Barred Speech

By A. Fleury

Chapter 1:

Prison Blues

I got nobody on my side...

And surely that ain't right...

---Portishead "Roads"

            The food that day was some sort of mushy meat, one side burned and hard, the other side undercooked. It was buried under a puddle of grayish gravy that had way too much flour in it.

            "This stuff sucks," complained a burly white wolf. His handcuffs were attached to the table by way of a ring melded into the metal table. The chain clinked as he raised a forkful of the goop to his mouth.

            I surveyed the room with disinterested eyes, the food with even more apathy. I wasn't touching it.

            "Why ain't ya eating?" grumbled one of the guards. His tag read 'Smiley'. How cute.

            "I'm not hungry," I said curtly.

            Another guard came my way, leaning past the white wolf to smile at me. "Oh, our new guest ain't eating? Whatsa matter? You don't like the food?" His tag read 'Marshe'.

            "I'm not hungry," I repeated.

            "Think you're too good for the Devil's Gulag, eh? Think you should get gourmet meals, tv and porn movies in your cell? Is that what you think?!"

            I was a master at an apathetic unblinking stare. It drove people nuts. This guy was no different.

            "WELL?" he bellowed.

            "Yes," I said, just to irritate him.

            "Well, you're not," he growled. He scooped up some goop on one finger and flicked it into my face. "So eat up!"

            My temper was thin that day and that rudeness was enough to snap it. I grabbed the food tray and slammed it into his leering face. He howled and stumbled backwards.

            The wolf started laughing. He tripped Marshe, who hit the ground hard. Then he dumped his entire tray over the guard's body.

            "WHOOOO!!! Why don't ya eat some, boy?!"

            Marshe growled and sat up, wiping the goop off his face.

            "You ugly little freak!" He dove over the table at me. I couldn't get out of the way because I was hooked to the table. He had the tray in hand and started beating me with it.

            "OW!" I cringed and tried to huddle up, but my ankles were shackled too. "STOP!"

            "Little prick...ugly...bastard..." He hit me harder. I felt blood ooze from my nose, tasted it in my mouth.

            "Hey, calm down," said Smiley finally, pushing Marshe away.

            I lay in my cell later, curled up on the hard bed. Great. First day in prison and I was already bruised and bloody. My poor head was aching. I couldn't even think...my mind just swarmed over the earlier events of today...when I was first brought here to the Devil's Gulag...

            Breathe in. Breathe out. It's always strange to wake up from unconsciousness. My body felt limp, my brain felt stupid. I sat up slowly. I was restrained. My arms were tied behind my back, and my ankles were shackled. There was some kind of bag over my head.

            "Where am I?" I screeched.

            "He's awake," a male voice said.

            "So what? He's not goin' anywhere." Another male voice, deep and gruff responded.

            I was lying on a cold metal surface and I stayed there for a long time. Finally I was grabbed by my wrists and dragged down a hallway, I guess. The way our footsteps echoed made me believe that.

            "Search him," a voice said.

            I felt hands patting me down.

            "Strip search, ya moron."

            "I getta touch him? Oh goody!"

            "Do it. He might have something on him." I heard the snap of rubber gloves. Somebody undid the cuffs. My clothes were removed, despite my protests. I felt the rubber-gloved hands patting me down.

            "OW!! YOU BASTARD!" I howled.

            "He ain't hiding nothing up there," the voice sneered. "And you owe me five bucks, Smiley. He ain't gay...he's way too tight."

            I punched out. My fist connected with somebody. They yelped. Then somebody slammed their fist hard into my belly. I doubled over, falling to my knees. My ankle shackles were cold against my skin.

            I half expected them to force me to do obscene...uh, things to them, or them to do something to me. But they didn't. Somebody clothed me again in different clothes and then the cuffs were snapped back on and I was led down a hallway again.

            They pulled the head bag off though, and I saw them. They were beaver guys...guards, by their clothes.

            "Where am I?" I asked, but they didn't answer. They led me to the cafeteria, and that's where my first day in the Devil's Gulag began...

            I floated back to the present.

            The white wolf was just returning to his cell, which was to the left of mine. "You ok?" he asked.

            "I'm fine," I said.

            "Eh, ok."

            He stared hard at me with bluish-brown eyes. "Yer Robotnik's kid, aren't ya?"

            "Nephew."

            "Oh yeah."

            "How they catch you?"

            "It was the Freedom Fighters. They caught me. They sent me here."

            "That sucks."

            "Yes, it does."

            "So, how's the fat guy?"

            "Robotnik? He's dead."

            "Dead? Are ya shittin' me?"

            "No."

            "Hmph. Thought the lord o' lard would never croak."

            "Believe me," I muttered, "so did I."

            Oh yes. That's me. Robotnik's nephew. I go by Snively, of course...just hearing my name spoken makes me instinctively wary, because for the longest time, it was only Robotnik who I was around. So he would be the only one speaking my name, and the way he treated me, I had a right to be afraid.

            Julian Ivo is my uncle. He changed his name to Robotnik, which he thought sounded 'wonderful', and which I personally think sounds ridiculous. Like I can talk. My name's not music to the ears either. But anyway, Julian was a fat old bastard. He was in his late forties, maybe even fifties; I never did keep track of such superficial things like birthdays. That makes him a good twenty plus years older than myself.

            He sometimes wore little round dark glasses, and he had the world's longest gaudiest mustache. The orange hairs spread out like a fan underneath his nose; I was always expecting to see something tangled up in it, but he kept it combed out nice and neat. His left arm was robotic from an accident with a roboticizer; his right was still flesh. And due to another accident earlier in his life, his eyes and ears were replaced with robotic ones. Which gave him red pupils against a black backdrop and little flat cylinders on the sides of his head. His face was all mustache, double chins and teeth, big square teeth.

            He was downright ugly. And he wore the stupidest ugliest clothes he could dredge up! A gaudy red and black tight jumpsuit thing, with a yellow cross on it, a long yellow cape, and these red and black boots. It made my eyes hurt just looking at him.

            I HATED Julian.

