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Monotony.
Every day of nothing happening made it more and more apparent that he was losing it. Lab walls shrunk into themselves. Shiny, cold, metal walls attempting to crush him alive.
What an act of cruelty, to enforce a routine for the likes of him. His creator kept coming with new ways to torture him, but this was a new low.
The doctor and Sage were discussing plans on the other room. If he were to pay close attention, maybe he could figure out what they were saying. But he really couldn’t care less.
Motionless and alone, as it has become an habit. Slumped on top of a pile of badnik spare parts, staring blankly at a wall to find an ounce of inspiration.
Yet nothing.
It was baffling that someone could enjoy this peace. Most mortal minds would avoid violence at any cost as to live a normal life. For a moment, Metal thought he needed it as well.
Then he got it.
No fights, no missions, nothing to keep his mind occupied. His hands craved for flesh. Body restless, ready to bolt at the slightest of provocation. This desperation for an outlet. Anything to stop his thoughts from jumping back and forth.
Nothing.
“Be careful what you wish for” they said. Frankly, it was almost pathetic how he let himself hope the universe would let him have something good for once.
The doctor had plans. Big plans. Plans that wouldn’t require him. “Take a break or something” he’d dismiss him with a wave of hand. He had plans. And he wasn’t needed for them…
What a joke.
Days started to blur one with the other. And Metal? Just a spectator of his own life. Body moving out of inercia, going in cycles with the same numbness that stopped him from feeling real.
It was day… What? 30? 62? The data logs weren’t a concern of him anymore. The robot found himself mingling with a broken motobug. Twisting its dead limbs, scratching at the red paint and leaving behind violent scarring.
Low, insignificant excuse of a robot. Now part of a mere pile of endless failures and disappointments. Pathetic.
Hands clawing at the robot, wishing the oil staining him had been blood instead. He was met with a lifeless stare. A corpse. A shell of a body, mangled beyond recognition. He could still make up the shape of quills that tore the metal apart. A physical display of ineptitude. The consequences of a loosing battle… Yet, the display showed that it's fragile body had experienced more action than him lately.
This wasn’t enough.
He craved novelty. Craved movement. One more day trapped on this lab and he’d go insane. Maybe he already was. It truly didn’t mattered.
Calculating the risks of going against direct orders, he concluded that the consequences weren’t worth it. Not for the amount of trouble he’d get in over this. Not for having to deal with Eggman mad at him. And then his endless yelling. The insults. The condescending attitude. And that if he got lucky.
That’s what he logically knew, to not make a target of himself. But what about consequences? He was so far gone he didn’t cared.
Perhaps he had gotten some impulsivity from Sonic too… No. He shoved away that thought immediately. Push back to the trashcan, knowing it’ll inevitably come back to haunt him.
Marching with a burning determination. An aching need of a change. Aimless. A hunger. Insaciable hunger. Hunger for something he couldn’t quite understand.
The computer room was empty. How lucky, to not have to deal with anyone else. A wall of screens all powered up as he walked in: security footage, blueprints, data logs, future plans, past plans, or just personal notes of the doctor.
Right hand going over the footage, left hand scrolling through all the logs, present and past. Optics jumping left to right. So restless he had started to tap his foot on the metal floor.
Was that a quirk of Sonic's that made it's way to his code as well? Infecting him like a parasite? Leaching into him like he used to? Would the hedgehog be just as bored as him, getting sick of the peace around the world?
He could fix it for the both of them, he thought. But none of the cameras caught even a hint of Sonic's current location. So disappointing. Today of all days to stay hidden…
He wasn't anywhere.
He wasn't ANYWHERE.
Why wasn't he anywhere!?
The table had began to shake. No, it was the floor below. Was it an earthquake? An intruder? It has to be. But there's no security alarms going on.
Something was moving. The earth itself was moving.
No… wait… It was… himself…?
His fists shaking rattled the whole table. The trembling growing from somewhere under his wires. He was breaking apart…! How could he fix this glitch? He had to, before the doctor found out and just made the predicament worse. He couldn't find any error messages in his code…
No, it wasn't that. He just needed to move.
