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When Sonic was ten years old, he broke his leg. He didn’t like to dwell on the memory, whether to cringe at his own childish recklessness or to mourn for the boy who lay for what seemed like an eternity, trying and failing not to cry, until his uncle came to rescue him. The memories that came after were painful for their own reasons. There was the long hospital stay that Sonic knew in retrospect that they couldn’t afford, but as an injured child all Sonic was aware of was the frantic yearning to get up out of bed and seek out new trouble. The yearning did not ease when his leg did not heal like it was supposed to, when complications necessitated its removal at the knee. There was no holding back the tears drawn out by pain from a part of him that was no longer there. Worse was the knowledge settling into his bones that his carefree life was forever changed—and perhaps it had never been as carefree as he liked to think. Through all the agonizing months, Uncle Chuck was by his side; at times holding him tight, at times telling him what a champ he was being. More often than not, it was both at once. Sonic didn’t know which he hated more; that the phantom pain still visited from time to time, or that Chuck could not.
The following weeks passed in a haze, as Sonic did everything he could to distract from the brutal reality he could not escape. His remaining limbs simmered with energy that he no longer knew how to release. He memorized every crack in his bedroom ceiling, every word of the comic books Chuck had given to him every birthday since he could sit still long enough to read. He drew his own comics; senseless, heartfelt stories made up of ink and desperation, until his markers dried out and a numbing fog settled over his thoughts. He chewed his fingernails until Uncle Chuck brought him a silicon ring that gave way when he bit down, but didn’t tear under even his most frantic gnawing. When Uncle Chuck had time, they played Dungeons and Dragons modified for two. Sonic slew tyrants, befriended demons, gave hope to a fantastic world that longed for a hero, but with every roll of the dice he wished that he could still resolve acrobatics checks by performing improbable feats of athleticism on his own two legs.
Most of the time, Uncle Chuck was not available to play. Sonic didn’t know what kind of debt the hospital bills had dragged him into, or what he went through just to keep the two of them safe with a roof in their head and far beneath the attention of the Empire. Sonic didn’t know if Chuck was trying to keep him calm by hiding the truth, or didn’t want to get his hopes up by pretending everything was fine. Like Sonic, Chuck was glad to drown his loved ones in displays of affection, but struggled with a sincere heart-to-heart. And so Sonic didn’t know what project kept his uncle awake late into the night, long after Sonic was supposed to be asleep but wasn’t, and instead spent the long hours staring at the light that seeped under his bedroom door.
It wasn’t until much later that Chuck came to his bedside, drawing Sonic away from the comic book whose every word he knew, but whose third page he had stared at for hours without reading. Chuck laid something out on the bed, long and slim and wrapped in sturdy cloth. It was immediately the most interesting thing in the room, and Sonic was already leaning toward it when Chuck started to unwrap it.
Chuck didn’t scold him for the shrieked “Holy shit!” that escaped him when he saw what Chuck had created.
A lot of people had prosthetics (far too many people needed them), but the good ones were expensive. Even then, they were unlikely to be any use to Sonic, whose abilities would one day thoroughly befuddle the Empire’s finest engineers—and doctors, for that matter. Chuck had never been sure that he was up to the task, and Sonic never really understood how he managed it. But when he strapped on his new leg (and after wobbling around like a newborn colt for an embarrassing amount of time), Sonic greeted the wind that rushed by like an old friend, one he thought he’d never see again.
Over the years that followed, Chuck made improvements. As Sonic grew, so too did the leg, and each time it had to be dismantled and reassembled, Chuck made sure that Sonic was there to watch. Sonic learned how each component fit together, how to ensure that certain parts were not chafing against each other when he ran, how to identify and maintain parts that needed to be fixed. By the time he was twelve, he could make the necessary adjustments to ensure the prosthetic kept pace with the rest of his body as it grew. He never fully understood just what made it tick, just how Chuck had managed to build something unlike anything the Empire’s machines wielded, something that could keep up with Sonic like nothing else. All Sonic knew, all that mattered, was that he loved it. Not as an extension of his body, but as a gift, handcrafted by one who loved him more than he loved himself. By his creation, Chuck had made manifest his belief that Sonic was indomitable, unstoppable, as brilliant and blinding as a bolt of lightning.
