Who here remembers me? About three years ago (yes, it's been that long!) I posted the first maybe three chapters of this story. The response I got from that was awesome, so I decided I should write more of the story. Three years later I am still writing that same story, and that one story is so big it is in a five book series known as Declaration of Insanity.
I've been revising my story, editing it so it all flows together nicer. Most people here probably will not remember it, and what was 4 chapters is, well, a lot more than 4 chapters. The older version of up to maybe 5 or 6 chapters is on netraptor.org under the author name Sonic4speed. Though, before I submit my final copy to netraptor, I wanted to show it here to the people that viewed the beginning of this literary monster here. I promised those forumites so long ago that I would finish it, and so I will, and they will be the first to see.
Now, I give you, Declaration of Insanity!
Prologue-Chapter 1. (Delivered in segments so responses or, "I wonder what will happen next!?" comments and other conversation can take place.)
Prologue to D.I. "Beside himself."
It was cold, very, very cold.
Within what seemed a distance could be heard the rushing, thunderous boom of running water, which inturn was followed by the hollowed sound of liquid seeping through the cracks within this chamber's ceiling. He was unsure, as his eyesight seemed as though it would never quite align to the pitch of darkness which inhabited him and the chamber, but he could feel a residue trickling down upon his head.
Drip-Drip-Drip............
..it was enough to make him go insane..or, more of, keep him that way.
He, himself, was a fox boy, native of Mobius. Although he doesn't know this for sure, as he has no reculection of his parents, relatives, etc...but as far as he knew, he was just a normal Mobian. He doesn't have, nor did he ever have a second tail, as a certain two-tailed fox you may know about.
Having no knowledge of family ties nor where he originated from, he can only guess his actual age...(although he seems to be about 15 years old. Though that, too, can not be certain.) What is his name? Well, that's classified...(that, or he doesn't know his birth name, nor has he been given an actual name thus far.)
His fur was wet, or so he could only imagine.
The only senses left within his arsenal were his sense of smell, (which he would prefer he didn't have at that moment, as sulphur mixed with the delightful stench of damp, soiled, bloodstained fur doesn't hang lightly upon the snout) taste, (which was that of, of course, soil and the reminisence of the iron tang of old blood) touch, (heavy build-up of lactic acids and bruises makes a guy quite sore) and hearing, (being the rythmic tap of water upon his forehead and the thunderous rush of water from afar) beyond that, he was pretty much dead to the world.
He began to try to clench his fist.
He submitted himself in trying to contract the various muscle fibers within his right palm, but all in all came to no avail. He expected this to happen some what, as he was quite badly banged and bruised. These things along with the added support and resistance of his black, leather padded, polymeric, stretchable, fingerless gloves, he knew that such a trivial thing would be a challenging feat at that.
It seemed as if he just wasn't in control of his body anymore.
It appeared to him as if he was beside himself, that, he was present there in some kind of fanciful astro projectional state, but yet, was thousands of miles away from his own body.
He thought that maybe he was just getting a little zoned out, as some kind of babaric torture was being laid about. (he could not move, and the water coming upon his head was very much referencible to say...Chinese water torture?) He engaged himself in moving many other muscles and limbs, trying to maybe shake his foot around or contract his theighs, but yet again, it seemed asthough his body had gone on strike.
Feeling quite helpless, as, at that point, he was...He slowly began to slip away.
His mind being otherwise overwhelmed with the sound of rushing water, the taste of soil and blood, the lingering feeling of bruises and overall soreness upon his body, the over all consuming darkness/emptyness within and around him...slowly began to fade away, to a place that seemed quite far away.
Just as the annoyances, pain, hollowness surrounding and engulfing him began to come to a halt, when he finally found a place of peace he had always sought, his eye lids would suddenly peel apart. When those cold, black metal bars that stood before him rung out, his cage doors would retract up into the rooftop.
"Caged animal 17651 from Cell Block 8772; the master wishes to see you.."
He looked up at the large metallic figure approaching him. He watched as it took off his restraining cuffs from his legs and arms, which made him suddenly fall to the ground from those restraints that were still mounted upon the wall.
Hitting the cold, hard, concrete surface of the floor, he suddenly gasped as what breath he had right then now had been knocked out. Before he could begin to take a few recovery breaths to replenish himself of much needed oxygen, the drone had lifted him up by his long head of hair and suspended him in the air.
The bucket-headed robot quickly put replacement restraints upon his limbs, which included, yet wasn't limited to, two metal cuffs conjoined with a length of chain, then the same only for his feet, but joined by the ankle. Along all else was straddled an iron ball which would trail behind him upon a length of chain.