Move.
MOVE.
But the walls. They were eating him alive. Like chains to his neck, tangling every single one of his joints. Trapped. Trapped on these walls. Trapped by the screens. Trapped by the world. Trapped by this body. Trapped within himself.
He needed to move.
Before having the chance of doing something he'd regret, one of the screens turned a bright red. Bright, crimson light bouncing off his body, reflecting back to the whole room.
Red. Bloody red. Overpowering light. The words “WARNING” reflecting back to his metallic body.
One of the chaos emeralds had been found. The doctor needed those for the plan. And judging by the quiet, nobody knew of this but himself.
He clicked to the footage, from one of the many cameras they had hidden all around the world. There was broken glass everywhere. Sparkles of translucent sharp scattered all around the floor, like spilling blood after the execution of an enemy.
A violent, quiet scene. The peaceful turned to chaos. A still image of a moving timeline, the moonlight turning the sharp edges into sparkles. A crime scene on the making.
Another window exploded, then a blur of green, followed by a blur of pink and gray. Fast, feathery trails, barely floating above the floor.
One of them stopped to a halt, looking straight at the camera he shouldn't know was there. Piercing, ocean eyes, as if staring straight at him through the recording. As if aware of being watched. That it was him watching through the other side.
How did he…?
Pearly white chaos emerald on hand, tossing it up and catching it again. At the realization that distant face twisted and contorted into what could somewhat resemble a smile. A vile grin; not unlike Eggman’s usual expression, just more playful than cruel. With a flash of amusement overflowing into the screen. He could almost reach a claw and feel it’s touch.
Disgusting.
With a stomp with the heel of his shoe, the camera shattered. Then nothing. Just a pitch black of an ended recording.
It was so quiet… The doctor didn't knew about this yet.
He leaned against the chair, his body growing still for once… He searched the name on the Eggnet. “Jet the Hawk.” Such a low-danger threat that instead of being logged under “enemies,” he's listed as a nuisance. For once, he'd agreed with the doctor's assessment; extreme gear aside, wasn't that bird just a normal civilian? One with an extensive criminal record and an ego high to the clouds, but just some guy at the end of the day. No powers, no smarts, no strength. Nothing to make him special.
So unremarkable.
Yet, somehow, Sonic struggled just as much with the bird as with him. Treated him with the same amount of seriousness (which, considering that Sonic is Sonic, that seriousness is next to non-existent).
But most importantly: he got on his nerves.
Not even Eggman had the privilege of saying that. He had counted the total amount of times he'd seen the hedgehog frown. Seen him out of words of mockery. Seen him loose his concentration and be at the other end of the joke, when you're the buffoon to be laughed at.
A single digit number of times. And all of them attributed to the same person.
What made him so special anyways? What did that bird had that he didn’t? Why did Sonic even gave him the time of day, when he was so bellow his speed? And why was he now so intrigued as well?
It wouldn’t compute.
But he couldn’t dismiss him. If Sonic thought of him as a worthy opponent, there HAD to be something Metal was missing. He lacked insight. He lacked data. That’s it. The Eggnet’s database was incomplete. It was obsolete. Of what use was this, if the one time he needed useful information it showed nothing?
They needed the chaos emerald. The doctor would sent him to track him down eventually, once he realized it was in the hands of the babylonians. And if Jet was anything like Sonic, that could only mean one thing:
He was bored as well.
Of course he was. He saw that expression. The one hidden before sporting that smirk. The one that lasted a mere second, that hint of honesty slipping through the cracks: Blank, dulled out eyes, searching for a hint of inspiration, for an outlet.
He could fix that for the both of them.
Before giving the doctor the chance to interfere with his plans he sneaked through the halls of the base. Restrictive metal walls. Soon he’d free himself from these chains as well, even if for a fleeing moment. For a fraction of an instant.
After so long he conformed with that little.
Why couldn’t he stop shaking? Was this anticipation? Mere curiosity? Was he breaking apart? At death’s edge?