When Sonic was very young, they would play pretend, and Chuck would call him Super Sonic, Hero of Mobius, a weary world’s best hope for a bright future. And then he was gone, and Sonic wrapped that mantle around himself and stood tall under the weight of a world that wanted to crush him into the dust. Memories of when he was protected seared his thoughts like lightning, but were gone in an echo of thunder, and Sonic did not listen to the ringing in his ears.
He wasn’t small anymore. Teenage years and testosterone lengthened his limbs, left his muscles lithe and scrappy. He cut off his hair, and he didn’t tell anyone that he still cried when his uncle wasn’t there to teach him how to shave. He took his metal leg apart and put it back together, a little longer, a little stronger, like he had to be. And one day, in a tiny hidden compartment behind his knee, he found something that was not there when Chuck was teaching him how to put himself back together.
Sitting one-legged in an empty workshop, illuminated by the glow of an ancient scavenged laptop, Sonic heard his uncle’s voice, and he didn’t tell anyone that he cried.
“How’s it going, kid?” Chuck smiled into a cheap webcam, his eyes reddened by the diffused light. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but… you know. I hope that you’re happy to see me, at least. If you’re seeing this message, it means you haven’t seen my face in a while. I probably don’t need to tell you how dangerous it is out here. I tried to hide it from you when you were little. It wouldn’t have done any good to scare you. You deserved to be a normal kid for a few years, at least. Actually, you deserved so much more than that. You still do. I’d give you the world if I could, sonny, but… Well, life isn’t fair sometimes. Don’t let it get to you, Sonic. I know you, never letting anyone drag you down. It’s always been hard, and it’s only gonna get harder. I want you to keep your chin up, find the sunlight wherever you can.”
Chuck’s smile faltered, and he heaved a sigh. The camera blurred, just for a moment, as he took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “That’s not why I recorded this message. You’ll be okay, with or without me, but there’s some things you need to know now that you’re a bit older and wiser.”
By the time he slipped his glasses back onto his nose, his smile was gone. Sonic could barely see Chuck’s face through his own watery eyes, but he recognized the exhaustion in his uncle’s voice. Sonic didn’t know if he wanted to reach through the screen and tell Chuck that everything was going to be okay—or if he wanted Chuck to do the same for him. Instead he went very, very quiet as Chuck said, “Let me tell you about your mom.”
“Aleena Hedgeheart was tough as nails. You’re so much like her, you know. She never let anyone push her around, and she never met anyone who was hurting without trying to help. She would have done anything for you, for Mobius. But it’s like I said, life isn’t fair. She couldn’t take care of you, not while Robotnik was hunting her. I promised to look after you. It was the least I could do. But I can’t stop thinking about the look on her face before she left. It’s a horrible decision for a mom to be forced to make. Yes, I’m her family. Yes, she knew she could trust me. But nothing, nothing will ever compare to watching you grow up. It was the greatest privilege I will ever enjoy, and she should have been able to share it with me.”
“And, unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about the other two. Because, Sonic, you’re a triplet, and I was only able to take care of one of you. I’m sorry, kid. I really wanted to tell you this in person. But you need to know, because you’re siblings are out there. I don’t know where, but I know they need you. Maybe twins and triplets really do have psychic connections, maybe you three are a matching set that needs to be together. I can’t confirm that, but I do know that wherever they are, they must be lonely. They must be scared. They need you, Sonic. You can bring light into their lives, like you did for me. You can have a family, even if I’m gone for good. I don’t know if Aleena’s still out there. I hope so. She deserves at least to know that her kids are looking out for each other. She needs you too.”
When the message ended, and the screen went dark, the quiet seemed to stretch out for an eternity, deeper and bleaker than anything Sonic had ever known. All of the sudden, he didn’t know which voice he missed the most.