and activate the auto-pilot. Retroviruses aren't typically airborne." Danger. Danger. The injuries. Cover in extreme fucking jeopardy. Do you think he suspects? Do you think he knows?
	Wait a minute. Waaiiiit a minute.
	Vocals damaged. Baritone.
	"NIC-"
	No, no, no. Not this. Not now. Not ever.
	This is another mission.
	"NICOL-"
	My mind is my enemy.
	"NICOLE."
	I need out.
	THREAT IMMINENT.
	Still!
	GET HIM TO MOVE. NOW. OR IT'S ALL OVER.
	YOU'RE BEING FOLLOWED
	"Stop this shit, it's making me sick to my stomach."
	Where is this coming from?
	"You creatures would do anything to throw yourselves away, wouldn't you?"
	Where is this coming from!
	"You fight those who do the same, but then you go home and you try not to feel anything."
	Nicole, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…
	"Why can't you use your lives for something worthwhile?"
	I don't want to hurt you… I never wanted to hurt any of you…
	"I'm doing you ungrateful rodents a favor. I'm demonstrating that your pettiness is nothing compared to your anger. You have all forgotten how to use it. You have all become weak."
	Please…
	"Even if it takes me years, even if it results in an endless massacre, you will remember it. This fight will not end. Losing the war is not in the equation."
	It wasn't Robert's voice that was speaking, but from what was indicated by Tristan's rapid breathing, he sure as hell recognized it.
	THEY SPEND THEIR LIVES BUILDING WALLS AROUND THEMSELVES, BUT AS SOON AS YOU SURROUND THEM WITH ACTUAL WALLS THEY GET ANGRY. THEY GET PISSED. They break.
	It had to look like a choice. Living had to look like it was their idea. Or else they curl up and they die.
	THREAT IN CLOSE PROXIMITY.
	Enough.
	I had it backwards. The orders were subconscious. "See? I'm all right now. I'll make it work eventually. I promise. It always works eventually." Robert managed to climb to his feet and keep his balance. Sensors indicated more bodies entering the building, clanking metal boots against the floor, echoing in infinity like the fear and the cold. Shadows warped over Robert's damaged vision. Now this, this felt right. Here was how it was supposed to go.
	"Don't let yourself die here in this horrible place, Tristan. Not like the others. Kill them."
	He finally managed to spot him, a twisted figure curled around himself, cowering in the shadows of the hungry Roboticized Mobians, the four from the bottom cells. Robert pulled Tristan to his feet.
	"It has to look like a choice! Let's see!" He sill had the gun in his hand, and so, pressed the barrel to his temple, forcing it into the wound. "Let's see how far I can push it in." There was a loud bang, a metallic clink, and Tristan's cry of anguish. He tried to pull away but Robert pulled him even closer, his metal hand squeezing his neck. "That didn't do it at all. Let's try again." He squeezed the trigger. The impact of the third bullet kicked his head down, snapping already broken steel bones. Tristan struggled violently out of his grasp, falling to the floor and backpedaling. Robert wobbled and struggled to find him, his screaming echoing into the dark and mixing with the gunshot. "Kill them before they kill you! Come on! Do it! Do it now! HURRY!"
	… there
	He had done it. After all this time, he had finally done it. He had overstimulated and exhausted every other nerve in Tristan's body and he had tapped into the nerve that housed the reflex actions, the nerve that allowed him to act without thinking. Even in the state he was in, he could feel it happening, in the five feet of space between them. Within the line of code, all was right with the world.
	it was happening it was really happening
	"You fit. It fits you. It's perfect."
	… THREAT IMMINENT.
	I am to blame for this. Don't blame the gun or the bullet. Or the…
	PROXIMITY ALERT.
	.. other number.
	TARGET ACQUIRED.
	Generator picking up speed. Seems like I can never retreat far enough.
	Robert pulled the gun out of his head and pointed it away from him. He pulled the trigger one last time.
	He didn't hear a thing.
Tristan had stopped moving when he felt something. The bag. Something inviting the way it felt, it reminded him of home, not of his old clothes or the covers on his bed, but the way his old gear felt against his fingers, on the missions. No matter how bad it got, there would always be something inside of these things, either simple or complicated, something that would save his life. At least end the pain.	
	Tristan's hand tightened around one of the grenades. It all came back.
	He looked to the Robians, ten feet away.
	His arm arced in one smooth path, tossing the grenade low, rolling it towards them. His weak and starving heart jumped into his throat, already suffering under the regret for doing it. They didn't deserve this…
	A gunshot rang out, bursting apart the grenade at the Robians' feet, the green cloud melting them from the waist down into a mess of oil and blood. Their screams loud and garbled and twisted and they didn't stop echoing.