But it’ll end soon… The monotony, that is.
Then, a flash of fresh air. Broken pieces of the moon looming over him. Trees casting shadows over the horizon. The horizon expanding to the infinite and beyond.
At each step the burning feeling of determination ached on his engine. It could melt him from the inside. It made him feel alive.
Body following the wind out of mere instinct… So unrestrained, going whenever it wanted without rhythm or shape. A part of him hoped to hear the wind whisper back at him. To learn it’s secrets to be set free. Get some wisdom out of nature itself.
But he got no answers. Things like him only ever got to experience freedom under ephemeral delusions.
Yet still, the wind took a mercy on him. It guided him to his destination, embracing his cold, cold body so softly in a way that almost tricked him into thinking he was loved.
Then it vanished as soon as Metal wouldn’t need the guidance anymore. Not when he could just look ahead; hidden at the core of the jungle, he could tell it was the right place by the red ship crashing over the vegetation.
He got closer.
Closer.
Even closer
Stop. He can’t be seen.
Slow, calculated steps. Careful to not make a single noise. It seemed that he continued to be undetected. But he wouldn’t get closer. Not quite yet. Behind the trees was safer for the moment being.
Close enough for now.
Sensors were already picking up signs of life nearby; a big figure, a slim one, and then his objective; right there at the middle, observing unamused at the bigger one dragging boxes full of shine and gold inside the ship. Judging gaze, almost threatening to a frown.
“… Could you possibly take any longer?” The leader of the three complained, leaning against the ship with his arms crossed.
“W-wait. Are we trying to take longer? I thought-?”
“Oh my god, it was a joke! You idiot!” Wave interrupted with a sharp exhale, “Aren't you supposed to be the strong one? How can you struggle THAT much with some stupid boxes?”
“Hey! I'm not seeing you help in any way! Huh?”
“What? Too much for you to handle alone?” She let out a condescending chuckle.
“You-!”
Jet let out a sigh, shaking his head as the other two continued yelling at each other… There they go away… Couldn't they spare him the annoyance from for once? It's not like he was in any mood to scold them into shutting up.
Exasperated, he leaned his head against the ship, as to gain the patience to deal with these idiots of a team he had the disgrace to work with… But there was a rattle on the floor. Just standing there he could feel it, through the vibration of the metal behind him.
He placed a hand behind. Vibration flowing through the iron ship, from the floor and growing from somewhere distant. One vibration. Pause. Two. Then three. And stop.
It was movement. Steps.
Someone… or something getting closer until finding a comfortable place to spy from afar. And with it, the sensation of being observed… He grumbled. Had they really been followed from the museum? All that effort just to be ambushed so easily? No. He had made sure to break all the cameras, even the weirdly hidden ones. Even the ones that seemed to be looking straight at him. Even the ones who seemed to have life and eyes behind.
They were the babylon rogues, damn it. They never left a trace. He certainly didn’t. Wave and Storm better not have; they were expert thieves. They were better than this!
No.
This wasn't the police.
Pushing himself off the ship, he took a few steps forward. The forest showed nothing; just a pitch black anywhere he'd see. Nothing breathing behind the trees.
Not a single noise. Not a patch of grass out of place. No trace. No movement. Yet the wind still forced him to face straight at the woods. Almost hypnotized. And the wind was never wrong.
Searching for something on the horizon. Unable to look away until satisfying this curiosity.
It wasn’t a living thing, wasn’t it?
“Boss!” A familiar whiny yell took him out of his thoughts, “Make her stop making fun of me!”
“You’re not making this any easier for yourself. If only you had at least two more neurons to form a coherent thought!”
“Oh! If only you did something to help instead of complaining!”
“You know what? Don’t talk to me. I’ve gotten enough of you.”
“You don’t get to ignore me, you-!” But he was made quiet with a loud ‘shh.’
“Jet, come on. We’re wasting our time here” It took her a few steps into the ship to notice her boss wasn’t listening.
In fact, he barely seemed to be aware of their presence anymore at all. So weird so see him so… Quiet.