Sore, beaten, and blood stained, he was ever so nicely escorted (or otherwise hurled forward by his head of hair out from the cell's threshold) out and struggled along the hard, ice cold, cemented floor. He was bare footed and was still panting for air. He walked down the long corridor of metallic walls and otherwise dark and gothic platform. His heart began to sink, as he knew what was awaiting him at the "Master's" chambers.
Chapter 1 "Corridor of the Forgotten"
Ideas, memories, thoughts rolled into his mind. Where was he? What had he been doing? What train had hit him? Why, why, why? What was going on? It must have been a dream, yet every time he'd get thrown down to the floor, he couldn't seem to wake up.
After being hastily escorted out of his cell, he slowly began to pace himself down the corridor. He raised his head up and adverted his eyes from the floors cold, gray complection, and gazed down the expanse of the elongated hall before him. There were rows upon rows of the same kind of miniature, stone-clad cubical cells, stretching as far as his eyes could perceive. It might not have been all that large, he thought, as the dimming light sources left little to be shown but shadows and the gleaming streaks of water that would slowly trickle down the walls. That thunderous, he guessed, waterfall that must be right behind his jail cell grew quieter, as he walked away further down the path.What light there was emanated from sets of consecutive foot-long strip lighting boxes, which hung loftily from the ceiling upon few minuscule entwined cords. He thought it was somewhat odd, as the only sounds were of running water and the whine of fading light resepticales...maybe a few cave crickets...but nothing that could come from, perhaps, his fellow caged brethren.
The large metallic drone that had freed him from his cell, only to put more restraints on him quickly made pace. It walked ahead of him while leading the way to a possible imminent doom. This bi-ped abomination cradled a long synthetic assault rifle, whose stock had been hollowed out, and was fit to be a light para-frame foot troop laser rifle. It was odd, he thought, that a prison guard of any kind would be running around with such a large, long rifle. It would only make more sense to him if that automaton had some kind of anti-personnel pistol with some stopping power.
He brought up his coupled wrists and slowly brushed an inner forearm across his brow. His fur glistened with the sweat he worked up from walking however far he had. He'd marched all that way while having strained against the iron chains, shackles, anklets, and the trailing tethered, iron ball. As strange as it may be, this was a feeling he was all too familiar with. (Being chained up and forced to march on forward to a place most likely to become his death bed) Atleast, so he thought.
His rusted "gauntlets" began to rub off flecks of oxidixed iron into his skin, and with the constant moving and shifting, these specs quickly worked themselves within his flesh. The binded chain between his ankles had already begun to kink and constrict, seconds later to loosen; a motion that made him want to trip up every few foot-falls and go face first to the ground. The iron ball that was tied by a certain length of iron links to his right ankle had quickly begun to chaff and was certain to eventually make his ankle swell and blister. Now that would leave a definite red band around his ankle, then in the future, most assuredly a decently sized bruise.
Slowly..but surely.. as he made his way down the corridor of earthen stone, he began to realize...He must be in some kind of underground cavern! Yes, it only made sense to him now! The running water that was constantly dripping from the walls and the ceiling, the sheer coldness in the air, the air in fact being quite thin; the emptiness, the dead silence of the place besides the natural forces working about and the illumination all proved it. Then again, as he thought about it..Where was everyone?! As surely as anyone within this outpost would figure, if this were to be a large imprisoning operation..where were all the prisoners?
Puzzled, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, if only for a moment, to collect his thoughts while turning around. His shackled ankle's chains twisted in on themselves. They kinked and interlocked. He tried to fix his gaze back down to the jail cells from which he once resided.
He saw no life at all, nothing stirred within any of those barred cages, there was nothing...<i> I am nothing..</i>
Before he could finish his thought, a quite large, mechanical "claw" came at him, quickly ensnaring him. It pulled back upon his head with a sheer force, hurdling him back.
"AAAHHHRRRGGHhh..hah.." He wailed.
He hit the floor with a deafening thud. His chains locked his ankles together and quickly made his stance crumble, then in no time he had been swept from his feet.
When the back of his head hit that concrete floor, he went out like a light. His eye lids snapped shut.
The sound of his head hitting the cement was enough to make anyone who witnessed, besides those of a cold heart of steel, to beckon and cringe. The prison guard looked down upon the figure of the unconscious lavender haired fox unimpressed, as he was crumpled upon the cold gray floor; a fox entangled within his own restraints. The Swat-bot whirred, and a mechanical voice rung out and echoed within the corridor's walls, "Pitiful Fleshling.."