            Oh no...not at first. But I grew to hate him. It was inevitable really; when you treat someone the way Julian treated me, then they're bound to hate you. Hate and fear you, which is exactly what I did. I hated him so much it made me hurt inside.

            It was a kind of hate that made everything inside me clench up to hold back my furious rage against him. It was a fear-hate, because I couldn't scream or attack him. There would be severe consequences for those actions, hoo boy. Julian was unforgiving, the most of all towards me. He was bad-tempered, and easily enraged, and he comforted himself by smashing and breaking things, which included me.

            I was always nervous around him, constantly shaking or sweating or stuttering. Sometimes I'd walk away from him, then look over my shoulder to see if he was coming after me...because he could've been, sometimes he attacked without warning. I've gotten so many black eyes and bloody noses from smashing into walls because I wasn't watching where I was going. But I've gotten triple that amount from him.

            I learned to sense his moods, well somewhat. If Robotnik was weather, he'd be a meteorologist's worst nightmare. He was unpredictable. Sunny one day, cloudy the next, chance of rain one minute, full out thunderstorm the next. Sometimes I could sense his anger building, and I would do everything in my power to calm him, to make him see anger wouldn't help him, or that things were getting better.

            But it was usually no use. I lived with my fear, and I developed a rather strong addiction to painkillers. It was pathetic, now that I look back.

            My silence bored the wolf; he snorted and turned away. I sat up on the bed and leaned against the wall, only to instantly lean forward with a groan. My poor back must've been one big bruise...at least, that's what it felt like.

            The wolf looked over again. "They kicked the shit outta you, eh?" He laughed.

            "I don't find it so funny," I snapped.

            "It's cause yer so puny. They don't pick on big guys like me so much, cause they know I'd wreck 'em before they got a shot in. But you...yer scrawny, man."

            "Thanks for telling me. I would've never noticed."

            He shrugged. "Anytime, man." He came up to the bars again. "Is it true that YOU made that machine blow up Robotnik and not Knothole?"

            My look of misery was replaced by a vicious grin (at least, it FELT vicious...), and I practically crooned, "Yes..."

            "Man, that's cold. The guy was yer UNCLE."

            "He deserved it," I said flatly. "You don't know how much he deserved it. Deserved worse, actually."

            "Yeah, whatever." The wolf flopped down on his bed and picked up a ratty old book.

            I sighed and laid down. It was going to be a long day...a long week...a long year.

            I must've fallen asleep, because I jerked awake at the sound of metal against metal. A guard was unlocking my door.

            "I'm out already?"

            "In your dreams," the guard snorted. "It's exercise time. You should take some tips from ole Drago there."  He aimed his finger at the white wolf, who flexed an enormous bicep.

            Drago...now why did that name sound so familiar? Must've been one of Robotnik's minions. I never did keep track of any of them; that silly Croc-bot, or that bounty hunter...Nick, or Knock, whatever his name was. They were nowhere near as important as me. But Robotnik didn't see it that way. He thought he had good help with them. He praised their efforts, but never a kind word was said to me.

            The guard snapped cuffs on me, and I jumped, shaken out of my thoughts. He led our block of prisoners into a large room within the prison. We were herded into this room, and there was a fenced enclosure which we were locked into. I felt like some zoo animal.

            There were a few exercise machines around; treadmills, and stationary bikes, barbells, and weight-lifting equipment. I wasn't really interested. I sat down on the floor near a crate containing basketballs. There was a hoop nearby, but no one was playing.

            A large brown dog came up to me. "You new here?"

            "Yes."

            "Pretty stupid to get caught."

            I didn't say anything. He picked up one of the basketballs and bounced it a few times. He shot at the hoop. It twirled on the rim and dropped through the net. "Heh." He laughed. "Was that good or was that good?"

            "It was probably luck."

            "Puh. Sleuth dosen't get lucky. He's just damn good."

            I gave him one of those 'I don't think so' looks, but he just spun the basketball on a fingertip and grinned stupidly.

            "You ain't good, though, that's for sure," he said. "Gettin' caught by those freaks, puh. What a retard."

            "That makes you a retard then, too. You got caught by them."

            His hand jittered and the basketball fell to the floor. "Awww, shut up," he growled. He retrieved the basketball and bounced it at me. "You wanna play?"

            I almost laughed. Me? Play against this nearly six-foot tall man? What a joke. He could bunch me up and use me for the ball if he wanted. Not a pleasant thought.

            "C'mon."

            I declined politely, but he insisted. But I knew he wasn't really that eager for the game. He just wanted to mess with me.

            While I was irritated easily, I was rather good at not showing it. I mean...I had to be. Robotnik didn't like it when I got snappy at him, so I had to control myself.

            I did the same now. I kept a calm air, while inside I was wishing I was bigger, stronger. 'Cause I'd be slugging this guy. He was pulling on my hair now...what was left of it, anyway.

            He wasn't the only one who was a pest. Another dog came up, a white one this time. He shoved me. "What's going on, Sleuth? Baldie bothering you?"

            "Yeah," replied Sleuth. "He's bugging the hell outta me."

            The white dog shoved me again. "Why you bugging Sleuth?"

            "I wasn't..." I began, but then realized he knew I wasn't bugging anybody. It was just a nice line to veil his bullying with.

            "I don't like it when people mess with my buddy Sleuth." He shoved me again. Like everybody else, he was bigger than me. I stumbled backwards, and tripped over the crate of basketballs, landing on my ass. It wasn't graceful, at any rate.

            The two dogs laughed like nothing was funnier in the world.

            I stood up, fuming, but still trying to maintain at least a shred of dignity. I attempted to walk past them as arrogantly as possible, but the white one grabbed me.

            "How 'bout a little one on one, Sleuth? I got the ball!" He laughed and threw me towards Sleuth.

            The brown dog caught me by the upper arms and dragged me towards the hoop. He lifted me up, past his chest, shoulder height, now above his head! He held me up there for a second, just reveling in his strength. Not that I was heavy, but still...

            "HEY!" yelled one of the guards. He came towards us. Unlike the two guards I'd been with at first, this man wasn't a beaver. He was a wirey, mean-looking animal. A raccoon, maybe, but no...more like something else. A coati or a ringtail perhaps. He didn't look too friendly.