Storm was the first to walk up to his side. Noticing his concentrated expression, he attempted to replicate it, pretending to be thinking of something really deeply.
“What are we doing here, boss?”
She facepalmed. How naive to think for a second he’d have a good idea. She should’ve known better.
“Ugh, Storm, you’re not helping!” She tugged their boss from the arm to get him back to reality.
He’s probably just daydreaming again of swimming on piles and piles of gold and riches, she thought. Someone really got to remind that scatterbrain that they already got said treasure, just needed to get away with it.
But he still wouldn’t react.
“Jet? I’m talking to you…” Now she was shaking his arm.
But he’d still refused to take his gaze from… A point of the forest where nothing seemed to be. She knew that look on his face, that half-frown and unmoving eyes. Had they been followed? Jet was always the first to notice.. But no. Her calculations were up to perfection! They left no trace. It was the perfect heist.
“Maybe he’s just sleeping standing up?”
“You know? You’re not forced to talk if you have nothing of use to say” A frown appearing in her face in frustration.
They didn’t had all day.
“Jet!” She tugged harder, almost plucking a pair of feathers off his skin.
With a flinch and a yelp of pain Jet got forced back to reality, slapping Wave’s hand off him.
“Hey! What the hell is your problem!?”
“Who is it?”
“… What?”
“I know that face of yours. We were followed.”
“W-what? Is the police after us already? But we did everything right, boss!”
“Well, I did everything right. If something went wrong is not on me” She grabbed Jet by she shoulder and spin him around so he was facing them, “So?”
“I… Pft. I don’t know what you’re saying. You’re talking crazy.”
“Yeah, so you were just dissociating for the love of the game.”
His only response was rolling his eyes and crossing his arms with a grumble. He really wasn’t on the mood to figure out her word games with needlessly complicated terms nobody but her knew.
He had a response ready. He had it right there at the tip of his tongue…
Then a distant crunch; that’s to say a heavy step forward, followed by a regretful rustle, like someone taking a step back after noticing they were too loud.
A single step, so it wasn’t the police after them. Definitely too heavy to be Sonic, so not him either.
Not that he’d have any reason to think about him specifically…
“Jet, there’s nothing there. What’s up with you?” The other continued, more exasperated than concerned.
“You two go back to the ship”
“What?”
“I forgot something in the museum. Go ahead without me, I’ll catch up later” Unfortunately, just starting to walk wasn’t enough for his team to get a hint.
They followed. Of course they had to.
“Forgot what?”
“Something.”
“Being vague won’t help you, you know?”
“Yes, boss. We can’t go without you! If someone is after us you-“
“Back. To the ship.” Jet shut up any attempts of arguing.
“… R-right. Sorry, boss…”
But Wave wasn’t having any of that.
“Ok, what’s going on?” She stood in front of him to force him to pay attention, “You can’t just expect us to go when you’re all weird like that. You owe us an explanation if you want us to listen to you. You’re the leader here, and you need to start acting like one. That starts with basic communication skills, which…”
Oh.
One of her ramblings again.
Talking and talking. It’s like she doesn’t even care about being heard and just likes hearing her own voice. Won’t even bother to pause to give other people the chance to answer (that assuming anyone was ever interested enough to answer back). How does she have that much lung capacity to not take a single break to breath? It’s almost sort of impressive.
It made him want to bang his head against a tree until it stopped. The flood of complaining and whining turned into formless noise. Like nails on a blackboard.
He and Storm shared a glance. A mutual agreement forming between the two. With a single nod of confirmation, Jet stepped aside, and Storm started to drag the other back to the ship; somehow she wasn’t noticing. Too inside her head to bother about the real world.
He gave an unamused goodbye wave as the ship took off. Then a sigh of relief.
Finally.
But the peace didn’t lasted any longer; he still had that little stalking problem to get over with. Hopping on his extreme gear, he went deeper into the forest, not really concerned about being discreet. What was the use of it now? He had already been spotted.
