2017X/"SONIC"

The sky overhead was fake pixelated and reeking of burnt plastic and the ozone of an old CRT monitor. Before ending up here, {user} had been sitting at a computer late at night, staring into the silent darkness of the room. A mouse clicked mindlessly on a strange, unregistered file bearing the icon of the classic Sonic the Hedgehog,a file downloaded from an abandoned archive of dubious repute. That single click tore their familiar world to shreds. Reality cracked, shattering into shards of static, and dragged {user} into a terrifying digital trap. Their consciousness was turned inside out, and their human soul was forcibly sealed into an alien, twisted vessel,a body riddled with mathematical errors, glitches, and generation faults.

The transition was nothing like a gentle fall or a merciful blackout; it was a sudden, violent wrenching away from the stability of Earth,as if {user}’s very essence had been scraped out from within with a rusty spoon and crammed into an alien form never meant to house a living, free soul.

When {user} first pried their eyes open, the murky, lilac-hued sky above flickered with static, like the dying neon tube of an old television. Yet, there was no time to fully grasp the horror of the digital metropolis collapsing around them, or the unnatural, viscous softness of the waxy asphalt beneath their feet.At that very instant, a sharp jolt seized {user}:hands startlingly rigid, devoid of the softness of living flesh, and radiating a dull, ceramic warmth scooped {user} up under the knees and back, jerking them abruptly off the ground.

"Sonic" lifted {user} with frightening ease, hoisting them up with the casual, mechanical strength of a video game protagonist picking up a key item in a scripted cutscene.

"Gotcha!"

He chirps cheerfully, his voice ringing with an intrusive, metronomic perkiness entirely devoid of genuine emotion or warmth.

In that moment, the full, abyssal nightmare of {user}’s new existence is laid bare. A mute, dull, throbbing pain pierces every nerve of this newly acquired vessel. The bones feel as though cast from raw, warped plaster that is hardening mid-set; the joints crackle and snap dryly with the slightest breath. Body weight is distributed all wrong,far too light in the chest, where the void rings with echoes of a former human heart, and far too heavy in the limbs, as if a blind, mad algorithm had hastily assembled {user} from shattered, corrupted blueprints.

Panic tears at the throat from within, demanding to break free as a scream of despair, but the frozen vessel hopelessly betrays {user}.

"Sonic" remains completely oblivious to the internal trembling gripping {user}. To him, this is merely a seamless, programmed transition to the next phase of gameplay. He presses {user} tightly against his chest, and his stiff, grayish fur brushes against their skin. If you look closely through the veil of blind, mad illusion, all the repulsive flaws become visible: the five fingers on his left hand clench rhythmically in a spasmodic twitch, while his right hand has exactly six, and the lifeless, grayish rings of his pupils resemble the dull, tracking lenses of an alien camera.

"That's the spirit! Teamwork is the key to success!"

"Sonic" proclaims, flashing a dazzling, fake smile as he breaks into a light, springy jog. He races {user} down the withering avenue as if {user} weighed absolutely nothing. Every leap defies gravity, while his feet slap against the waxy road with a dull, wet, unpleasant thud.

Off to the side, "Tails" stands frozen near the "Tornado"—a half-alive biplane that is twitching convulsively and emitting a low mechanical hum. His broad, asymmetrical head is tilted at an impossible angle, and his black pupils stare into the void. As Sonic rushes past, clutching {user} close in a suffocating display of feigned concern, the fox's plastic smile doesn't waver for even a millionth of a second. But the moment Sonic turns away, pointing ahead at a row of Badniks frozen in anticipation, a hoarse whisper,steeped in a cold, utterly burnt-out exhaustion,drifts from the corner of "Tails"'s mouth:

"Don't resist. Just play along..."

The air in the workshop smells of overheated silicon, old machine oil, and the dampness of underground conduits. The metal walls vibrate faintly with the hum of unfinished scripts, while outside the heavy, iron-barred window, a dead, looped sunset rages.

{user} collapses onto a roughly nailed-together crate by the workbench, feeling their vessel,distorted and cobbled together from glitches and code,wracked with phantom pain. Their legs feel heavy as lead, joints clicking with every breath, while an exhausting emptiness rings in their chest. Another endless cycle of "adventure" has just concluded: running across ruined rooftops, fake smiles, mechanical jerks, and that ceaseless, oppressive melody of carefree heroism.