            "Well...uh, we was just talking and this new guy butted in. Started talking about escaping. We decided to trash 'im, you know. I mean, we don't want no trouble." The white dog was a bad liar, but the guard was obviously the type who didn't give a shit, as long as there was a scapegoat. Which was me.

            "Humph," he snorted. "He IS an Overlander. You can't trust those furless bastards. Put him down."

            The brown dog set me down. I was grateful that he didn't drop me. Robotnik had done that a lot. I remember I landed pretty rough some of those times, breaking my wrist one time, and a few ribs another.

            The guard poked at me with a stubby finger. I noticed there was dirt caked under the claws. Ah, a 'manly man'. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. Probably refused to ever hire a repairman. My hands, they're the exact opposite; no fur, smooth, pale, clean. I worked indoors. Not to say I never touched anything dirty. There had sometimes been gore in Robotropolis; experiments gone wrong, prisoners killed, blood shed. Oh yes, I knew what blood felt like. Warm, thick, coppery-smelling. Different shades of red too; brighter at the skin's surface, darker when further into the body.

            He poked me again, a scowl on his face. "Are you listenin'?"

            "Not really."

            He slugged me. I didn't expect it, and was surprised to find myself on the floor suddenly. I felt something oozing from my nose. His hands were on me, grabbing me roughly by the back of the uniform and pulling me up.

            "Don't you mouth off to me, Overlander. You just might piss me off."

            The blood tickled in my nostrils. I sneezed, spraying his face with a mixture of blood and snot.

            He stared at me, his eyes wide in disbelieving anger. Slowly, he wiped one paw across his face. Then he drew the other back.

            I stomped on his foot. It didn't hurt him, but it did distract him for a moment. My hands grabbed a small weight off the floor. It weighed down on my skinny arm. I looked at it, briefly; 15 pounds.

            The guard was coming at me, and I swung my hand, the weight clutched firmly in it. The metal connected with his skull and he staggered.

            I bolted.

            There wasn't anywhere to go! The entire room was fenced in, and there were guards outside the fence door. I ran towards it anyway...desperate. It was opening!

            Two of the outside guards came in. They had clubs in their hands, one had a laser pistol. They were coming at me! I tried to dodge around them, to make it out the open door, but they had me.

            I stopped, put my hands up in surrender.

            I couldn't see it, but I heard a whoosh in the air. Somebody had swung...GOD! I fell to my knees, then collapsed onto my stomach. My back...God, somebody's broken my back...

            I closed my eyes hard, feeling tears squeezing up inside them. Somebody's boot slammed into my ribs. I gasped for air desperately. Funny how pain turns your vision into flashing white. Like lightning or something.

            A hand closed around the back of my neck, lifting me to my feet.

            "It ain't smart, trying to escape." It was the guard named Smiley. He wasn't smiling though, he looked somewhat pissed, yet amused at the same time.

            I didn't blame the guards for bullying, not really. They didn't have anything better to do; why not beat the hell out of a prisoner? Who was going to care? The Princess? Surely not, she didn't even give any of us a trial. Her only orders had been to 'keep him (me) alive'. Then I was cuffed, and some skunk bastard knocked me out to ensure I wouldn't 'try anything'. I suppose that's when I was loaded into a hovercraft and brought to this wretched place.

            "I wasn't trying to escape," I said in a tight voice. My ribs hurt bad. A few were probably bruised. "That guard over there attacked me." I aimed a finger at the coati/ringtail/whatever-it-was. Smiley grabbed my finger in his fist. He could break it easily if he wished. I knew that, and squirmed uncomfortably.

            "Ya must've started it. We don't just attack prisoners, do we?"

            There were noises of agreement.

            "So ya better just watch yaself, Snidely..."

            "It's Sniv---," I started to correct, but he jerked my finger warningly. It hurt.

            "DON'T INTERRUPT! I don't give a shit what ya name is, ya hear me!? What I give a shit about is keeping ya pissheads in here! SO DON'T TRY TO ESCAPE AGAIN, or yer going to regret it. Ya understand me?"

            "Yes," I said.

            "DO YA?" he screamed.

            "YES!"

            "Good." He let go of my finger and shoved me. "Now go do something. And don't start any more trouble."

            My oh my, how the day was turning out. Terrible. This wasn't unusual in my screwed-up little world, but it doesn't mean I like it. We were all back in the cells. I had fortunately gotten out of the exercise room with no more incidents.

            I was lying on the bed. It was hard, but I was used to that. Sleeping on my bed back in Robotropolis was the equivalent of sleeping on a stone floor. At least it was warm.

            My ribs hurt, as did the rest of my body. I sighed and squirmed, trying to get comfortable. It seemed impossible.

            There was a squeaking sound in the hallway. I sat up. "What's that?"

            "The book cart," said the wolf, sounding pleased. "Every Thursday we get to pick out a coupla books."

            "Whoop de shit," an ugly frog said. His cell was to the right of mine. "Books suck."

            "They don't," argued the wolf. "Not when you get the porno ones."

            "Drago, man, you been holdin' out on me? All this time I thought they were shitty books, now you tell me there's pussy in 'em?"

            I scowled at the rather obscene reference to women. While I certainly wasn't a goody-two shoes, my father had been adamant about teaching me and my siblings to respect women. He beat it into me, along with everything else.

            "Yeah," said the wolf. "Some of 'em suck, ya know. They pretend to be sexy, ya know, but they ain't really. But then some of 'em, whoowheeee! Good shit."

            "Huh," the frog snorted. "I guess I'll take a look this time."

            "What about you, Snidely?"

            "It's Snively, dammit."

            "Whatever. You gonna get some of that shit?"

            "I doubt it."

            The cart came into sight. It was pushed by a scrawny guard. He stopped in front of Drago's cell and waited. Drago drew some books out from under his bed and handed them through the bars. The guard put the books onto the cart, then gestured. "Pick some new ones if ya want 'em."