He barely managed to see a glimpse of royal blue by the corner of his eye before it stepped back into the shadows. And as much as he’d hope it was just Sonic (to get an excuse to race and kill boredom, or course, what other reason could there be?), he knew for a fact that Sonic was physically incapable of staying that quiet for so long.
“What? A fan wants an autograph?”
But as soon as his watcher stepped out of the dark his smug expression dropped.
For a second he, regretfully, found himself getting startled, even maybe, perhaps taking a step back as well. Could you blame him? That dumb bot always looked like he was a second away from snapping your neck. The constant murderous stare didn’t helped at all.
“Ugh, you…” He scoffed, “You got the wrong guy, tin can. Go find Sonic to play your stupid villain-hero thing, he has to be somewhere around.”
A surge of anger went through the robot's body. Didn't he though that, if Sonic was really ‘somewhere around,’ he wouldn't bother with him?
How much audacity could a useless fluff of feathers and unjustified ego like him have? Couldn't he see he was nothing but a second option? The second best thing available? That without that stupid board, he was nothing but ordinary?
But Sonic saw something on him. Something that was worth it. And Metal had to know what was it.
A test. That’s it.
Without warning he launched forward. Jet barely had the reaction time to stumble backwards. Claws brushing against his face, a single thread of blood dripped from his forehead to the grass below.
“H-hey! What are you-!?” No time for banter.
Another strike on the way. For this one he was prepared enough to get out of the way barely in time. Stumbling over his feet to not get knocked out of the extreme gear, quickly another sharp claw flung his way.
“The hell is your problem!?” Another sharp attack, “Stop that-! I'm trying to-!”
Somehow the bird got enough guts to grab him by the arm mid strike, forcing him to stop. Not by strength, but by the mere audacity of it. Tight, desperate grip. Clearly his strongest, yet not enough to cause any real harm on his body.
“Is this about the chaos emerald? Well, too late, big guy! It's already somewhere else, so don't try anything funny with me and get lost!”
That managed to make Metal freeze into place.
How did he…?
At his confusion, a grin got plastered into the other's face.
“Saw right through you” Somehow, he dared to lean forward, “Do you really think I'm that easy of a target just because you have your dumb nuclear weapons and titanium exterior? Hah! You need to be a little more cunning than that to get pass me.”
Metal's fists clenched so hard it threatened to crunch his own hand into a ball of steel. Did this guy not realize that he could kill him in a blink of an eye?
Turn him into a flesh ball of crushed bones and blood. Pluck apart each single feather of his body one by one. Crush that stupid beak into silence and pop his eyes out of his skull.
The more his arms shook from rage the more he Jet’s smile grew. Not longer a simple teasing grin; there was a cruelty behind that expression. Taking pleasure out of Metal's exasperation.
He let go of the robot with a harsh push.
“So, that one camera wasn't a security thing from the museum… Of course! Right as always! A word of advice: next time don't place your cameras on the floor if you don't want to be THAT obvious” His ‘advice’ went followed by a chuckle, “But hey! Maybe next time you'll actually get the emerald before me and finally make your dear father proud of you. Once you get good at your job, that is.”
For a second he was absolutely livid. Forget the data, he was going to tear that stupid bird’s guts out and make him choke on his blood.
It would be easy. Too easy, in fact. With a swift movement he could just cut his throat off. Detach his head from his body. Or let his claws find a way inside and rip his heart out, then crunch the organ until it explodes into a gross, beautiful pool of red.
Big talk for someone so defenseless. So powerless. So… Normal. Not even fast enough to avoid an easy attack without getting a cut in the process.
Metal found himself lost in the mental image. Entranced by the violent fantasy of excruciating means to put the other in his place. Brutal, savage images tinted a gorey red.
It would be so easy to do.
… Yet, somehow, the bird fast enough to compete against Sonic… No, he needed him alive. At least for now.
He took a step forward. Jet instinctively backed away with a grimace, getting his common sense back for a split second. But for now he wouldn't attack; instead, he simply pointed at the other. If he really was that much like Sonic, he would get it.
In response he tilted his head. Not a single word in that exchange, but the determination on those cold, artificial eyes told him everything he needed to now: this was a challenge.