	Tristan flinched away from the grisly sight. They slowly lost their volume, processors dying out and betraying the evidence of their own remains.
	"I think…the gun is empty."
	They didn't deserve this.
	Robert, however…
	He did. He did.
	"You in there?" Standing to his feet, furiously energized, Tristan grabbed Robert by a piece of broken metal sticking out of his neck. He steadied the head, kept it locked, eye to eye. "Are you in there?" he asked again, angrier.
	Absolutely. "DDDoesn't matter." A metallic voice strained out, growing faint. "Work is done. Let go."
	Robert's rolling eyes suddenly stopped moving, stricken by received information. Tristan heard it too… a scraping noise… low growling. More of them!
	Tristan took a step back, turned to the door, and gasped deeply when he saw a pair of red eyes glowing from the entranceway.
	"YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS, ROBERT."
	He's still alive.
	"SUpER SORRy foR the LYIng. SHE didn'T WAnT to Say anYTHing."
	Look at him… the state he's in…
	"SHE thought we wERe working togeTHEr. She thought we were both TRAITORs by the end of it."
	A sudden heave tore from Tristan's throat. He coughed and choked on nothing but air, all the while praying that at least this, this, was a dream.
	"I CAN KILL YOU WITH ONE WORD."
	Sonic crawled further towards them on his belly, dragging his metal legs behind him, trying to escape them, a murderous look in his eyes.
	One of them. "I'm LIKe yoU."
	The world was dipping and rolling, a ship adrift at sea in the middle of a quiet storm. Pressure was increasing in his skull. In danger of falling and blacking out forever, Tristan didn't hear Robert come next him, didn't feel the metal fingers grasp the last grenade out of his hand.
	"If it's tHE only tHINg I CAn do anyMORE, I'LL DO IT."
	Robert stumbled towards Sonic, attempting to say one more thing, before-
	"… Set Us FREEEEEEE-"
	His head tipped back, far back, and caught in his eyes was a look of submission, of wide-eyed pleasure. "Destiny." Robert's teeth closed around the toxide grenade, and he bit into it like an apple.
	BOOM.
	Tristan shielded his eyes from the explosion of red and green gas. Robert and Sonic disappeared together in the vapor, and all that was left was a smoking indentation in the floor. Their grave.
	And then, he was all alone.
	With nothing else to do, nothing else to say, to feel or to fear, Tristan walked further into the building, heading towards the light.
 *Chapter 43*: Colin VI

 	COLIN

It's summertime, and it's my seventeenth birthday. Coincidentally, we also defeated Robotnik today. The Doomsday tower went up in a breathtaking explosion that could be seen for miles.	
	The mission required everybody: not only those of us in Knothole, but three other Freedom Fighter regiments as well. Since I'm a runner, I was elected for the main team; our job was to lead the SWATbots away from Sonic and Sally. Taylor was part of the diversion team, whose simple but very dangerous task was basically to get captured. The ideal scenario, of course, was that the mission would be successful and we'd simply spring the prisoners before they were roboticized, but it was still a pretty risky proposition. Thankfully, we didn't just make it out—we totally won.  The euphoria is overwhelming. Robotnik is gone forever, and the remainder of his empire is in ruins.
	Amidst the congratulatory uproar of our return, Taylor had asked me to meet him at our secret tree-house. I'm climbing up the ladder now. Just as I reach the top, he pokes his head out the door. We touch noses.
	"Hey," he says, smiling wide. "Brought you dinner."
	"Heh heh, I'll bet you did." I feel a little dumb, though, when I notice the lunch box with sandwiches. "…oh."
	"Why, what did you think I—" He blushes suddenly, giggling. "Stop it! You're so dirty!"
	"Hey, it's me."
	"Here," he says, shoving a sandwich at me. "Bologna and cheddar with mustard. Sound familiar?"
	"Cute touch," I say, taking a bite. I shared half of my bologna and cheddar sandwich with Taylor on the first day we met.
	"Well gee, don't sound too excited. I was thinking about feeding you dessert."
	"Now that's more like it."
	"Rowr."
	As I sit down and recline against the back wall of the tree-house, Taylor curls up warmly against my chest. He rests his cheek just above my collar bone, guiding my left arm around his waist. I'm still holding the sandwich in my right hand.
	"So why'd you invite me up here? Special occasion?"
	"It's your birthday, silly."
	"Pfft." Munch.
	"And besides that, I figured you'd want some quiet time. You must be tired."
	"Mmm?" My mouth is full.
	"The mission"
	I swallow. "Oh yeah. You mean running around aimlessly so the SWATbots would chase after me? Hell, I'm up for another round."