Just as the cold, steel figure lurched forward and attempted to grab the dragging iron ball and chain tethered to the fox's ankle, the underground cavern shook to life. All of a sudden the entire corridor, the cavern, the continent began raging, shaking so hard, it was as if at any time the entire chunk of Mobius was going to be blown apart. Just as the steel clad prison guard had leaned its mechanical exoskeleton forward, the unsteady ground beneath it shook hard enough that its robotic leg's "knees" buckled and snapped under pressure. Before the machine could voice out a "SYSTEM ERROR..." command, it fell forward, in a path destined to crush the poor guy's already beat up body. The fox, even though still unconscious, began to get that certain "sinking" feeling. A quick, cold shiver ran down his spine, for he knew deep down that whatever was going to happen next would certainly determine where he was going in life, however much of it was available to him.
Note: These {brackets} signal that the story is taking place not within the mainstream of occurrences (different times, places etc...)
{Some time before Prologue takes place (before our main character has been taken out of his cell) Near the "Master's" chambers}
A tall, dark figure loomed through the shadows, taking long, gaping steps while keeping a perfect, linear, monotonous stride. Its cold gray armor was a perfect match for the surrounding interior of the building and, in fact, seemed like an improvement over the "Master's" decorative genius. Nearing the drone's destination, it came upon a rather small, dimly lit room. Shadows were cast across the walls, contrasting the otherwise solid, sandy gray stone walls. There were no pictures, paintings, or other such frivolous items that would line the walls of most other homes off-branching rooms, just barren walls and ice-cold, level stone floors. Not even an empty container of food lined the room to characterize the "master's" office, but for one quite plain, gray metallic desk. The desk stretched 5' feet long and 2' & three-quarters wide. On this particular model, it debuted the improved, yet quite uncomfortable-looking machined flat, square tubed chair. The chair had only a foot of back support and a non-existent seating pad.
A very ominous feeling filled every corridor of every room of the megaplex building construct, and the "master's" chamber was no exception to this rule. In fact, now that the staff had thinned out to a near non-existence, machines hummed only a very reminiscent, monotone tune at their most minimum rate of function (for energy conservation reasons.) The construct had become very quiet. The slightest sound would break the air of silence, and make even the "master's" hairs raise up on the back of his neck, if only for an instant. Sometimes, with the aura of silence and paranoia within the rooms and halls, this Overseer could sometimes swear there was someone there. It appeared to him that a living, breathing creature might be tip-toeing through the shadows, following in his foot steps, airing strength and stealth in their every movement..This creature being constantly poised, and ready to strike him down at any moment during the intervals of his breath.
After stepping into the SWAT-bot's master's chambers, the atamaton lowered his head in submission and loyalty to his master and spoke in its pitchy, robotic voice. "Master..your subject has been captured and enprisoned within the abandoned outpost 100592. Everything has gone according to your bidding, my lord."
After jumping a few feet from his chair, the outline of a short figure stood in the distance of the dimly lit room. As the SWAT-bot reported, the curvature of his lips began to become more obscure as a gritty smile released from this "lords" quite un-charming face. "Very well, my servant," A snobby voice projected from him within the room as he faced away from the drone. He had simply been twiddling his thumbs before its arrival, "make the proper arrangements and bring him to me, ALIVE, or otherwise...I shall delight in dismantling you piece-by-piece.. and throw you into the core for the very hunk of slag that you are."
The "master's" servant quickly regained its composure, standing fully upright and firm in posture, "I shall not disappoint thee, master" The walking, talking exoskeleton quickly made its way out of the room. As it arrived in another room, a brilliant display of lights suddenly flashed within the otherwise dark and dank Gothic atmosphere that was, and for a short time gave the building some life.
After completing the task at hand, the "master" retired to his desk, sitting in his hard, metallic chair. He reached down and slid open a hidden compartment within it desk, then quickly retrieved a laptop computer, setting it before him. As he had unfolded the computer screen up from its horizontal and locked position, its screen lit up and cast light where shadows had once been. Behind the wicked figure of the adorning man sitting before his computer, a creature stirred, and swiftly made pace to exit the room before it could be found out. For only a short while after, in a room quite distant from the "master's" chambers, a radio transmitter would crackle to life, "Report, the Floating Island is breaking orbit. All units, evacuate the island at once! I repeat, leave the island at.."
*A period of radio silence*
"What!? Self-unit doesn't want to be decomis-..!?"*fwwsshhh*
A loud mechanical shriek was bellowed, such a high pitched tune that it was impossible for most overlanders to acknowledge, but made Mobians want to wail and shout out in plea for mercy. The desparity in the voice was obvious even to the disturbed minded. Before the message could be completed, the radio transmission began to falter and made undistinguishable frizzling sounds, then came to a sudden, dead stop. Just as soon as the radio had flickered with the spark of life, it had just as suddenly faded back out from animation. So it is with all things. So would the experience be for many on that descending isle. Who can survive the impending jaws of fate?
End chapter.
Hmmmm...
Quite bleak, which is good since I for some reason I cannot dicern, like my sonic-based fics bleak. Everything is pretty well described and uses a nice range of vocabulary, which is nice.