He smiled.
“Right now? With what board? Isn't that cheating?” He questioned, circling around the robot with an amused expression “… But I guess you're kind of like an extreme gear already.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Hmmm…” He paused. Behind the smug expression, a tint of seriousness could almost be perceived, “Tell you what…”
He pointed at the distance, somewhere on top. With nothing in particular at sight except of clouds and stars. But they both knew what was at the end of it.
“Race to the top of the Soleana castle. Winner gets to keep the emerald” Metal nodded, not really caring about the reward.
It was settled. He saw the hawk marking an imaginary starting line on the ground and stepping back to gaining momentum. Not before securing his eyes with the googles at the top of his head, of course. Metal stayed right where he was.
A start count wasn't needed.
The moment Jet reached his imaginary starting line Metal set up as well. The sonic boom the robot created at his trace was almost strong enough to knock Jet back to the dirt where he belonged. The advantage was obvious by just the coughing at the distance, far, far from the finish line. Eating the smoke of his engine like the pathetic whiny bird he truly is.
How disappointing.
“That’s right. Waste your stamina fast, you mecha-doll.”
Metal barely managed to hear the taunting from afar. So taken off guard he slowed down without realizing it.
What????
What did he just call him?
Can’t he just be like Sonic and give normal nicknames?
Looking back, he was met with an empty track. Nothing but a pitch-black forest. The same darkness that once he used to his advantage now playing a sick game with him.
“Eyes are up here, idiot.” The voice came from right at his left.
When did he-?
No! There’s no time for this. It had been just a dirty trick to catch him off guard. Regrettably, it had worked. And Jet knew damn well how much it worked, judging by that smug face of his.
After he was done proving he was nothing but a fraud, he was turning him into stew.
A blur of blue and green speed through one end of the forest to the other in mere seconds. Flashes of the two colors intertwining with each other in a sick, turquoise colored trace. One couldn’t get an advantage over the other for more than a few seconds.
The sounds of leaves rustling at their engines was at some point replaced by surprised yelps and car horns going wild. And before they knew it, they were avoiding people instead of trees.
Right, the doctor was going to kill him when he found out. But the panic couldn’t completely weight down on him. Not with how… unbothered the other appeared to be.
Then he got it. The answer was in that half-frown and gritted teeth; he wasn’t seeing them as people, but mere obstacles in the way.
In his way.
So, Metal did the same.
Going pass cars threatening to run them over. Red light. Green light. Yellow light. All traffic laws meaningless to the both racers. Some tried to get their retribution at the green-blue disturbance, but it was just too fast to be stopped.
The common citizens couldn’t decide if it was two traces or a single one. Or perhaps…
… Perhaps it was just the wind.
Neon lights of the nearby clubs burned into the hawk’s mortal eyes, he could tell by the squinting of them even with the googles protecting his sight. Metal would’ve taken the biological advantage to get ahead, if the neon colors weren’t just as blinding to his artificial sight.
They were both the same kind of screwed. How ironic.
“Ugh… The city is the worse racetrack option ever” He complained, pushing away more people walking, “Having to bother about stupid stuff like ‘not accidentally run people over…’ and ‘not committing manslaughter…’”
The robot would’ve chuckled if he had the means to. It was true; not like he ever cared about killing others, accident or not, but doing so would just slow him down.
For once he allowed himself to get his guard down. This wasn’t a trick, because Jet looked just as distracted as him.
Soon the sickening, flashing lights of the city were nothing but a bad memory. As distant as if it hadn’t been a mere second since they left. The metal clashing and burning into the pavement had now turned to grass.
And they? As even as before.
Neck to neck. You could only say that Jet was “winning” because of the extra distance that the board extended to.
But Metal was never one to take a defeat. Not like this. Never like this. Much less against him.
No, he refused.
A hand reached to the other’s shoulder, pulling it back with a suddenness that luckily caught the bird of guard. By disgrace, he had enough board control to not let himself fall down.
“Hey! No cheating!”
But who ever said there were rules in this race…?