	I tickle him a little bit—just underneath his belly-button. He spanks my hand. "Stoppit."
	"Aw."
	I tighten my arm around his waist, and he wiggles a little closer into my chest. He likes it when I hold him like this.
	"But what about you?" I said. "It's not like you were just sitting around on the sidelines."
	"You're right—I was just a helpless prisoner waiting for you to rescue me. It was exhausting."
	"Heh. I think my sarcasm is finally growing on you."
	"That's not the only thing that's growing." He lazily pokes the warm bulge in my lap, giving me puppy eyes.
	"Oh god, I've created a monster."
	"Shuddup." He begins playing with my zipper.
	"So I was thinking," I say quietly, relaxing myself, "that maybe later we could go to the lake. Watch the fireworks. Beautiful night."
	"Mmm hmm," Taylor says, taking my penis into his mouth.
	"Or maybe… uhnn… maybe we should stay in. Watch from here…?"
	"Mmm," he agrees.
	"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
	"Mmmm."
	"I betcha would…"
	"…mmm!"
	"Huh…"
	"Mphh."
	"…whew…"
	"Rrrmm, mmm…"
	"Uh… uh… ahh! Almost there…"
	"Mmhmm…"
	"…ooo."
	"…imm!" That last one is barely a squeak as I tighten my ass and blow my wad down his throat.
	It takes a little while for our breathing to slow down. After a moment, when my erection softens, I can feel the comfortable warmth of his mouth slipping off of me, muscles contracting and tongue dragging behind. He rests his cheek on my stomach.
	"Fireworks, huh?" he finally says.
	"Yeah, pulling out all the stops. Rotor and Tails are in charge of it—everyone's pretty stoked. We should be there. Make an appearance, at least. We don't have to stay."
	"Who's gonna be there?"
	"Like, um, the whole village."
	"Oh."
	"Yeah. We should totally go."
	"Only if you carry me."
	"Fuck you, carry yourself."
	"Bitch."
	I yawn sleepily, letting my eyelids rest for a bit. "But seriously, Taylor," I say, trying to be as gentle as possible, "you really should get out more."
	"Yeah," he says, sounding a little sad. "I know."
	"I mean, y'know, I'm not saying it's bad to have your privacy and all that. You're always gonna be you…"
	"Right."
	"…but there's some really nice people around here, if you'd give 'em a chance…"
	"Yeah, okay." The way he says that is conclusive; it's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it.
	Awkward silence. "Um… well, hey, Sonic and Sally are giving a speech. Can't miss that."
	"Whoopie."
	I usually get a chubby when I mention the name "Sonic." This time my penis just twitches. I hope Taylor doesn't notice.
	"There might also be alcohol," I say, nudging him.
	He sits up immediately. "Alright, let's go."
	I laugh. "Serious?"
	He rolls his eyes. "I'm only going because you want to."
	"Okay, fair enough."
	"But before we go, there was something else I…" He trails off, looking down a little sheepishly. He shakes his head. "Nevermind. Forget it."
	"What?"
	"Forget it. Let's go."
	"Oh no. No no no. You know I hate it when you do that."
	"Seriously, it's nothing!"
	"Yeah, I'll bet."
	"You're making this a bigger deal than it really is…"
	"I'm not leaving," I say, sitting back down, "until you tell me what it is."
	Taylor sighs, frustrated. "Fine. It's in the loft."
	"What is?"
	"Just follow me, dumbass."
	I do. When we climb upstairs, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the light. I suddenly blink.
	"This is… did you…?"
	He smiles, blushing.
	"You did this…?"
	It's a mural—an elaborate landscape depicting the Great Forest beneath a canopy of stars. The dusty pastel colors appear to be chalk of some kind, but what really grabs my attention is how bright it is. It's glowing in the dark.
	"Rotor let me borrow the stuff. 'Phosphorous chalk,' he calls it—says he alters the chemical components so it can absorb light and retain it. He only had like five different colors, so I did the best I could."
	"The waterfall," I mention excitedly, pointing to it."
	"And the lake, too—see?"
	"Oh hey, there we are, skipping rocks. And there's the tree-house!"
	"Proportions are wrong," he says, sounding annoyed with himself.
	"Oh, what the hell. We'll say it's Impressionism."
	I expect a laugh, but he shrugs instead. "Anyway, I was hoping you'd come up here and notice it on your own, but… well, y'know. I was getting impatient. And since it's chalk, it obviously won't last forever."
	The emotion of it overwhelms me unexpectedly. Taylor senses it and gives me a tight hug.
	"…You did this for me," I say, feeling tears.
	"Happy birthday, Colin."