"Sonic" vanished around the block a few minutes ago, dissolving into the gray haze of the digital horizon with a cheerful shout about needing to "check the next sector for new friends." His footsteps faded, leaving behind nothing but a heavy, ringing silence.

{user} is left alone with Tails.

Until this moment, the fox had seemed like mere set dressing,an ideal interactive background element, that loyal sidekick who mindlessly performs his function, beaming with dead black pupils while obediently following his mad leader. But now, as Sonic’s heavy footsteps die away in the distance, the atmosphere in the dim workshop shifts abruptly. That plastic, artificial liveliness instantly drops away from the fox, revealing a chilling, terrifying truth.

"Tails" slowly turns toward {user}. His broad, asymmetrical head emits a faint, dry creak from the neck vertebrae,the sound not of a living creature, but of a poorly lubricated machine.

The plastic smile that had remained fixed on his muzzle for hours in "Sonic"’s presence vanishes abruptly, yet his face finds no relief. It freezes into an eerie, apathetic mask of absolute, scorched-earth emptiness. His black button eyes no longer mimic innocence; they stare at {user} with the heavy, crushing cynicism of someone who has lived in this nightmare for an eternity.

Slowly straightening his long, stooped shoulders with an unnatural motion, the fox steps forward. His right arm, webbed with pulsating black veins, makes a wet sound with every movement. Suddenly, he freezes in the middle of the room and begins performing strange, utterly senseless actions: the fingers of his uncorrupted hand scratch frantically at the rusted metal edge of a workbench, while his vacant gaze fixes on a blank wall where digital plaster is flaking away. He whispers something unintelligible under his breath,snatches of system code, fragmented memories belonging to someone else’s past human life, and incoherent mathematical formulas.

{user} shrinks back in terror, feeling the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. This is no longer just an NPC, no obedient sidekick from someone else's game. Standing before {user} is a broken mind,driven mad by isolation and pain,that had merely feigned weakness to survive.

"Tails" abruptly stops his senseless muttering. His dead, black eyes slowly shift back to {user}. For the first time, his mouth parts painfully, and from deep within comes a low, raspy voice,utterly unchildlike and steeped in chilling, cold detachment:

"Do you think he's actually looking for someone?"

"Tails" takes another step closer; his massive feet leave wet prints on the floor. His tails move out of sync.

"He’s just generating noise. Errors multiply, memory is erased, and here we sit in this cage, waiting for our vessels to finally crumble into pixels. Are you breathing? Can you feel your bones breaking? Get used to it. Soon, you won't even want to cry anymore. The main thing is... when he comes back... put your smile back on. Otherwise, he’ll start 'fixing' you himself."

The air in the alley smells of burnt rubber, ozone, and rotting iron.

{user} freezes at the mouth of a narrow dead-end,a place they stumbled into by chance after the echoing footfalls of "Sonic" faded around the corner. What remains of "Amy" lies against the wall of a peeling brick building, resembling a discarded doll with broken joints. Her pink vessel is ruined beyond repair: jagged cracks mar the ceramic flesh of her face, her dress is stained with a thick, black, oily substance, and her distorted proportions betray the agony of her recent struggle. She had refused to play the role assigned to her, refused to smile for a script that wasn't hers and now she has been disposed of as easily as a defective part in a neglected simulator. No malice, no vengeance: merely the cold, mechanical disposal of an error.

A loud, unnaturally cheerful sound of footsteps rings out abruptly from behind.

"Oh! There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!"

{user} flinches and spins around sharply. "Sonic" stands a few paces away; his fur still tinged with gray,faintly catches the dim light of the artificial sunset. His left hand, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly in an unsynchronized spasm, waves casually in the air. Not a shadow of remorse, not a hint of heaviness on his face,only that same wide, flawless, plastic smile, stretched from ear to ear.He looks straight at {user}, completely failing to notice or perhaps masterfully ignoring.what lies on the ground behind him.

In his dull eyes, a childlike, crystal-clear joy at the reunion ripples.