            Drago peered at the books, then selected a couple of well-handled magazines. I caught a glimpse of large breasts on the cover of one.

            The cart moved to me. I choose two novels. One was named 'The Terrible Rage', the other, 'The Abused'. Great titles. How fitting for me. But they were thick, and would take at least a few days to finish each. Something to keep me from getting bored out of my skull.

            The frog picked what looked like porno magazines and hopped onto his bed eagerly, flipping through them.

            Wheels squeaking, the cart moved on.

            Drago flipped idly through one of his magazines, then looked over at me. "You got regular ole books?"

            "Yes? You have a problem with that?"

            "What are ya?" He laughed, baring his teeth. "Let me guess. Yer a faggot, right?"

            "What?"

            "Ya heard me. Yer a cock-lover, right?"

            I scowled.

            "Don't deny it. Who the hell would pick those fricken' books over shit like this?" He waved his magazine. "Pussy in here. Young, hot, wet pussy. Ya passin' up this shit for books; yer fuckin' gay, man."

            "Fuck you." It was a lame response, but I was too insulted to be insulting.

            "Oh man, Flying Frog, he wants to fuck me? Ya hear him?"

            "I heard him," said the frog.

            I gritted my teeth. "Go to hell, both of you."

            The wolf grabbed at his crotch. "Ya like this, don't ya? Ya'd be droolin' if I got a woodie, wouldn't ya? Well, I ain't gonna. I only get woodies over chicks, thank ya very much."

            I closed my eyes and hoped I wouldn't lose my temper. That would not be good.

             "Damn, he's thinking about me," said Drago. "Thinking about screwing me. Whatta fag."

            A surge of anger brought me to my feet. My fists were clenched and I snarled at the wolf through the bars that separated his cell from mine. Then I realized how stupid I must look.

            The wolf was huge. He was at least six feet tall. His chest was more than two feet wide.

            "Whatcha gonna do? Beat me up?" The wolf laughed and came up to bars. I glared up at him. "Don't worry man, I'm only teasin'. Ya just better not hit on me. I'll bust yer little ass."

            "I'm not gay," I said.

            "Whatever. Ya must just be a freak."

            "I must be." I rolled my eyes and backed away from the bars. The wolf chuckled.

            'The Terrible Rage' was one of those books that has a slow beginning. I wanted to stop reading, but didn't. It gave hints that better things were to come. I've read books with the most lousy beginnings, and further in they become excellent.

            Nevertheless, I was about to try the other book instead, when a guard came by.

            "You boys hungry?"

            "Yeah," said Drago and Flying Frog in unison.

            "Is the food going to be edible this time?"

            The guard smirked at me. "A smart-ass, huh?"

            "I'm just being truthful."

            "Yah, guess you are." The guard laughed heartily.

            In this place, it seems we were either chained, fenced in, or else watched extremely close. We were led down to the cafeteria in a single file line. A guard closed up the line; he had a high-powered plasma rifle. The frog was last in line. I kept hearing him yelp, "Hey, quit pokin' me with that thing! I'm movin'!"

            When we got to the café' (as it was graciously called), we each were handed a tray. There was a long line leading up to a counter where the food was given out by sour-faced cooks. I was almost up to the counter when a weasel came up to me. I recognized him instantly.

            It was Nick, or Knock...whatever, the bounty hunter.

            "'Ey, I know yoouuu," he said.

            "Yes," I said warily.

            "Yer Fat-boy's little ass-kisser."

            "Not anymore," I said.

            "Yeah? And why not?"

            "Because he's dead. And I killed him." I said it with a sneer. Somehow I thought that would make it sound true.

            "You?" He laughed uproariously. "Yeah right!"

            "Welllll...it was indirectly...but still. I take some of the credit."

            He eyed me shrewdly, his ridiculous fang jutting over his lower lip.      "Eh...that I can believe. Yer the sneaky bastard type."

            I took that as a compliment and smiled.

            "I was thinking..." He put a friendly arm around my shoulder, which I didn't like. "...yer kinda smart...I'm kinda smart."

            "Yes, so?" I stepped sideways. His hand slid off.

            "I was thinkin'...we could, ya know, plan a bust togetha. I mean...anyone who can blow Fatboy ta hell can bust outta some ole prison, eh?"

            I looked around as discreetly as possible. Some of the guards, especially the coati one, were gazing over the line. More specifically, they were gazing at us. We were the only ones talking. And after my 'escape attempt', I suppose they got suspicious. The coati headed our way.

            Nack eased back to his place in the line. His movements were smooth, like water. He was tough. I wondered why, then...why had he never outdone Sonic? The hedgehog was fast...but not immune to surprise attacks.

            The coati should've backed off then. But he didn't. He came straight up to me, reached out his tan and white hand and grabbed me.

            "HEY!" I exclaimed. He shook me.

            "I don't like your face, Overlander. So if you step even a millimeter outta line, I'm gonna make you pay." He shook me again. "You got that?"

            I tried to pry his hands off. This seemed to anger him though; he shook me harder until my head snapped back and forth. I thought he was going to break my neck.

            I have long since learned that, if I cannot escape somebody, and they are stronger than me, to just submit. I did just that. I let my body go limp, averted my eyes to floor. I was harmless.

            He seemed to sense this and let me go. I rubbed my neck with one hand, grimacing. It hurt. I had a crink in it.

            "You didn't have to do that," I said. "I comprehend things just fine...I don't need them beaten into me."

            "Like I said, I DON'T LIKE YOUR FACE!" He practically screamed it at me.

            No use reasoning with this guy. I looked down at the floor.

            "That's better. Just you remember what I said. Because I ain't lying. You hear me?"

            "Yes sir," I said. Being polite never hurt, even though I was wishing I could hurt him. Badly.

            He snorted and walked off. I stepped back into line.

            "That guy is a total dickhead," said the frog behind me.

            "Yeah, loves sticking his dickhead up other people's asses," said Drago from in front of me.

            "Ewww...gross!" cackled the frog.

            I sighed. There was no intelligence in this place. Except for me, of course. Oh well. I dealt with it in Robotropolis, I suppose I could deal with it here. Although being surrounded by incompetents was sure to give me migraines.