I like it, I'll be looking out for it in future, well, as much as I look out for stuff, I've still got a backlog of "To read" sat around here.
Keep it up, but advertise it in an RP again and you'll get a spanking ;P
Chapter 3 Tidal Tempest
{back inside the cavern, where we left off}
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The SWAT-bot descended, moving forward and down at the same time in a sloping path to the floor. This was an older, obsolete form of SWAT-bot, of which of course Dr. Robotnik himself had designed and created in his earlier days.
What were the defects, why was this design in-superior to his later models that he would discontinue their production? As what had just happened moments earlier, the knee joints on the robot were too weak to take major jarring. This was a grave flaw as this was the foot troop model. Another thing that didn't quite settle well was that this robot could not bring itself upright from a laying position without the assistance of other units. Julian (Robotnik) had noticed this quite early after its production, and made a quick upgrade to make it so that if its leg joints did become faulty, or if it simply fell forward that there was a mechanism inside the SWAT-bot to immediately release anything that was within its hands in an attempt to catch themselves before they'd hit the ground. This was to help keep the droid from sustaining any further damage.
Just as the True Evil Genius had designed, the SWAT-bot carried out to its internal programming's whim. An emergency gear within the SWAT-bot's hull sprang into action, making the robot's mechanical hands to instantaneously open to their full capacity holding out wide. It hit the ground with a deafening clash, it hanging directly over the fox's outstretched body. The para-frame foot troop rifle fell from the droid's steely grasp, landing upon the fox boy's chest. The rifle did not discharge, as it had fallen upon the madded fur that lined his chest in all its dull, damp glory.
The entire expanse of the Floating Island had been shaking, threatening to fall apart upon the very rock foundations that held the island together. The cavern which our "hero" had been confined in was definitely no exception.
(You, the reader, might think that our main 1# fox character has a lot of inner dialogue, monologue, or atleast something reminescent of thought in his mind. That, my dear friend and Sonic fanfic reader, is not the case for now. Perhaps you will become just as insane, hollow, and deprived as our Unknown-Protagonist by reading to the end of this story? Let's find out, shall we?)
All around within this old, abandoned outpost were cracked stone and cemented walls. With this sudden outburst that shook the island straight to its core; the cavern shifted internally. The result was great pressure laid upon every square inch of this hollowed space in the ground. The original leaking cracks our Fox had seen would widen, and some of the foundations he recently had walked upon were beginning to crumble. Cracks upon the ceiling directly above him and his android "companion" were subjects to jar and crack, to shift and widen. Until just moments before the cavern would still, a large sheet of rock would descend down and bare upon one of this ill-fated couple. A brilliant yet brief display of light glittered from the SWAT's neck as wires crossed and sparked. This scene would have given the fox some short satisfaction, if only he'd been concious to see that rock bluntly sliced, severing its bucket-head!
Gravity's pull swept across the island, and so it then began to drop from the clouds, this haven above Mobius. The seemingly insignificant duo now of a dismembered robot and a teenage fox trapped within a collapsing cavern in an unstable compartment of rock and stone hidden within the not-so Floating Island; all seemed quite hopeless, pathetic now...But it wouldn't be fair to just say "They all died and the island was destroyed, The End." So the story shall continue. (If you're reading this thinking that he wouldn't actually die...then YOUR ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! Though still only partially...)
The island touched down upon the ocean's surface with a little splash, causing at least 500 foot tsunami waves in every direction off the coast of the once Floating Island.
Disturbances from the impact of the island could be felt all the way down to the ocean's floor, causing deep, forceful, sweeping currents to shake up and even destroy some of the aquatic life in an instant. This definitely disturbed mother nature. (That old hag.) There were quite evident "holes" in the sky, as clouds had been parted and blown out from underneath the island as it fell. All in all, it was a hard impact for all living creatures within the disaster's radius.
The underground cavern outpost our hero was enprisoned in was quite a disaster in itself. Large portions of the great corridor which our protagonist had traveled had been blocked off from debris that had fallen from the deteriorating ceiling. Most of those light boxes that had illuminated the area within the otherwise pitch dark cavern were either crushed from impact, knocked down and trapped under falling debris, or still hung from the ceiling upon mere threads of wires. They were cast down and swung slowly back and forth. Cracks where water once only trickled and seeped through now became deep crevices and gouges where water was quickly beginning to spread through and rush into what was left of the grand corridor.
A stream of water that had been fed from above swept down through debris and ran quickly across his cheek. This was the water of the ocean, which was salty and extremely cold. Again, it seemed as if he was getting the "water treatment." Slowly, yet quite rapidly (he's just that confused) he came back out from unconsciousness.
"Uuuuggghh."