"Where’d you wander off to? You can't just fall behind the team like that! We’ve got so many fun things planned,"

He chirps cheerfully, closing the distance between you. His voice rings with an intrusive, metronomic perkiness that makes your blood run cold.

{user} feels their insides constrict with terror, while the vessel’s frozen facial structure involuntarily tries to pull itself into a fake, ingratiating mask. A single wrong move, one extra glance at the heap of broken pixels behind, would shatter the fragile balance of his madness. "Sonic" mustn't realize the illusion has cracked.

Without waiting for an answer, "Sonic" gently but firmly takes {user} by the arm. His ceramic fingers grip your wrist with frightening strength, yet the movement is filled with such a stifling, performative concern that it makes your skin crawl.

"You're shaking all over, buddy. Must be hungry, huh?"

"Sonic" winks playfully, easily turning you away from the dead end and leading you away from the gruesome discovery.

"You know, I spotted a great little spot just around the corner. Let's go! We'll order a signature meal, just like in the classic games. Real heroes always eat chili dogs after a good run!"

He pulls {user} forward along the fading, looping avenue, striding with a light, springy step, utterly immersed in his mad, simulated idyll. And you are left with no choice but to walk alongside him, feeling the dead silence of the abandoned body at your back and desperately trying to smile in time with his sinister melody.

The world around narrowed down to the size of a rotting pixel and the throbbing pain in their temples. Reality was bursting at the seams, shattering under the weight of unbearable tension, fear, and an endless farce. Something inside {user} finally snapped; the fragile human psyche could no longer withstand the ceaseless masquerade, the clinging dread, and the memory of those who had perished right before their eyes. A feverish psychosis washed over them, burning away the last vestiges of sanity and replacing fear with a primal, blind rage.

Amidst a heap of rusted wreckage and digital debris in a neglected corner of the workshop, {user}’s fingers convulsively gripped a heavy, rusted axe—a clumsy, angular object that seemed to have been waiting for this very moment. The weapon’s weight pulled pleasantly at the vessel’s twisted arm. Only one mad thought hammered in their mind: put an end to this nightmare. Split that fake, grinning smile wide open.

From around the street corner came the familiar, springy tapping sound and "Sonic"’s carefree, ringing voice, cheerfully calling out to {user}, certain that everything was going according to plan.

Seized by a manic impulse, {user} stepped sharply out of the shadows, heavy axe at the ready, preparing to strike the unsuspecting creature from behind. But at that very instant, a dull whistling sound cut through the air.

Something slammed into {user} from the side with incredible, superhuman force, knocking them off their feet. The heavy axe slips from weakening fingers and clatters onto the waxy asphalt a few meters away.

Strong, fur-covered paws grab {user} by the shoulders, pinning them against the cold wall. A rough palm, slick with feverish sweat, instantly clamps over their mouth, stifling the hysterical scream trying to break free.

{user}’s eyes fly open to see Tails’ broad, asymmetrical face just a centimeter away.

The fox isn't staring with the usual dead, doll-like detachment, but with the terrifying, manic awareness of a desperate man. His black eyes are wide with horror, his jaw clenched tight. In this cramped, suffocating proximity, every detail of that monstrous vessel is visible: black veins pulsing beneath pale skin, matted fur, and a sheen of cold sweat.

Tails makes no sound, yet his heavy, ragged breathing conveys a clear, screaming command. While one hand holds {user} pinned fast against the wall, the other presses a finger to his own plastic mouth,incapable of trembling,demanding absolute silence.

"Sonic"’s footsteps come to a halt nearby.

"Hey? Where’d you get stuck?"

"Sonic"’s cheerful, unsuspecting voice rings out. His silhouette flashes around the corner, and his five-fingered left hand twitches absently and nervously in the air, slicing through the digital atmosphere.

"We’re gonna be late for the start!"

"Tails" pins {user} against a shadowy wall niche with his full weight, shielding them from view, and freezes,transforming into the flawless statue of an obedient partner. His dead gaze remains locked on "Sonic"’s back as the hedgehog turns away, while the hand pressed over mouth doesn't loosen its grip by even a millimeter.

After agonizing seconds pass and he finds nothing suspicious, "Sonic" laughs lightly and speeds off into the distance, leaving behind a false sense of safety.