            I was at the counter. The cook was a scraggly dog-type, with fat cheeks and mean slanty eyes. He scooped up a large ladleful of grayish white crap and slapped it into my bowl.

            "Enjoy," he said.

            "I won't," I replied sweetly.

            The food wasn't as bad as it looked. That was a good thing. But still, I knew that if I ate too much, I'd get nauseous.

            "Ya know what this stuff looks like?" The wolf addressed our table. He held a spoonful of the goop out.

            "What?" asked the white dog who'd harassed me earlier.

            "Looks like they scrapped this crap outta some guy's skivvies after a wet dream."

            The frog laughed and there were groans from the others. Drago chuckled and slurped the goop off his spoon. I looked down at my bowl and pushed it away, my stomach twisting.

            Drago's eyes were on me. They were the color of sky and earth. I glanced up at him.

            "Lost yer appetite?"

            "I didn't have one in the first place."

            He shook his spoon at me. "Now...that's yer problem, cueball. Ya don't eat enough."

            "You've been possessed by my mother?"

            The wolf laughed. He had nice white teeth. Very sharp. Sometimes I wondered if the carnivore Mobians ever thought of the other Mobians as food. I wondered if he thought of me as food. It didn't even have to be an outright thought, it could be some primal thing, tucked far back into his consciousness...

            "Nah, but ya know I'm right. Yer skinny cause ya don't eat."

            "He's just a wuss," said the white dog. He laid his brown eyes on me. "How'd you end up here anyway, hoooman?"

            The table (The white dog, Sleuth, Drago, Nack, the frog, and an ugly blue hawk) began to elaborate.

            "I say he got thrown in here cause he's ugly," said Sleuth.

            "Maybe because he's a hoooman," said the white dog.

            "Probably stabbed somebody with his nose, heh."

            The frog laughed. He seemed like an easily amused fellow.

            "He probably butt-rammed somebody with it," said Drago. "He's a faggot, ya know."

            "I coulda guessed," said the white dog. He bent his spoon back, sending goop my way. It hit the table just a few inches in front of me.

            "I'm not gay," I said.

            "Sure," laughed Drago.

            "Why you in here, then?" demanded the white dog.

            "I worked for Robotnik. Practically ran the city myself."

            "You lived in Robotropolis?" He sounded just a teeniest bit impressed.

            "Yes," I smirked. "I was second-in-command."

            "No way."

            "Yes."

            The white dog stirred his goop. "What about that android feller, Packard Bell?"

            "Packbell? I was higher rank than him."

            "Well, how do you like that? What made you so special?"

            "I'm smart. Robotnik knew it, so he picked me." It sounded corny, even to me.

            "He's his nephew, that's why." The white wolf let his spoon clatter into his empty bowl.

            "Ahh." The white dog waved his hand. "That's the only reason. Lucky break, s'all."

            I almost laughed at that. Lucky break?! It was so damn ridiculous. They thought I was lucky to have lived in that city. They didn't know how I suffered.

            They seemed disinterested in me now.

            "Anyone read 'Lolita's Hard Work'?"

            "What's it about?" asked Sleuth.

            "Ohhooohooo, man, you gotta read it!" crooned the white dog. "It's got some of the skankiest, nastiest crap I've ever seen, man..."

            Guard Smiley came around, his eyes sweeping over us. He saw the empty bowls of most everybody, and my nearly full one.

            "Ya still ain't eatin'?"

            "'Ey, I just told some little joke, and he got all squeamish," snorted Drago.

            "What a wimp," said Smiley. "But it's too late to eat now. Time to go back to ya cells."

            I paced the cell. "So, where do we go next?"

            "Get a potty break later tonight. Then, that's it." The white wolf reached under his bed to get his magazines. "Trust me, cueball, today was a thrill ride compared to most."

            I didn't know whether to take that as good news or bad. After all, I'd been insulted and hassled all day. On the other hand...I could go insane from boredom.

            It had been boring in Robotropolis. But at least I wasn't stuck in one room. At least I could get outside sometimes. And at least I had my alcohol... And my painkillers. Couldn't forget those. With those two drugs in my system, I could handle the boredom.

            But here, I wasn't sure.

Chapter 2: Thoughts and Stuff

I have as much rage as you have

I have as much pain as you do

I've lived as much hell as you have

And I've kept mine bubbling under for you

---Alanis Morrisette “Sympathetic Character”

            The next day I awoke around 8:00. It was late by my usual standards. In Robotropolis, I was usually up at 6:00. It was kind of unnecessary. There usually wasn't that much work to do, but Robotnik expected me to be up before sunrise, and so I was.

            I closed my eyes, sprawling out lazily on the bed. At least I could relax here. Unlike that city. How hard I worked there. Getting up early every morning, working all day, sometimes all night. Robotnik kept me working constantly. It wasn't always important things either. When there wasn't much going on, he made me compile and write stupid reports.

            In my free time, I didn't usually relax. I had my own work, which mainly included plotting against ole Uncle Julian.

            Robotnik thought I was conniving. He didn't trust me. Which was one reason he treated me so badly. But I wasn't crafty at first. As the abuse got worse, I realized I had to get rid of him. So I became what he thought I was; conniving, backstabbing, a double-crosser.

            There were times I almost got caught. It was terrifying. Robotnik's eyes would get all crazed, and he would get ready to hurt and maim my poor poor body. But I always managed to get out of it. I was really a superb liar. That, combined with my groveling, was usually enough to get my feet out of the grave.

            Then, Robotnik came up with that 'Ultimate Annihilator' idea. At first, I was actually excited about it. Knothole would be destroyed! Mobius would finally be ours...well, Julian's anyway.

            Robotnik was thrilled at the prospect of a leveled Knothole. He actually treated me better in the days following the machine's completion.

            I had a few sleepless nights that week...I admit it. I wondered what would happen if Robotnik used the machine, and destroyed Knothole. Would he treat me better? Or would it be the same? Should I tweak the machine, make it destroy Robotnik? If I didn't, then my chance was gone.