This noise came out from the very pit of his stomach. He could feel the mobility within his joints return to him, although limited as his body felt like it had been hit by a train. He steadily stretched his arms and legs out from the center of his body. He ran a hand up and rubbed the back of his head with his fingers outstretched from his black, leather-padded, fingerless gloves. It was damp, he thought, as he slowly retrieved his shackled hand back down. He held it infront of him. It may not have been the kind of dampness he thought it was, as he had been awoken in the first place by a jet of water. He opened his eyes, and yet, saw nothing. Had he become blind?
His body was numb, and..could not be sure his body was still entirely intact. Sitting up, he quickly ran his tethered hands down across every length of his body, even his tail. With subtile movement he rolled each limb and joint with the aid of a guiding hand. He was fine, or, more of, hadn't sustained any further damage since he was last knocked out. After he had checked himself over and completed the most obvious things that were before him his senses had suddenly wondered elsewhere. He could feel a puddle of water forming underneath him, but he couldn't be quite too sure of that. <i>Perhaps I will drown in my own blood...</i>
It seemed cold, unusually cold. It had been like he had gone from the refrigerator into the deep freezer, and he didn't quite care for that first one in the first place, much less the latter. After a short time, his sight came back to him, or at least some of it. His eyes had just begun to adjust to the very dim light that radiated from scattered places within the corridor.
Crrrreeeeaaaak!
CRRReeeAAAk!
CRasH!
He had felt something, a weight upon his chest. He was somewhat confused about this, as he had checked himself only moments before. His hands rose up and came upon the cold, smooth object. He slid the item up and outward from his body, then winced as he adjusted his gaze to look upon it. The rifle's luster was quite pleasing to the eye, as he had been surrounded by gloom and doom for a seeming eternity now.
Gush!
As mesmerized as he was at the moment by the weapon's simple beauty, the desparity of the moment quickly reclaimed him. His thoughts became clear. (As clear as he considered possible for himself.)
He held the weapon by its stock, quickly running his hands end over end on it, bringing the butt end of the rifle upon his shoulder. Drawing his arms apart, he held the middle length of chain in front of the laser rifle's barrel. His tongue then slickly slid out from between his lips, diligently curling around the trigger of the gun. He pulled back. The weapon sprang to life, letting out a beam of sirring, deep ruby red light. Even though in doing so left a foul taste in his mouth, it was well worth it...Atlast! His hands had become freed!
Surpisingly, he wielded the rifle with great speed and efficiency. In no time at all his feet, his hands, and his right ankle had been freed from all restraint that had been envoked upon him by that tall, dark, metal robot.
CRRRReeeeeeAK!
Creeeeeeaaakk!
Fwoosh!
A small air of success and pride swept upon him, as he had freed himself and was still alive. His heart felt a jolt of rejoice..but that was short lived.
Water was beginning to sweep over him, slide across his back, drawing great bone chilling shivers throughout his body. The sub-zero temperatures from within the ocean's current began to shout out to him. His rejoice was quickly replaced with feelings of panic and the adrenaline from the maddening rush of the situation.
CRACK!
No distraction could overcome him now. It was "Do or Die" time. He jumped into high gear. Stringing the hollowed para-framed rifle over his right shoulder, he quickly made his way crawling on hand and knee forward out from the shelter of which the SWAT-bot's body had provided to him. Before him was a long, solid, yet thin sheet of rock, which rested where the robot's head should have been. He dropped down upon his stomach and freed his left hand from the floor. Arming his newly equipped rifle at his hip, he jerked the trigger with his newly freed hand and watched as the wall of rock before him crumbled. The power of his laser rifle's discharged radical beam was awesome. Perhaps the Mad Doctor did have some reason to take pride in his work. He dropped his hand back down and un-hesitantly crawled on forward, shifting the debris before him out of his way.
Fwish!
Weaving, pushing, pulling, and panting, he made his way up and out of the pile of debris. Just as his head "crowned" out from the obstacle that had stood in his way, when he had freed his hands and pushed his upper body from the rocks and sand beneath him, he felt the rolling, conquering rush of water strike him in the middle of his back. It enveloped him into the world of sunken, ancient ruins, and abandoned, fabled cities. Before he could take any course of retaliation (if that was even possible) he had been rushed away by an overpowering current of water.
Radical and untamed, powerful; this was the current of the ocean. He had been hopelessly hurled forward, tumbling end over end and twisted, thrown into either side of the corridor with bone jarring force. Merciless was this cold water that made him feel as if pins and needles were being struck into him, run through him like so many bloodthirsting knives. Battered and bruised, dizzier than anyone could possibly imagen, he was rushed down the expanse of the corridor within moments. Then, within an instant, it all stopped with a sudden thud.
CLASH!