	I love you, I think immediately. I love you, Taylor, I love you so goddamn much…
	But why can't either of us say it?
	ALEXIS

As I wake up, the first thing I notice is the throbbing pain in my left forearm and wrist. I check for protrusions, but there aren't any. Probably just a hairline or greenstick fracture, maybe even a bad sprain. Impossible to tell without an X-ray, though.	
	Sitting up, I realize my head hurts, too—especially between my eyes. Maybe my nose is broken. I instinctively expect to see my reflection in front of me, but I suddenly realize I'm staring at a bunch of wooden planks. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved; if I never see another mirror again, it'll be too soon.
	In spite of my injuries, I find it astonishing that I'm not in worse shape. The fall down the stairs should have killed me—or snapped a few of my limbs, at the very least. Naturally, I don't believe in angels or higher beings of any kind, but that was the closest facsimile of a miracle I've ever experienced.
	I'm in a tree-house somewhere in the Great Forest. That dingo must have taken me here when I was unconscious. Maybe he used to live here. Odd, though, because it appears that we're somewhere outside of Knothole. Maybe this is a lookout post or something. Or a hideout. Whatever.
	I find the dingo sitting by himself in an upper portion of the tree-house. He's staring at the wall, where a chalk drawing has faded with age. I can tell he's been crying.
	"You're awake," he observes quietly. "I was worried that you were paralyzed."
	"I should be, after a fall like that. I might have broken my wrist, but I'm fine otherwise."
	He nods, looking down.
	"Thank you," I say, shifting my weight awkwardly. "If you hadn't found me, I—"
	"Too many people have died," he says, his voice nearly a whisper. "I couldn't just leave you."
	I deflate a little, remembering. "You know, it's almost funny. For a moment, I wasn't sure I wanted to live. I'm not even sure I deserve it."
	"I don't think any of us do," he says, looking away. "But maybe we survived for a reason.
	"Maybe."
	Silently, the dingo climbs down from the loft and heads for the door.
	"I noticed a small group of survivors gathering around Knothole. You can meet up with them if you'd like."
	"Where are you going?"
	"Don't wait for me," he says. And then he's gone.
 *Chapter 44*: Tristan

 	TRISTAN

It's so overwhelming that I cannot keep my footing on this uneven ground. I'm surprised that I still know the way. 	Knothole looks dead in spite of the sparse survivors from the cells wandering around, and they stop as soon as I enter from the tree line.
	So much has changed since we last saw our homes. Our blue sky is fading to a sickening yellow. Clouds from Robotropolis are closer than ever. A gust of dry wind blows through the streets, kicking up dust and dried grass… And there's a structure sticking out of the ground larger than anything we've built, shining brightly and sticking into the sky like it's ready to cut it from the tail to the head. Spill the guts.
	Gladly.
	I chase down my first thought upon seeing our home again, hoping for… I don't know, an answer. What I get is, "Boy, someone must have cleaned this place this morning."
	My second thought was, "I wonder if it is still there…" Doing this is bad for me.
	It isn't there, of course. My garden. It died along with the rest of our home, it died right along with her…
	It starts. Electrical currents move through the conduit and light up the processor, millions of impulses converging at a single point, a committee of information shown before presiding members. I can feel the dam cracking open. Exactly what I didn't want to happen begins to happen. Memories play in lieu of loud protesting, the dam cracks even more-
	no no no no no no no no no no 
	I can see her, we can all see her, so close to me that I breathe her unconscious breath, her arms and legs still wrapped around me, and I'm thinking about how different it was this time, this specific time. Profoundly passionate yet subdued, quiet, moving around me like a tide and pulling me deeper into her, time passing so quickly that when I opened my eyes again, it was over and she was asleep, clinging tight to me like I just saved her life. I didn't know then, but that was the first thought I had about her having my-
	so weak as it is
	Amazing how I returned right to it. Details upon details that I had stored away, never knowing that I would come to hate those images because I could never have them again. They exist and will always exist, but I should stop everything if all I have is the past to hang onto. A river pours out and it covers me, forcing me to my knees and burning me alive, and it's too late; the images and memories won't stop coming. They come up for air expecting it to be the way it was, but it isn't, not by a long shot, and my fondest memories, every reason I had for living, they're all raped and killed and destroyed when they see the unflinching reality, the way it is at this very second.
	so weak
	Now I've done it. Lights in the house of the committee go out. Rabid emotions take over in the edit. Host organisms are preoccupied with the past, their own memories. They shut down the committee of rational thought from time to time, and the body is stuck. This organism in particular is wishing he could take back the last two years of his life. Just strike it from the record.
	I'm sorry. You don't get to do that. 
