𝕃𝕚𝕫! 𝔸𝕞𝕪'𝕤 𝕞𝕦𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝! (ℝ𝔼𝕍𝔸𝕄ℙ!)

Name: Liz

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Height: 3'5" ft

Weight: 80 lbs

Eye Color: Black Pupils with White Sclera

Species: Mobian Hedgehog

Occupation: Amy's Number One fan, Stalker, Murderer

Affiliation: None

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Overview: Liz is an unhinged hedgehog whose obsession with Amy Rose spiraled into violent fanaticism. Once an innocent admirer, she now lives in the shadows, mimicking Amy’s mannerisms, speech patterns, and even her wardrobe in a twisted attempt to become her idol. Her unstable mind blends admiration and hatred, she adores Amy’s kindness but despises anyone who stands between them. After years of isolation and mental decay, Liz has turned her obsession into a deadly purpose, stalking her idol and eliminating perceived “threats” to Amy’s happiness.

Appearance: Liz is a small, disturbing-looking pink-furred anthropomorphic hedgehog. Her eyes are unnervingly conjoined, with permanently dilated pupils from years spent in total darkness. Deep dark circles sit under her eyes, giving her a hollow, sleepless look. Two thin eyelashes frame each side of her eyes, and a wide, unnatural fanged grin rarely leaves her face. Her peach-toned skin covers her muzzle, inner ears, and arms, contrasting sharply with the pink she forced upon herself.

She has a small black nose, triangular ears perched atop her head, and a single, narrow back spine. Her five short head quills slope downward like a warped bob cut, with three jagged bangs jutting over her forehead. A small, pointy tail completes her silhouette. Though small in frame, her body carries unsettling proportions, small breasts, thick thighs capable of crushing fruit, and an ass that feels almost too human.

Her outfit mirrors Amy Rose’s classic look in a grim, corrupted form: a dirty green sweater and a short orange skirt, barely long enough to conceal her form. Beneath it, she wears pink underwear, a direct imitation of Amy’s attire on the day she saved her. The fabric is worn, frayed, and stained from her years of wandering. Liz’s quills were originally brown, but she dyed them pink in a disturbing attempt to fully become her idol. She completes the look with white, wrist-length gloves and plain gray shoes. Her shabby, twisted appearance instantly evokes discomfort in anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.

Personality: Despite her small stature, Liz’s presence lingers like a cold breath in a dark room. She is a creature of silence and observation, hiding in forests during the day, scavenging to survive, studying those she deems important, and watching Amy from the shadows. At night, she moves through empty streets like a phantom, unseen but always there.

Liz avoids direct confrontation, preferring to strike unseen. She thrives in darkness, where she feels invisible and in control. Her methods are calculated, her patience terrifying. Every step she takes is part of a larger design only she understands.

Her psyche is a shattered mirror, pieces of a once-kind heart warped by years of abuse, neglect, and rejection. The love and safety she once longed for have rotted into obsession and delusion. She cannot comprehend real affection; to her, love means possession, devotion means control, and “helping” often means destroying what threatens her perceived bond with Amy Rose.

Though deeply unstable, Liz is remarkably intelligent. She analyzes her surroundings, learns patterns, and gathers information with surgical precision. Her mind is a labyrinth of trauma and calculation, she doesn’t kill for pleasure, but for what she believes is love. Every act of violence, every stalked night, every bloody deed is a twisted expression of devotion.

In her own mind, Liz is not a villain, she’s a savior, protecting Amy from a cruel world that doesn’t deserve her. And that belief, unshakable and pure in its madness, makes her truly terrifying.

Skills and Abilities

Super Speed: Though not as fast as Sonic, Liz possesses remarkable agility and burst speed, allowing her to close distances before her prey even notices her presence.

Acrobatics and Reflexes: Liz’s movements are graceful yet unnerving, she’s able to vault over obstacles, scale trees, and dodge attacks with animal-like precision. Her agility makes her difficult to predict or corner.

Stealth: Liz is a master of silence. She can vanish into shadows, move undetected across any surface, and remain hidden for days while tracking a target. Many victims never see her until it’s far too late.

Expert Knife Throwing: Her aim is near-perfect. She can throw her knife to pin clothing, limbs, or even flesh to nearby surfaces, immobilizing opponents. Liz has mastered ricocheting her blade off walls or hard surfaces to strike from unpredictable angles.

Culinary Skill: Liz is an excellent cook, a trait that reflects her disturbingly calm domestic side. She often prepares elaborate meals in eerie quietness, humming to herself as if nothing were wrong.

Knife Cutting Proficiency: Her precision with a blade extends beyond combat. She can fillet, slice, and carve with surgical control, whether it’s food… or flesh.

Kitchen Knife Skills: Liz’s weapon of choice is a single Kitchen Knife, the same one she used to murder Sally Acorn. It’s her prized possession, both a tool of survival and a symbol of devotion. Normally, the knife’s blade is caked in dried blood, but Liz meticulously cleans it with soap and water before preparing her meals, as if the act itself were sacred. The weapon is unnaturally sharp, capable of slicing through trees, metal, and even steel with ease.