"MMMMMMMmmmm!" < - (cry of pain)
Shards of glass were injected into his body. He'd struck against the side of one of those many lighting boxes that had illuminated the corridor before all Chaos broke loose and the island fell. The sudden strike upon him set him reeling in an imaginable amount of pain. He would have screamed, but to do that would be to commit suicide. (He would drown if he did!)
Unable to stop it, that wonderful, powerful, glistening rifle fell from his grasp. It slid off his arm. The rifle was immediatly swept away from him...Seemingly his only line of defense, his confidence, now it was revoked from him. Hypothermia would quickly have set itself in. His body shook uncontrollably. Reality, the truth again began to slip away from him, to defy him, to overcome him and try to take his life.
Even in his state of dillusion, his eyes were able to look on ahead of him, to look down to the end of the corridor. He saw to the end of the cavern and out into the open water. Blurred, scrambled images. His delirium was enough that he could be "high" on something, but as he twisted and turned in his travel, he COULD make out an image. An exit! He could see where the ravaging, thunderous rush of water was taking him.
The jail cell, which had confined him to this watery fate..would now become his doorway to freedom.
He was going out! He was going to be free of this INFERNAL HOLE! He would be liberated from his pending doom of which this "master" had set before him, this fate that was forced upon him...But, yet again, victory would slip through his very paw.
He drifted, suspended. He came to a sudden halt. A length of chain that was trailing off his left ankle's shackle had hooked upon a protruding spike from those bars of his cage whic now recided in the ceiling.
He was crushed, defeated. His hope of living, his driving instinct to survive, vanished. He quickly began to accept the fate, that fate that this was the end..That these retraining chains would be his coffin and the ocean enveloping him was the soil packed around him to make his bed. There his carcass would be laid to rest. In having nothing left but pity and sorrow for himself, he wept, then let himself fall limp. He let himself dangle from his snagged restraint.
Moments before he completely lost consciousness, before the angel of death would come down upon him and strip his soul from his body and take him far away from this world; he felt something glance off his shoulder, then drag upon his right arm's restraint. His eye lids peeled back, and his milky white eyes rolled over to their line of sight. He looked down upon his right arm. The luster of the rifle's metallic frame brilliantly struck his eye again, and then a new feeling ran through his body. Hot blood suddenly filled his veins yet again. They pumped and surged with power, wrapping around what muscles he had like the links that had restrained him but minutes before. His "second wind" came upon him now, and again this determination was set into him.
He had his rifle again. He had his defense back. He had hope now. (So was his reasoning, and so was his logic. Had it ever been accurate?)
Using everything he had, he dropped his free dangling arm down and across to his arm that had snagged his weapon back. Muscling against the unbearable force of the water whipping past on its way into the ocean, he brought it up and wielded his weapon once again. He flexed his many sections of abdominal muscles and used them to make a networked strength to overcome the current, pretty much doing a sit-up while dangling from the length of chain keeping him within this cavern.With steady hands and a steady, muscled aim, he brought a finger upon the trigger.
He fired.
After completing this task, he suddenly fell back as his muscles expended their last reserves of energy, faltering. He dangled from the tethered chain.
The Fox continued to hang there, like a rock caught within a vacuum hose. He could not believe himself...How could he miss? After all this...Would he die anyway?
Hypothermia took him. He fell totally unconscious. The rifle that had caught itself upon his shackled arm now just unraveled and flowed with the current down into the depths of the abyss.
That's when the darkness came, or later returned to him: Raping him, depriving him, Sucking the life out of him. <i>So it always was, he reasoned.</i>
Lost to the world, he was...but out of the way of an oncoming SWAT-bot torso, he wasn't.
The cavern completely collapsed under the pressure of the ocean, and so it then ejected the last of its contents. The robot's lower half ran into the Fox's limp body and instantaneously severed the chain that held him to the jail cell. Just upon his exit into the depths of the ocean did the jail cell collapse upon itself. The entire outpost just bottomed out and fell off the structure of the Floating Island.
Floating around, unconscious upon the ocean's current...His body beat to utter desolation, holding onto his life only by the "grit on his teeth." What would become of our lavender haired fox youth now?
{not long after..}
His skin was ice cold to the touch, and a ring of blue formed upon his lips. His body had fallen limp. He was practically half dead in his current state. The ocean had expelled him and all other contents from within the underground outpost. If you hadn't read the previous chapter, it had recently been relocated from hanging upon the bottom of the Floating Island to the bottom of the ocean's deep, gaping abyss. Mobius's ocean, being as out of natural order as it was, (from the island's sudden drop from above the clouds) would not flow in its natural direction anymore for a time. In light of all this, he really wasn't about to go anywhere soon.