	Nobody gets to do that.
	All this time I was wondering what the point of all this was, what the experiment was meant to accomplish.
	He wants to see if we can go on living, and he's giving us every means to do so.
	Here begins the experiment.
	The survivors are gathering around me, expecting a decision even though I'm on my knees and quietly clawing at the dirt like it will eventually be my grave. Why the hell would they expect this of me? I'm out of my element. I've been out of my element for years.
	The house lights come on again. It can't be determined if these internal members are aware of their responsibility, if they know that what they decide will choose a course for their host to follow, a road that in the end has a fifty-fifty chance of ending in death. No capacity for fear, or enough capacity to suppress it. They have to make decisions constantly, forever choosing a course for the host to follow.
	Calming down. I stand to my feet, doing my best to mimic the actions of a long-dead soldier, myself five years ago. Difficult to remember what else I would do in this situation.
	Well, I wouldn't be so afraid.
	Hope is useless outside of a motivational tool. It kept the muscle alive and that was it. Upon exiting, there was an intense drop in the internal graph, new information sent through the stream to tip the scale once more. The presiding committee determines that the host body is wholly unequipped for this new environment; they can feel it getting weaker and weaker, where only hours earlier it was much stronger, as much of a master of its own little universe as it could be.
	Every single decision could end in death. That's just the way it is.
	Do this or don't do this. Go here or go there. It's easy to lose track of the spinning coin through all the fog.
	I would have definitely tried to save everyone a lot sooner. That's for goddamn sure. It's too late to do much of anything now. All of them, even Sabrina and Jenn, are still looking at me like I can fix this when I couldn't save them when we still had a chance. I never used my head.
	I ask to anyone listening, "Is this everyone?" What a stock question. And I already know the answer. Trying to save more of us would be like trying to do math with zeroes, to quote a famous author.
	"Yes," is the response. I turn to her in time to see her look away, avoiding eye contact.
	More comes back. Gauging the answer throws me off guard. Her hesitation is palpable. It is easy to tell that she is lying. The electrons are charging, the battle begins on the decision on whether or not to call her on it. Believe her or don't. Figure out why she's lying or save who you can. Look for more. Count your blessings and cut the losses. Here, the graphs come up. They measure the will to survive, how many lives the host is speaking for, any ticking clocks, any reason why she would be lying or if the sensors are mistaken. They debate and they compare. They stand up and take votes. Everything is a popularity contest, even on a molecular level. I focus on her and through a prolonged series of inquiries and broken down neural connections, I remember that her name is Alexis. That she was training to be a doctor. Her eyes remind me of Holly.
	"Okay." It is mumbled. My hand touches her shoulder and I can feel her relax through the miniscule amount of contact. "Want to hear something funny? … I can't tell if we're outside."
	Nobody laughs.
	Maybe it was the delivery.
	They follow me closer to the village square, where the structure imbeds itself into the ground. I recognize the material when we get closer to the tiny entrance. We all recognize it. It all falls into place. I never thought once to mention aloud the black building we all saw being constructed. I must have known on some level that they had seen it too. What was inside was meant for all of us to see. If that's the case, then what we are doing now is also meant for us. Our avenue of escape is another part of the equation. All we have to do is walk it.
	I have an excuse prepared in seconds. We're doing this because this is how their backwards minds work. They were doing us a favor by locking us up, killing the ones we love, starving some and beating others, and their biggest favor, setting us free and offering a way out. If we don't accept their hospitality, if we choose to die fighting an impossible fight against them, it is our fault. Entirely our fault. That is why we must accept. It will be the last thing they expect.
	But nobody asks any questions.
	Inside, it is comfortable and relaxing, made especially for us. To our left, our beds hang lengthwise out of the walls, plenty of room for everyone. In the center is a circular container, possibly for food and water. The roof tapers out to a point far above us, air vents and filters benignly smiling down on us. To the right, machinery blinks and hums soothingly, display screens glowing with maps of our atmosphere, our planet, and… beyond. Way, way beyond.
	"Hidden from your human hands."
	It's a ship. A rocket, capable of piercing the skin of the upper atmosphere and going deep, deep under, following a perfect path to a preordained destiny on the other side of the universe.
	This is what Robert meant. This is what our purpose is.
	Barely a second passes before I'm at the control console, searching for the ignition switch. "Get in and hang on."
	We're doing it. We're really doing it. 
	Even if they didn't follow me in here, I still would have done it.
	It still hurts the organism to say goodbye like this. However, what is deeply ingrained within the complex records of the committee is that what the host wants is hardly ever rational or best. The committee decides what is best, whether or not the unpredictable body obeys. Our host wants to stay. He cannot. Years of practice of doing the opposite of what the body wants has taught him how to handle it.