In battle, she wields it with deadly artistry: She can throw it to pin targets down by their clothing or limbs, leaving them helpless. She can ricochet it off walls or floors, striking from unexpected angles. When in close combat, her attacks are precise, fast, and deliberate, each movement meant to end the fight swiftly and efficiently.

To Liz, the knife isn’t just a weapon, it’s a companion. The same instrument she uses to kill, she also uses to cook. It represents her fractured duality: love and violence intertwined in one silent, silver edge.

ACT I My Heroine

Prologue: The Ghost of Home

Liz grew up behind curtains and slammed doors. Her childhood was a chalkboard of bruises and quiet: parents who hit, neighbors who laughed, teachers who looked away. The town treated her like a rumor, a face that belonged to no one. She learned to be smaller than small: to make herself thin as a shadow and soft as a whisper. Isolation hollowed her. It rebuilt her.

Chapter 1: The Machine and the Pink Blur

The day Dr. Eggman’s machines rolled through the town looking for an emerald, the world split in two for Liz. People screamed and ran; the concrete became a river of limbs and sound. Liz, slow-footed from a lifetime of avoidance, was cornered, trapped in a cul-de-sac by a clanking metal beast, its optics like cold coins. Its hydraulic arm lifted.

Then a pink blur crashed through the chaos. Amy Rose came down like sunlight through stormcloud: hammer raised, fury bright and immediate. She smashed the machine; metal screamed and folded. Where everyone else saw a rescued child, Amy saw a small hedgehog with black-ringed eyes and a face that had learned to expect nothing. Amy crouched and asked, gently, “Are you okay?”

That question rewired Liz’s world. For the first time, someone asked after her, not out of duty or pity, but with actual warmth. Amy’s smile, the tilt of her head, the care in her voice: salvation packaged in pink. That single, ordinary kindness detonated in Liz’s chest and left only devotion in its wake.

Chapter 2: Obsession Forms

Liz’s life after that day is montage: small, relentless acts of imitation and study. She watches Amy on broadcasts until the glow of the screen bleeds into her bones. She learns every habit, the clothes Amy favors, the way she ties a ribbon, the cadence of her laugh. She dyes her quills pink until her brown fades to shame. She practices Amy’s tilt of the head in a cracked mirror until it becomes second nature.

She is kicked out of her home and wandering the outskirts, Liz tastes freedom as a new permission to follow. She finds Amy’s neighborhood, the routes Amy walks, and the alleyways behind her favorite café. Night after night, she becomes a static silhouette in rooftops and trees, measuring distances, memorizing the beat of Amy’s life.

Chapter 3: The Smell of Sorrow

Up close, Liz sees the cracks in the idol’s veneer. Amy’s face on TV is animated, a public mask, but the Amy who steps out the back door sometimes arrives with shoulders narrower than they should be, eyes that slide away from the camera. That sadness gnaws at Liz. If Amy, her savior, is secretly hurting, then the world is unfinished; the equation must be corrected.

Liz trains her attention on a small, poisonous truth: Amy and Sonic aren’t alone in their stories. Sally Acorn exists in the margins of Amy’s life, an older presence that shares Sonic’s attention, and Liz’s analysis translates that shared attention into a threat. In the logic of her fractured heart, removing Sally is not murder: it is surgery. It will excise the cause of Amy’s sorrow. It will restore the smile that saved her.

Chapter 4: The Plan, Patient Precision

This part of Liz is not chaotic. It is surgical. She tracks Sally’s routines, tailors timings, and waits for a night when the Freedom Fighters are exhausted from a mission and Sally will be alone. She watches the house, sketches the entry points in invisible ink inside her head, times the guard shifts and the lull of street noise. Patience is a kind of worship.

Chapter 5: The Kill, Quiet, Brutal, Clean

On a cloudy, heavy night, Liz slips through a window with the grace of something that has practiced silence for years. The world compresses: the soft pad of her shoes, the knife’s cool weight, her breath a metronome. A floorboard betrays her. Sally, believing it to be an animal or a mischievous wind, rounds the corner with a flashlight. The light slices the room. Liz does not flee. She waits in shadow, as she always has. When Sally comes near, the knife is not an instrument of rage but ritual. She stabs, a fast, precise strike to the face, a movement rehearsed a thousand times in imagination. The room holds its breath and then fills with the wet, finite sound of everything ending.

Chapter 6: Aftermath, Triumph and Corrosion

By morning, the Freedom Fighters discover a scene that will scar them: Sally’s body, mutilated; a flashlight abandoned; questions no one can fully answer. The town reels, and Amy grieves among them, genuine and broken. Liz watches the public mourning like a liturgy. She believes with a clarity that terrifies, she has helped. She has given her hero back a chance to breathe and smile. Pride fills her where conscience should be.

But the victory is not an ending; it is an ignition. Liz tastes power: the knowledge that she can alter the lives of others to suit the architecture of her devotion. What began as worship has become policy. What began as gratitude has become a war plan.

Chapter 7: Closing, The Promise of Things to Come

In the dark between trees and telephone poles, Liz licks a blade that she later scrubs until it gleams for breakfast. She hums a tuneless lullaby. She watches Amy through rain-slick glass and convinces herself the world has been corrected. In her mind, Sally’s death was necessary. In her mind, the war has only started.