His body would sink for a distance into the ocean's deep blue expanse, then suddenly be carried back upward near to a foot from the ocean's surface again. This rising and falling continuous loop just could not find its "hole." Even if he were conscious and aware of his situation, he still would not have the strength nor stamina to swim back upon Angel Island's shore ( this was especially true now with his two pairs of quite hefty iron shackles still remaining upon his legs and arms.) Yet again, it seemed quite hopeless for our adolescent's survival.
As he was running through this continuous "wash" cycle, his mind began to wander, making its own cycle; washing through the memories of his past. He thought over his experiences as his life's past flashed before his eyes........
*a few montonous memories blurr of which one could hardly be distinguished from the other*
(Yep, that's about it.)
Even through all that vast expanse of memories and "good times," there was one set of occurrences that would always and forever be engraved into his memory..
{10 years ago, within Robotropolis' prison}
In a cell, identical to the one he had been in within the underground cavern outpost, he sat and gazed down upon a long, gray, metallic corridor. His confining restraints were a bit different from the ones within the outpost, as you might have imagined. He was sitting, not being hung from a wall, mainly because he was a little too small to fit those wall mounted cuffs. His ankles were chained in the same manner, but his arms were now fit into one cylindrical, steel sheath which weighed a ton upon his small, 5 year-old frame. He would sit against the wall, feeling the cold, yet smooth metal surface upon his back. With his head being tilted down, his gaze transfixed upon the open space between his legs on the floor, his mind would wander to many a place, places far far away from his corporal being's location. Through drifting off into a place of imaginary ambitions and goals would he be able to carry on through to the next day.
Such a stressful and heavy burden upon a being so young. All that little energetic running around and playing, being filled with stories of mythical beings of power and valiant warriors slewing dragons by the hordes, he would never have experienced within anytime of his lifetime. He was robbed of any form of childhood that he should have been entitled too, or even for that matter, a true place to call home, unless of course you would count a jail cell with complimentary restraints homely. He had no memories of parents to love and nurture him. He never had any of these things, and if he had..it was impossible to recall them (since, of course, he was at such a young age.)
Every other day of the week, through-out any time during the day, would a large, dull, metal object walk by and shove another, even duller iron object into his cage with some kind of green, creamy blob of substance upon it. He never could quite figure out what this gruel was that he would be fed every time they did decide to feed him, but he had a rising suspicion it had something to do with the dreaded vegetable that every child his age would shun at its very utterance. (Lima beans, anyone?)
Seemingly every day would be the same, and every day after that as well until the end of his little life (or so it seemed.) This is the way it had always been for him, this was his entire life. So young was he, that now this was the only thing he would be capable of remembering, the only life, the only purpose he had to live for, was...was..
He would sit there and wait..and continue to wait, until the day would come when he would be taken out of his jail cell, and then be "liberated" to become brethren to the large, dim, soldier figures that wandered down the aisle, serving out the green lumps of sludge to his neighbors and sometimes taking a certain special someone for the long walk down the long, dark, shadowy hall to their doom.
He was a shadow, an echo..an empty shell of a vessel. His only possession, the only "key" he had upon his former childhood was a pair of black, leather padded gloves, made of some type of synthetic fibers that were quite stretchy and durable. These gloves would never leave his hands, and because of their ingenious design, they still fit his hands, and would not leave him to his current day. Why would he have these specially made gloves, he may never know (He never took these gloves off mostly because he couldn't get at them through his restraints, and quite frankly they were quite dirty and raunchy to that day, full of years of sweat and what-not.)
The many shadows that sillouted the cold, coarse floors were his only company, his only friends. His cubical jail cell and restraints were what he had to call "home."
On a few occasions, when a new "guest" was escorted down the aisle, clad in their metal iron restraints, one or more of them would manage to break free of the guarding SWAT and would try to make a run for it. They would attempt to take the automaton out head-on. A fight scene would soon unreel, and he would use all the strength in his body to stumble across the trek from the corner of his wall to right before the confining bars of his jail cell. He would have front row seats to all the action that would play about. Usually it would turn out that whomever the SWAT-bot was guiding would simply be so sly as to step out of pace with the robot and be able slip away from it only to run in a dead-on sprint to any place within the prison compound away from that guard. These kind of ordeals always turned out in, either the SWAT-bot was able to call for reinforcements then capture and re-restrain the fleeing Mobian, or would just suddenly turn around and blast a sizeable hole through the middle of their backs. No matter how fast or how sly these escapees were, they were just as soon dead or captured again and beat for their "crimes against their overlord."