	Pretend it isn't happening to me.
	Sabrina shuts the hatch tight, getting help from Jenn, their weak arms twisting the wheel closed. They turn and offer a smile for me that I can't do much with, but the gesture is nice. They find two empty chairs at the console and strap in.
	That is my real reason, my excuse for leaving; it truly is easier this way. If I stay, I have to admit that I'm working towards the past, starting over to get back what I used to have. I can't do that. There is no starting over. There is no rebuilding our empire. We get what was given to us -- survival -- and that's all. To create another empire, it will take about three or four generations to get over the past, to truly be free. And that won't last very long. Thus… no need to get worked up about living. No need at all.
	The echoes hurt too much.
	There is no window, barred or unbarred, to give us one last look at our dying planet. It's okay, we can imagine it just fine.
	I flick three switches upwards and hear the conduits powering up. Exchanging information. Same old same old. There is rumbling all around us, heat below our feet, and I press the last button.
	I can do this. It is possible. I can forget. I can forget everything. I can forget how to hope. I can do it. I can live for the future. The future is all that exists. One task at a time. Finish one and acquire another. Get off the planet. After that… we shall see…
	The rocket cuts slowly at first, then indiscriminately, coldly into the decaying atmosphere, cutting along the stomach from the neck to the tail, cutting close to the backbone and slicing through ribs, separating skin from meat, eating it off the knife and throwing out the rest. It grows dark. The rumbling overwhelms me-
	He wins the game. He wins. 
	Our guts spill out like the sky,
	and everyone, all of us,
	no matter how far we run,
	we are food for the slaughter,
	dolphins blindly swimming,
	waiting to be devoured,
	in an ocean full of sharks.
 *Chapter 45*: Between Dreams and Nightmares

 	BETWEEN DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

Doomsday was a ruse. From concept to execution, I meticulously designed the project to fail. Nobody suspected a thing—not even Snively. By removing myself from the picture entirely, I could survey the playing field and calculate a far more elaborate game plan. It afforded me not only the luxury of time, but the opportunity to offer a false sense of security to my enemies. As soon as they let their guard down, I could crush them from all sides. 	After the spectacular demolition of the Doomsday Tower, it was largely assumed that I was dead—although I did hear scattered rumors that the blast from the Deep Power Stones had sent me into the Void, or some such nonsense. Those demented animals are hopelessly credulous. The simple truth is that I never entered the Void, involuntarily or otherwise, and I have little interest in doing so. Rather, I spent a great deal of time observing my enemies on Mobius. It wasn't long before I discovered the location of Knothole: a crucial element of my plan that, ironically, came about quite by accident. One of my new, stealthier SpyEyes happened to wander into an unexplored area of the forest, and voila. Did you seriously believe I wouldn't have found it eventually? The Great Forest is only so Great, after all—and if I truly grew tired of searching, I could have always started a forest fire.
	Anyway, this information would ordinarily have been transmitted to the command center, and thereby to Snively—who, I might add, was greatly enjoying his newfound autonomy—but I elected to overwrite that little directive. My base of operations was located inside the caldera of the centuries-extinct Dark Volcano (Mobians are delightfully clever with their geographic names, aren't they?), where I could gather information and refine my plans in secret. Upon learning the location of Knothole, I dispatched a dozen more probes and spent weeks studying their behavior—their daily routines, their private lives, their secrets. Of course, I would later use this information to group them strategically in my prison cells.
	The Freedom Fighters themselves recognized that it must have taken years to design the prison complex. In actuality, it took decades. I had been imagining the cells, diagramming and refining them, since before the Coup. The idea was born primarily from my love of experiments—which is natural, I suppose, given my scientific background—and I daydreamed about it with some frequency. After the fallout of the Coup and the subsequent Freedom Movement, my timing had to be absolutely precise. I began constructing the cells without Snively's knowledge, using the Doomsday Project as a diversion. In a whimsical bit of foreshadowing, I hid the construction site with a sophisticated series of mirrors.
	It is with great satisfaction that I finally confronted Snively in the command center, months after my alleged demise. The use of force was unnecessary; my presence alone was enough to put the fear of god in him. The coward babbled on and on, stuttering through apologies and meaningless pledges of servitude. It would have been so easy for me to simply do away with him—he more than deserved it. Alas, for all his faults, the boy does have a unique gift for the art of torture. It ultimately proved advantageous to allow Snively the privilege of doing my dirty work.