            But finally, I did go through with it. The machine was being created in one of Robotnik's labs. I created a loop tape, and installed it in the surveillance camera in the lab. It looped an empty room, over and over...because if Robotnik saw me on the surveillance tapes, tinkering with his 'baby', he'd have me slaughtered.

            I was not caught. I did my 'adjustments' on select nights; nights when Robotnik was sleeping, and Packbell was in his lab way on the other side of the city.

            The day Robotnik used it, I was floating on a haze made by my painkillers and alcohol mixed; I knew I shouldn't do that... But if the machine didn't work, if Robotnik wasn't killed...would he notice something was wrong? Would he suspect me? I figured if I was going to be beaten to death, I misewell numb myself to the pain...

            But all went well, for me, anyway. Robotnik, and Packbell too, I suspect, were both 'blown to hell' as Nack had said.

            But then, those monsters, those furry brats...they came. They took it all away. My ultimate dream, snatched right from my hands...by a couple of kids! They came in, and I, still woozy from my 'celebrating', was too stupid in the head to stop them.

            The big skunk freedom fighter caught me with some net. I knew I was captured, perhaps heading to my trial (and inevitable death) in Knothole, but I was too wasted to care. I insulted the princess, laughed as the skunk slung me over his shoulder and headed away from the city.

            But now...I can't laugh.

            "Ya know what I would do to her?" Drago was talking across my cell to Flying Frog. He was holding his porn magazine in his hand.

            "What?" asked the frog.

            "I'd open up them legs, nice and slow. Suck on her toes a little, women, they like that."

            "Lick her up like an ice cream sundae," chuckled the frog.

            "Yeah!" Drago laughed and ran his hand up and down the bars separating his cell from mine.

            "Do you mind?" I growled. The wolf was practically yelling in my ear.

            "What's yer problem, cueball?" The wolf flipped through his magazine, then regarded me with a sneer.

            "Yeah, why you flippin' out? Just wake up and BAM! You're all cranky."

            I should ignore them. They're obviously below me. Heathens, really. But am I really any better? How stupid. Of course I am. I'm human...they're animals. Just silly talking animals.

            I shouldn't talk to them. Inferior species didn't deserve to converse...oh hell. Arrogance is not the way to go when you're stuck in a cell for God knows how long...

            "I was just thinking," I said.

            "What about?"

            "The rebels."

            "You mean the Freedom Fighters."

            "Yes. I hate them. I want to kill them for what they did..."

            Drago snarled. "Yeah, they suck. I want to strangle all of 'em." He clenched his huge fists.

            "Me too!" chimed in the overly optimistic frog. "They're the ones that put me in here."

            "There's a certain bitch I need to pay back," the wolf hissed. His hands clenched on the bars, shaking them.

            I leaned back on the bed, resting my head against the wall. "I was so close to having Robotropolis. Do you know what that's like? To be that close, and have it taken away..."

            Drago sat cross-legged on his bed. It sagged under his heavy weight. "I do know what ya mean. That Robotnik promised me a portion of Robotropolis."

            "Oh, did he?" I turned my head to look at him. "You wouldn't have gotten it, either way. If he lived, he wouldn't have given it to you, and I certainly wouldn't give it to you."

            "Puh," he snorted. "And why not?"

            "Because you're a moron. That part of the city would be in shambles within a week."

            "Puh," said the wolf again. "I would've built that baby up, built some kickass weapons, and wiped out them little brats. That bitch too."

            "Hey, hey, what's all this noise?" The two main guards, Marshe and Smiley appeared in the hallway.

            "Sounds like our newbie is blending in well," said Smiley.

            "Yeah, didn't know you guys would talk to an Overlander." Marshe said it with the same contempt I held for Mobians.

            "He's not all that bad," said the frog.

            "Yeah, for a fag."

            I opened my mouth to protest, but realized it wouldn't do any good. Why the wolf insisted on calling me a homosexual was beyond me, but it was obvious he wouldn't stop. I just hoped nobody would believe him. I get teased for enough things.

            "You guys talking about Sonic?" asked Marshe.

            "Somewhat. The whole lot of bastards, actually."

            "Personally don't care for the spineball, myself," said Marshe. The middle-aged guard whistled. "But the princess, now that's a different story!"

            "I'd go for her myself," said Drago. "I'd like to see her in one of these magazines, spread out nice and wide."

            I refrained from rolling my eyes. Would I seem gay if I didn't agree? I just didn't believe in porn. It was degrading to women, demeaning... Funny, I could be cruel and condescending to any and all in Robotropolis, but I would never single someone out because they were a woman...

            Marshe was wagging his finger at Drago. "Now, now wolfie, that's not gonna happen. The princess spreading for anyone, it'd be me, not your dirty mags."

            Smiley shook his head. "Knock it off, ya two. The princess isn't a whore. She's our leader, and ya should treat her like one."

            We all just looked at him. Funny to see such a dick-headed man having a softspot for the little princess.

            "Aww, yer just gay," said Drago.

            The frog laughed.

            Marshe took a ring of keys out of his pocket. "We didn't come around just to chat. It's potty time!"

            He opened Drago's cell and led the wolf off to the bathroom, I assume. I realized then how much I had to go; my stomach was cramping up and I felt suddenly panicky in that Oh-my-God-I-have-to-piss way. I must've missed the bathroom break last night; I fell asleep early.

            "Hey, Sniv'."

            "What?" I turned to the frog, bouncing on my bed a little. I had an almost overwhelming urge to clasp my hands between my legs like a little kid, but resisted.

            "That guard, Marshe, he's a big pervert, man. You gotta show him whose boss or he'll totally mess with ya."

            "What do you mean?" I frowned.

            "He'll try and grope ya."

            I frowned deeper.

            "I showed him though, man. Totally whooped his ass. He tried to grab my crown jewels..." I turned away from him, while he happily babbled on.

            "Hey now," said Smiley. "Marshe don't do that."

            "...kicked him right in the nuts, he went flying..." The frog laughed. "Stop lying, Smiles, you know I'm telling the truth."

            "No, ya ain't!" The guard shot back.