Although it was rare, some times the plot would unfold where the escorted would suddenly stop in their tracks and wait as to provoke the guarding drone. It would then, by protocol, throw out its arm and try to push or throw the male or female forward to help them "move along in a nice and orderly fashion." Then, just as the guard would make the mistake of lurching towards the inmate, he would quickly parry or block the attack with their metal-cast arm hand sheath, suddenly swiping a metal hand away. Then they would continue to attack their shins and knees. The SWAT-bot's stature would immediately buckle and be cast down upon the floor, quickly releasing anything they might have been carrying in their hands, most likely being a laser pistol with some great stopping power. A grand battle would ensure, and in the end, either the inmate would fight and find his or her way out, or was brought back with more than a couple holes in their chest and most assuredly even a couple of torn off limbs. (Yes, the machines didn't have any sense of pain or remorse. Things have been known to change in times and at times, though.) As he thought about it...Perhaps that was one of the major ingredients that composed of those green balled lumps of gruel that he and others around him would be fed oh soo occasionally.
Then, on one fateful day, maybe years later (he had no sense of time to be kept because everything around him never really seemed to change) this would all come to an end for him..or atleast for a little while.
Before he could recall what would happen, something would bring him out of this dreamland and reminiscence to the past. Often are we dragged away before we can see the truth.
{10 years in the future, circulating upon the cold ocean currents, near the Floating Island}
His eyes fluttered open, although still in a daze.
Booming. A mechanical sound resonated deep within the oceans depths, though being some what muffled and distorted, still had been plenty to have awoken him from his half dead slumbering state. He could sense motion above the water's surface, something large...and red. In his very confused state, for what ever reason, his mind would scream out this absurd conclusion,
"BIRDIE! Birdie!"
If he had his thoughts about him, he would have slapped himself, then and there.
Upon one of his many arcing loops upward, nearing the surface of the water, he could see this great, bi-winged bird come closer and closer to him, gaining on his position, coming to swoop down on him and catch him like some type of fishing hawk to try and scoop him up for lunch. "That's one dang fast, four-winged, big red bird right there.." He thought.
His stupidity grew upon higher and higher levels of outrageousness by the second. As the object neared somewhat closer, he then got the idea, "No wonder it's moving so fast..its tail end is on fire!"
This devastating "creature" was now coming straight toward him. His eyes then dialated, "No...NO! I'm too young to die..Please.."
*after actually having a relevant thought*
"No...NO! Kill me, kill me please!!!"
His mind cried out in plead. He was surely going to meet his doom (or so he hoped.) Within the recesses of his mind he invisioned the sight of a large, red, vulture like bird quickly sweeping down upon him and then impaling him as it captured him in its sharp, piercing talons. He would then trail off to the aftermath of this vision seeing the grand bird regurgitating his innereds while feeding it to its nesting, bald, helpless...yet seemingly menacing and demonic baby birds.
Just moments before this bird-like metallic object would pass, it would "spit out" something furry and blue, which, he could only think of as being the partially digested carcass of the feathered's last meal. In an instant, the "bird" swept down upon him, causing him to suddenly be hurled up to the surface of the water in its wake. In his mind he was screaming. A blinding, golden flash would light up the sky and all that surrounded him. He could swear he heared something say in a deep, yet inviting, distant voice, "Come on, my son...step into the light.."
He would then be turned over once, and twice, then be cast forth at seemingly the speed of light darting forward. One of his shackle's chains would be caught by a Divine Being of Power, and then would be lifted up and fall into a cushiony, dense mixture of something heavenly.
(So in other words, he would have been uprooted to the surface by Sonic's original bi-plane, the Tornado, and then would somehow get caught upon Super Sonic's leg only to be hurled into the pillowy, soft sands of Angel Island's shoreline. Not that that wasn't incredibly obvious, but anyway...)
As far fetched as any of this seemed...It happened, just all the same.
The sound of the Tornado's engines flaring would muffle out. His head was now buried into the sand. With the force of the impact he amazingly did not break every single bone in his body. Maybe the soft sands of the beach were enough to keep him from disintegrating when he hit the island's shore, or perhaps some of Super Sonic's chaotic powers had conducted itself into his body for a short length of time to save him. Possibly, even, some great, immeasurable power from above was guiding and protecting him. Then again, probably not.
Hours would pass, and the sun would slowly drop under the horizon. The twin moons of Mobius would line the midnight sky. The jade and ruby red planets would contrast the dark, night sky, as far away stars would shine like diamonds, strewn across the shimmering quilt of black space that was as far out as the eye could see. The ocean waves, rolling in and out from the beach would carry a cold, yet somehow refreshing and whimsical breeze, which would then flow through the onlooking beings golden locks of swaying, blond, curling hair.
Upon her nightly stroll, she would stumble across the very epitome of her heart's desire. As her stray toe would graze his side, he'd quite literally be under her feet this whole time, just right under her nose.
His saviour had indeed come.
(Though, in time and at times, things have been known to change.)
End Chapter.