Jet had gotten himself to a safe distance to not get pulled back again. Metal was more persistent than that. So now he crashed himself at the side of the board.
“Watch it, mech-dolly! You’re not getting anything from me if you break my extreme gear!”
Again with that nickname!?
Jet took advantage of the distraction to shove him away. Then crashed at Metal’s side roughly.
“What’s that surprised face? You decided these were the rules” He attempted to do it again, Metal quickly got out of the way, “So don’t get mad when we play by the same game!”
So… Infuriatingly right.
He thought of how easy it would be to just… grab him by the arm and never let go. Claw inside his skin and slam him back to the floor over and over again until he learned his place. That would teach him he wasn’t worth anything despite Sonic acting like otherwise.
“You are keeping up… Maybe you’re actually half as good as Sonic claims you to be. I was starting to think he struggled with you to not hurt your feelings!”
That snapped Metal back to reality.
The sentiment was mutual. But just how much of a merit that was on Jet’s part, and how much it was just Wave being a good mechanic? It didn’t seemed like the hawk deserved to be impressed by him. Impressed, as if in a position of superiority in any way possible.
How ridiculous to have to prove himself to… Just some guy. Of course he was as good as Sonic claimed him to be! What was he taking him for? A joke? A fraud? A failure? A-?
… Was Sonic talking about him?
“Let’s see if you’re worth half a Sonic, loser!”
They could’ve very well been incinerating the path bellow them. Leaving a trace of dirt from the friction near the floor, turned to a cloud of smoke that stayed in the air for a while.
There was an overheating warning somewhere on his code. That burning feeling inside the wires of his chest the robot had thought to be incapable to get anymore.
He extended an arm. The wind crackled at their passing with freedom.
The restlessness had finally found its outlet. He couldn’t even get annoyed at the many times the other collided the board against him, nor notice the dents forming around his body at the contact. So much movement and action after so many time of nothing… How he had missed to feel this alive.
But it was a hunger that could never be completely satisfied. The doctor had created him to be like that: desperate. Could it have been a trait from Sonic? He could almost close his eyes and pretend his opponent was the blue hedgehog.
Deluding himself into the thought, his engine started to overwork itself until finding an advantage of distance.
No, he couldn’t let go of the moment. He had to keep feeling real. To stop his body from going to numbness again. Hands craving flesh. Tender, bloody red flesh of one blue hedgehog.
Metal was barely able to make up the baffled expression of the other as he was left behind. That wasn’t the expression of someone realizing they were about to lose. Jet, less than angry, seemed…Shocked…? Did he looked as insane as he truly was? It didn’t matter. Because what if he was rotten inside? Who cares how much of a mess it was inside his mind? He had never felt better.
It was cathartic.
This was what Sonic had seen on the bird, right? They were one in the same. Same person, different flavor of unbearable. That’s why Sonic couldn’t stand Jet: he couldn’t stand himself at all. And through hating him he could safely hate himself without compromising his ego. And through winning against him he could be sure that he was the best version of himself.
Jet wasn’t special. Not special in the slightest. That was the trick all along
So he’d just pretend that Jet was Sonic once he crossed the finish line. And through him pretend to be racing a weaker, more pathetic version of himself. A him that was only allowed to exist late at night with the stillness. When forced to be alone with his thoughts and with how much he hated himself. And through him allow that self hatred to breath and exist.
This is what freedom is all about. True freedom; the kind of freedom that makes you want to tear off your skin. The true kind of freedom that’s yelled and not whispered as a secret.
Nature wasn’t wise. It had none of the answers he searched for so long. It wasn’t any wiser than him at least; it was uncontrolled, savage and animalistic. It was a danger, and it was alive.
That’s the trick of the wind to find liberation. Freedom wasn’t in the quiet, careful breeze. True freedom was a storm. Violent, wild current of air only pushing him forward. Heating his cold, cold body into making him think he didn’t needed to be loved.
Metal had been made from violence and for violence. Of course he’d suffer at the lack of it. Then maybe he was fine with being hated, because he hated the world back just as much.