            Marshe was coming back, so the frog and Smiley shut up. He opened my cell door, beckoning with a broad hand and a smile. I walked out, feeling his presence too close to me as he led me down to the bathroom.

            As I walked, I observed the scenery. Rows of cells, some full. A long stretch of hallway, what appeared to be stairs at the end. There was a side hallway coming up. I could feel Marshe's breath on the back of my neck.

            Wonder if I can outrun him. I certainly can't outfight him. Can't outfight anybody, really, but then again he was bigger and stronger than me, as was everyone. I'd have to fight with every ounce of strength to get away from him, and even then, it wouldn't be enough.

            We turned down the side hallway, and there were several doors. He led me through one and into a cruddy bathroom.

            I nearly ran to the toilet (there were no urinals) with my need to relieve myself. I unzipped my grayish-blue prison uniform to the navel, and then stopped.

            He was leaning against the wall, staring at me. I gave him one of those 'do you mind' looks, but he didn't turn away.

            My teeth clenched, and I almost whimpered with frustration. I can't piss with him watching...but I can't hold it any longer.

            "Go ahead," he said. A smile crept onto his face.

            "Turn around," I said.

            "No."

            "I'm not going anywhere."

            "That's right, you’re not. Not until you take a piss." He turned on one of the faucets. The sound of the water rushing into the sink almost drove me mad, and I gritted my teeth in a very apparent effort not to wet my pants.

            "C'mon boy, I know you gotta go. You missed your break last night."

            "You can't just turn around? I swear, I'm not going to try to escape."

            "I don't care about that. You can't get away from me."

            "Then quit staring at me."

            "No." The smile, all quirky and irritating, widened.

            I realized then that Flying Frog was right. He was a pervert. He wanted to watch. Would he try and grope me, as the frog had said?

            I sighed, giving in to my body. I unzipped my uniform the rest of the way, and did my business, doing my damnedest not to give him any peek-a-boos.

            He reached over as I finished, pressing the little button on the toilets. The water sucked down the toilet at an incredible speed. You could lose your hand to that suction. New water flowed in.

            I zipped my suit up fast, not wanting to get groped.

            "Cute tool," he said.

            "Excuse me?" I moved to the sink. The soap was a goopy pink liquid. I rubbed it over my hands, washing each finger individually. I'm a clean freak...so what?

            "Cute tool," he repeated.

            I rinsed my hands off and dried them on a napkin.

            "Cute enough to touch," he said. He took a step towards me.

            My eyes widened uncontrollably. I'm afraid of attack. I am not the world's greatest fighter. If I had my laser pistol, I could blow this fellow's little toe off with him standing fifty feet away. But I didn't have it.

            'Show him whose boss', the frog had said. I clenched my fists. I couldn't beat him, but I was not getting groped without a fight.

            "Aw, calm down," he snickered. "I ain't gonna do nothing. Was just scaring you a little."

            And he led me out of the bathroom and back to my cell. Where I must say, I was actually happy to be.

            "So, who caught ya?" asked Drago.

            "Me? It was that skunk fellow."

            "Eh, that's Geoffrey," said the wolf. "I hate him. A big jerk, that one."

            And you aren't? I thought.

            "Guess who got me in here? My bitch. I treated that hoe like a queen, and she turned on me. Frickin' bitch. I owe her big time."

            "Your own girlfriend?" I laughed.

            "Shut yer trap, cueball." Drago stood up and picked up his nighttable. He threw it around, trying to show off his muscles. "Look at this shit. I'm gonna mess her up when I get her. I can mess ya up too."

            I wasn't really impressed. But I realized, maybe I should work out a little. I looked around, saw my two thick novels. They were pretty heavy. I hefted them up, one in each hand. They made good weights.

            Drago watched me lift the books and scoffed. "Surprised ya can lift anythan."

            "I have some muscle," I protested.

            "Sure."

            "I do."

            "Show us then."

            "No." I sat down on the bed.

            "Aw, c'mon."

            "No thanks."

            "C'MON! Won't stop bugging ya until ya dooo!"

            "Fine," I sighed. I hiked up my sleeves and flexed what little bicep I had.

            "HA! Ya call that a muscle?! That's like a little bump er somethan'." He smiled as I glared. "Eh, don't feel so bad. It was more than I expected. Now show us yer legs. It ain't just arms that are important. It's everythan, baby."  He stood on one leg and thrust the other out, pointing his toe so the muscles hardened under his tight uniform.

            So I showed off my legs, feeling a little embarrassed. They were nicely muscled, but nothing compared to the almighty Drago. Still, the wolf gave a little whistle. "Guess ya ran around a lot."

            "Yes," I said.

            "What about yer belly?" He unzipped his grays to show one of those torsos that rippled with muscles and a nice six-pack.

            "I'm not showing that."

            "Skin and bone, eh?"

            "Besides running around, I got trained a little by Commander Packbell," I said.

            "Eh, really? That's that android bastard, right?"

            I nodded.

            "Hmph, what's he like?"

            "He's a bastard, as you said. Big, tall. Not as muscled as you, but," I shrugged, "he didn't need it. He was much stronger than he looked."

            "Not stronger than me," scoffed the wolf.

            "Yes he was."

            The wolf snorted, but I continued...starting to fall into memories as I talked. Pretty soon, I wasn't even talking anymore, and Drago and Flying Frog quickly turned their attentions back to their magazines.

            Packbell...hmmm. What is there to say about Packbell? So much. There's so damn much. And at the same time, so damn little.

            I HATE Packbell. I hate him so much. Every time I saw him, I'd start to tremble; my hatred was so deep, I just couldn't contain it.

            When Robotnik first unveiled Packbell, I thought it was nifty. I thought it would reduce some of the work I had, and I thought it'd be someone to talk to. I should've known better.

            I've seen androids before, and some of them I've seen were so confused. They realized they were made, not born, and it hurt them. They didn't know what to do. They thought they weren't real. It was sad really, because being born of a mother is something you don't think about. You take it for granted. To know you were created...molded and wired and your personality is just something that somebody made up...