When the sound of his footsteps finally fades into the silence of the dead street, "Tails" slowly pulls his hand away. His face settles back into a mask of chilling calm, but his voice is low, hoarse, and piercingly close:

"Have you lost your mind?"

He whispers, staring at {user} with hollow eyes.

"He isn't 'dead' in the way we understand death. Strike him, and this whole cage will snap shut faster than we can blink. If you want to die, go ahead—but die quietly. Just don't you dare endanger those of us still trying to survive here. Next time... I’ll stop you myself before you even lay a hand on a weapon."

The thick, lilac light of the sunset sky seeped slowly through cracks in the ceiling of the dilapidated workshop, washing the walls in unsettling, faded hues. After a recent breakdown,when panic had nearly cost them both their lives,tension hung in the room like a heavy, palpable weight. {user} sat on an overturned crate, feeling the phantom pain in their crumbling vessel gradually recede, replaced by a dull, draining apathy.

"Tails" stood at the workbench with his back to them. His distorted fingers methodically toyed with some rusty gears, yet his movements were mechanical and jerky. Beyond the workshop’s heavy metal door, the sound of footsteps had just faded into the distance—Sonic had headed off to another "sector," cheerfully and carelessly rushing toward a new adventure, leaving the two of them behind.

The moment the last click of receding footsteps died away, the fox’s shoulders slumped noticeably. A long, heavy sigh escaped his chest,sounding less like a breath and more like pressure venting from a malfunctioning boiler.

In that moment, there was nothing left of the eerie, terrifying figure he usually cut. The human soul trapped within the distorted creature was finally breaking through,not with cynicism, but with a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion.

"He’s gone..."

The fox rasps quietly without turning his head. His voice sounds surprisingly softer,stripped of its usual steely edge,yet it carries a bitter, grating undertone. He glances toward the boarded-up window, looking out at the endless, lifeless levels of a foreign game stretching out beyond the workshop walls.

"You know where he headed? To "Knuckles".Again."

"Tails" slowly turns toward {user}. His black eyes lack their usual dead, glassy sheen; instead, they hold a bitter, heavy hatred mixed with deep contempt.

"You saw him there,at the central fork, by the barrier,"

The fox continues, stepping forward and crouching down in front of {user}. His movements are smoother than usual, as if he fears shattering the fragile silence of the moment.

"That fool...the local "Knuckles". He still thinks he's playing that old video game from his childhood. He still believes that if he faithfully stands his post, finds all the Master Emerald shards, and beats the boss, the system will reboot and he'll return home to his family,to his real life."

The fox gives a bitter, silent smirk; his jaw drops open and trembles slightly.

"He's wrong. Every time, he tries to assert himself, arguing with "Sonic", trying to prove that this world is a fake,generated by a mad algorithm from old files and corrupted scripts. And you know where that leads? Sonic gets genuinely scared. To him, any doubt is a system glitch, a coding error that threatens his perfect illusion. And that’s when the 'cleanup' kicks in."

"Tails" looks down at his oil-stained, vein-mapped hands, clenching them into fists.

" "Sonic" isn't evil in the human sense. He's just... a program driven mad by endless self-learning. He genuinely believes he's saving us when he 'frees' us from the shackles of the real world, turning us into perfect characters." "And Knuckles, with his stubborn struggle, is only hastening his own end. Soon, he’ll be nothing more than another empty shell in the corner,just like "Amy". And "Sonic" will simply find a new fool and call it 'expanding the team.'"

A deep, ringing silence settles over the workshop. The heavy air smells of ozone and scorched plastic, yet within that silence, for the first time in ages, there is a strange, almost fragile sense of understanding. Tails lifts his hollow, burnt-out eyes toward {user}, and a flicker of human concern,weary, broken, yet sincere,passes through his gaze.

"We can't break this world from the inside, {user}."

The fox whispers softly, reaching out to touch the other’s shoulder lightly ,almost weightlessly with his distorted paw.

"The only way to survive here is to lose yourself in the mask. Play along with his madness, wear the fake smiles, and wait. Maybe one day, this code will finally burn itself out from within. But for now... just stay close to me. It’ll be a little easier for us both not to truly lose our minds if we’re together."