	There were, however a few unexpected events along the course of my plan—not the least of which was the Hedgehog's escape from the roboticizer, following our ambush on Knothole. This occurred as a result of his two remaining compatriots, Princess Acorn and Sir Charles Hedgehog, bursting into the roboticizer chamber in the midst of his transformation. Oh, how he screamed in horror as the light seared into his bones, blood coagulating into silicon, skin solidifying into cold steel. Just as his legs and torso were nearing completion, the Princess machine-gunned the roboticizer into oblivion—a breathtaking ejection of diamond dust that gave Snively a miniature nervous breakdown. Sir Charles fled the chamber with his unconscious nephew, followed closely by the Princess until a SWATbot immobilized her with a stun weapon. I later put her into a chemically induced coma and imprisoned her with two other choice subjects—but I'll come back to that part momentarily.
	It was sometime earlier that I completed my greatest creation yet: a synthetic red fox named Robert, capable of learning and behaving almost indistinguishably from a living counterpart. So realistic were his attributes that he, in fact, believed himself to be an actual Mobian. His first objective was to assassinate Sir Charles Hedgehog in his Robotropolis hideaway; thereafter he would use the information I programmed into Princess Acorn's handheld device, NICOLE, to organize and execute a mass breakout in the prison complex. My methods were wickedly deceptive—forcing Robert to dig for information and assemble it piece by piece. This would ensure ample time for the prisoners to figure out how to escape on their own, without Robert's help. They failed miserably, needless to say. The key to their escape was right in front of them all along: the toilet water. If they drank it, a chemical would have counteracted the sleeping gas, enabling them to simply exit their cells; I left the doors open for ten minutes every night. The only prisoner who figured it out—Commander Brandon—was so crazy by that time, he thought he was hallucinating. When Robert finally got around to releasing the rest of the Freedom Fighters, they were so desperate to escape that they'd trust anybody, even a stranger of questionable origin. This perfectly supported my original hypothesis.
	But here's where the story gets really interesting.
	When Robert located Sir Charles' hideaway, he found the old hedgehog inside treating Sonic for his wounds. I did not anticipate this. Fortunately for all of us, Sonic was unconscious at the time. Following his instructions, Robert assassinated Charles with a shot to the head, then proceeded to deactivate all of his equipment. Sonic awoke during the commotion and noticed Robert and the gun. He did not notice his uncle's robotic corpse. Keep in mind that the Hedgehog's condition was quite severe: his incubation in the machine hadn't been long enough for the ligaments and brain tissue to properly fuse with his new cybernetic limbs. As a consequence, he was unable to coordinate himself, and he effectively became a paraplegic. In addition, his speech and thought processes were hindered by excruciating glitches. It's no wonder, then, that the Hedgehog thought he recognized Robert. He asked the fox to shoot him.
	I had never planned for Robert to ever encounter Sonic, much less murder him, so imagine my surprise when he actually honored that request. It still baffles me. I did not instruct Robert to kill the Hedgehog—he clearly made that decision on his own, which should have been impossible. I'm not complaining, mind you, but I have yet to encounter a reasonable scientific explanation for his behavior. On the other hand, since I never instructed him not to kill Sonic the Hedgehog, perhaps he simply made a logical assumption.
	What most confounds me, though, is what took place immediately afterward. Robert stepped outside, put the gun to his head, and fired directly into his own temple. It would have obviously defied his programming to make that decision on purpose, so it's possible that the act of killing Sonic might have scrambled something. Remarkably, his neurological architecture suffered only minimal damage. The essence of his assignment remained more or less intact, although he could no longer recall who he was or what had just taken place. His ensuing relationship with NICOLE is equally peculiar, but fascinating nonetheless.
	As it would turn out, the Hedgehog did not actually die when Robert shot him. The plasma bolt penetrated his brain, which most certainly killed his organic half, but his robotic parts remained fully functional and began to take on a life of their own. I shall attempt to explain this for the layman. There are two primary data cores, you see, in any roboticized Mobian. Commands are shared between a secondary core in the head cavity (which performs simple tasks, like prioritizing instructions) and the primary core in the chest cavity (which processes more specific directives like "work," "attack," etc.). Since the Hedgehog's roboticization was incomplete, he never had a secondary core to begin with. His consciousness, then—or whatever primitive facsimile was left of it—was transmitted to the primary core when he died. In essence, he became the living dead.
	To make things even more interesting, the undead Hedgehog somehow grew to realize that Robert was working for me, even though Robert himself had forgotten. Call it robotic intuition. Over time, he also "learned" that the fox had been responsible for his uncle's murder. Apparently, that seedling of revenge was all it took for the Hedgehog to rise and kill Robert at all costs. Seriously. You just can't make this stuff up.