            But Packbell wasn't like them...he knew he wasn't real...but he didn't care. He didn't care if he was just a machine, because he saw himself as superior to everything.

            In a way, he was.

            Robotnik made Packbell handsome. But Robotnik wasn't phased by Packbell's beauty, because Robotnik thought round was the perfect shape. And Robotnik certainly was a big fat circle.

            Packbell had silky black hair and red eyes, a small nose and perfect silvery teeth, and fair skin. His frame was tall and lean, and rock-hard. He didn't need to be bulked out with muscle. He was stronger than any human could possibly be.

            I wasn't jealous. He was beautiful, he was tall. He was loved by Robotnik, while I was treated like trash. But I wasn't jealous. I was just resentful.

            It was Packbell's personality I hated. And perhaps that fueled my hatred of Robotnik at the same time, because Julian's the one who created Packbell's fucked-up mind.

            Packbell was programmed to be wicked. He was more than wicked though. He was sadistic, cruel, evil... he was anti-love, anti-life. Packbell's main joy in life was tormenting others. He got off on it. Nothing was funnier to him than some poor soul screaming in agony. Prisoners who were once arrogant and strong were reduced to whimpering babies after a session with him.

            Needless to say, I wasn't exactly comfortable when Packbell was around. One of his hobbies was irritating the shit out of me. Fortunately it didn't usually go beyond just irritating...but there were a few times when Packbell had really hurt me. Reprimands from Robotnik didn't seem to phase Packbell; any chance he got to torment me, he took it.

            My eyelids were getting heavy and I snuggled up on the bed, getting as comfortable as possible.

            But my dreams were hardly pleasant...

            It wasn't only a dream, but a memory.

            What was I doing? Ah yes...working in my lab. Some experiment or another. I was typing out the results, playing a nice soft classical piece on my mini-stereo.

            I heard the door slide open, and turned in my chair. The Commander had entered and just stood for a second, looking around. Under one arm he held a small round dartboard. I saw the tips of darts sticking out of his breast pocket.

            "Hey Snively-ively, do you mind if I play a game of darts in here?"

            "Uh..." I looked at him, wary and surprised. "I'm trying to work, actually. Go play it somewhere else."

            "I want to play it HERE," he said, with all the insistence of a bratty toddler.

            "I said no, Packbell, now leave me alone." I turned back to my keyboard. The android was apparently hard of hearing; he stuck the magnetic-backed dartboard to the wall.

            I heard the thuds of darts as they hit the board.

            "Packbell, I thought I told you...what the hell?"

            The android smirked, throwing another dart. It struck the dartboard, where there was a picture pinned up by another dart. A picture of...me.

            "Very funny. Don't you have work to do?"

            "No. Besides, I AM working."

            I sighed and turned back to my keyboard. Fine, he could just throw darts at a picture of me all he wanted. As long as he didn't get in my way.

            My fingers flew over the keys at a furious pace. I wanted to get this data compiled and printed out; I was actually eager to turn the report in to Robotnik. Minutes passed quickly. I stopped to scan my work for typos.

            "Hey Snively," came Packbell's voice. I jumped, having forgotten he was there.

            "What?" I swiveled my chair around. My gaze moved to my picture. It was full of darts. Packbell was pulling them out of the dartboard.

            "I'm ready for the real thing," he said.

            He saw the impatience in my eyes and grinned. "Aw, you know what I'm talking about, Needlenose. I've mastered the photo...now I need the real thing."

            "What?" I asked, even though I had a bad feeling I knew. Packbell grinned wider; he saw the sweat bead on my forehead, heard my breathing get erratic. Though I could lie about so many other things, I could never pull off concealing my fear.

            Fear mixed with Packbell was not a good combination. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire; this fire being Packbell's sadistic nature.

            "Look, I'm working," I said, trying to reason with him, "I'm working on something important, and Robotnik won't like it if you bother me. So I suggest you take your little toys and leave."

            "Are you threatening me, Snively?" he drawled, the grin widening even more.

            "Packbell..."

            "Stand against that wall," he said suddenly.

            "No."

            "C'mon Snivvy, it'll be fun."

            "No, leave me alone. I'm not in the mood..."

            "You're never in the mood for anything fun, are you?" The android mock-pouted. "But it doesn't matter what YOU want, I'm in charge here."

            "I'm higher rank than you," I replied coldly.

            "Oh really?" He leaned forward with all the grace of a hunting cat and snatched me out of the chair. Packbell was six foot five, an impressive height. He lifted me high up; I was dangling five feet above the ground. "You care to enforce that rank?!"

            What could I say? I WAS higher rank than him. But it didn't matter now. He was stronger than me. There was nothing I could do but just shake my head. Packbell chirped in amusement and set me down.

            If I had one wish, it would be to be bigger. Stronger. God, how many situations could I have gotten myself out of if I'd been stronger? There were too many to count.

            "Stand against that wall, 'sir'," he said, mocking me. I was higher rank; but it was unspoken fact that he was superior in Robotnik's eyes, in the eyes of the Freedom Fighters...even in my own eyes.

            I knew there was no beating him, but I wasn't about to surrender. Hatred does that to you.

            He crossed his arms, waiting patiently.

            I didn't move.

            "Wall." He pointed towards it. "You." He pointed at me. "You. Stand. Against. Wall."

            "N.O."

            I was raised off my feet again and carried to the wall. He set me down and gave me a shove. I stumbled backwards, my back hitting the smooth metal. My flailing hand hit the dartboard and it fell, striking me in the head. While I groaned about that, I noticed that Packbell had the darts in his hand.

            My bad feeling increased. I felt queasy now, my knees felt weak. God, I hate this feeling. It makes me want to die, anything to escape this terrible anxiety. Packbell made it worse, smirking and smiling at me as he took a few steps backwards.

            "You make a good target," he said. "I've been wanting to do this for a while. Never got around to it, though. You should be happy; I don't have any work today, that's why I'm here."

            I rubbed my head, and glared. "Get out, Packbell. I don't have time for your---"

            A dart struck the wall inches from my head. The sharp tip hit the wall and bounced off. It skittered across the metal floor. My shocked gaze fo