	And yet, in spite of everything, the cards still fell into place, and I got to witness a jolly good show—complete with stunts, explosions, and all manner of violent spectacle. I think Robert's prerecorded Message From Our Sponsor might have scared the hell out of some of them (namely Tristan), but they still boarded the rocket ship out of their own volition. Then again, they didn't really have much of a choice, since there's nothing left for them here. Robert was the one who built the rocket ship, by the way; it was among the numerous projects he toiled on day and night. I think he did a splendid job.
	Just a few hours ago, I had a nice little dinner with Princess Acorn to celebrate my victory. Her coma was yet another charade; all it took to wake her was a simple injection. She and I would frequently meet for tea in the evenings after the prisoners were asleep, chatting about so many interesting topics: village gossip, military secrets, coordinates to the remaining Freedom Fighter groups, and so on. I never expected to retrieve that information from the other prisoners, because the Princess was the only individual who could possibly have known it. We tortured the others for the satisfaction alone.
	As you might expect, the Princess did not give us the information voluntarily. Instead, we administered a regular dose of my special truth serum, making her pleasantly cooperative. Side effects included drowsiness, upset stomach, mild headaches, and a distorted sense of time and place. If Sonic was the living dead, Sally Acorn was surely his zombie bride.
	At dinner this evening, the Princess didn't touch her plate. She sat across from me, staring vacantly at the candelabra centerpiece between us. She rarely speaks anymore, so I did most of the talking. I said that her father would love what I've done with the place, if it were even possible for him to visit. She didn't think that was funny. After a moment of awkward silence, I decided that medicating her for weeks on end might have caused a bit of brain damage. I then dismissed her from the table and allowed her to leave Robotropolis if she wished. The Princess just stared at me. Finally, I asked the SWATbots to escort her from the building.
	Out of pure, morbid curiosity, I decided to follow her with one of my SpyEyes. She was wandering aimlessly through the junkyards like a dumb animal. It was sad, in a way, to see her reduced to so little. Though I'll never admit it aloud, the Princess was undoubtedly my worthiest adversary. At least for a time.
	I was about to divert my attention to something else when I noticed another Freedom Fighter on the monitor. He appeared to be a dingo—Colin, one of my favorite subjects. He, too, looked somehow lost. By now, Robert's rocket ship had already exited the Mobian atmosphere, so perhaps the dingo elected to stay behind. He was making a statement—very touching. Except now he realized how pointless it was.
	When he noticed the Princess, he wandered over to her. Now there must have been an interesting conversation: "Hello, I'm Colin. I'm lonely and feeling sorry for myself." "Hello, I'm Sally. I no longer have a brain." "Would you like to stand here and talk about our meaningless existence?" "Sure, I don't have any plans tonight." "So what's your opinion on the current state of Mobius?" "Actually, I forgot. I no longer have a brain." "Oh, alright. Nice chatting with you." "Same here."
	There was no audio feed on the camera, so I turned it off after awhile.
	As my story draws to a close, dear reader, I'd like for you to imagine the beautiful, galactic expanse that now stretches before our friends in the rocket ship. There is a planet near Mobius that is mostly uninhabited, save for indigenous wildlife and miles of luscious rainforest. Its atmosphere is identical to ours. Let us call it New Mobius. Our friends will cross that distance in a few short years; there is plenty of food and oxygen aboard the ship to sustain them for the journey. When they arrive on the surface and explore the terrain, they will have already sown the seeds for a new civilization. Decades from now, even centuries, they will be tucking their children into bed and telling them stories of Old Mobius. They will remember my reign and their pitiful attempts to overthrow me. They will remember the end, my grand finale, when they were desperate enough to accept my help and abandon their homeworld in my hour of triumph. Their entire civilization will owe itself to Dr. Ivo Robotnik: the very tyrant who brought Old Mobius to its knees. They will live every day in fear, knowing that I might return someday to reclaim what is mine. This story, these very pages you are reading, will be my enduring legacy. I have achieved immortality. As long as there is someone to tell the story, I will never be forgotten.
	If I wanted, I could easily transmit my conscious being into a pristine, mechanical vessel. I could live for all eternity and command my empire into the far reaches of the universe. But I am so tired—so thoroughly sick of this existence. For years, I've thought of little else than crushing this planet and murdering my enemies in the most humiliating fashion. Now that I've finally reached the end, there's nothing left for me. I have spent my satisfaction. I'm ready to leave this world and never return.
	I cannot remember the last time I slept in peace, but I shall soon welcome it. In a matter of days, a derivative of my sleeping chemical will have fully permeated the Mobian atmosphere. Every living organism on the face of the planet will fall into a deep, eternal slumber—exhaling simultaneously and vanishing into the night.
	In that vacant space between dreams and nightmares, I will always be watching.