And because of it he was free, even for just a moment.
They were going at such speeds that making up any sounds nearby was impossible. The crashing and clashing drowned over the velocity above the speed of sound.
Soleana Kingdom was near. Visible at the horizon, and the sight of it became bigger and bigger. Just one jump off the lake and the race would be over.
How… Disappointing.
Metal brushed the bitter feeling aside. He couldn’t let himself be lowered off this state of ecstasy he had found himself addicted to.
It wasn’t enough.
This wasn’t enough.
Nothing would ever be enough.
He’ll win this. Then race again and win again. Then race again and again and again and never let his body stop ever again. Never let a single thought enter his code. Never be faced with a reflection of himself ever again. The wind never stopped. It wouldn’t let him stop.
He had to move.
Move.
MOVE.
They left the field behind and prepared to propel upwards: giant mountains covering the sight of the finish line. The last obstacle until it was all over.
Metal wouldn’t let it be over. Not when he was so close to reach to heaven.
It was almost tangible.
The fragile surface below them rattled, helpless at the passing of the racers. Rocks falling to the abyss with a deaf sound.
Forced to slow down to get momentum, it was finally possible to see their surroundings. Metal turned his head behind him to make sure the other was far, far behind as he should. Ready to be met by the sight of his loathsome copy frowning in frustration. Ready to see him fail to come up with a condescending quip to catch him off guard. To see him lose his concentration and be at the other end of the joke, when you're the buffoon to be laughed at. And through his misery feed this overwhelming joy of knowing that, for once, maybe him existing hadn’t been a mistake.
No.
There was nobody behind.
Before he could process anything a bundle of green, sickly green feathers brushed over his vision. Following the trace, he found himself making eye contact with Jet.
A split of a second that could’ve good as well have been an eternity. The world went into slow motion until stopping. Despite still going over the speed of sound, the numbness took over his body in an almost nauseous way.
It was revolting.
Everything became a blur. Wall of meaningless colors. Bright, flashing, meaningless colors. Red, blue, green. Red, blue, green. Red, blue.
Green.
The only shape that he managed to make any sense of was a twisted, vile grin. A grin so wide it twisted and contorted the entirety of the face. An expression so deranged not even Eggman had used it before. Yet, if Metal possessed a moving face, he was sure he could replicate that expression of maniac pleasure as if second nature.
His eyes the color of the sky. The color of heaven itself. So, heaven stared back at him and burned into his optics. Mocking. Taunting. Taking pleasure on the misery of realizing that this freedom had been a mere illusion all along.
From behind the glass of the googles those eyes went wide open. Impossibly wide open. Almost tearing its own skin apart from the skull.
As Metal shattered apart, Jet was thriving in the moment. And the robot understood that they were both the same kind of insane; both with the same hunger for more that would never be satisfied. Both with the same disgust at the concept of going still. Both with the same desire of being with someone else.
With a swift movement the hawk took back the first place, and Metal snapped out of his self pity.
It couldn’t end like this.
Growing desperate, his attacks to knock the other off the board became rougher. More uncoordinated. The problem was having tried to be calculating at all, since this was working better.
“Jeez, calm down! This is a race, not a fight!”
‘Calm down’ he says… What a joke.
One step at the left, then a shove. The bird got knocked off balance and slammed against a rock. Regaining his footing on the board, he grabbed his head and ignored the pulsing headache colored bloody red. Just like the redness spilling by the corner of his face that he’d rather ignore.
Those were banal manners. When in a race, the only priority was to win.
“No… Not like this!”
After catching up to the cheater, he grabbed his arm and forcibly pushed him back. Two could play by the same game after all.
Metal’s claws found his way into Jet’s face, not pushing him back against a wall of rocks entirely. He had to savor this: the helplessness, the taste of blood and flesh his body so craved for.
The shine of his iron hand clouded from the desperate breathing. Hot against this non existent skin. Ragged breathing. He could almost make up a rhythm from patterns out of each forced inhale, and got lost on the mental pattern.
In, and out. In, and out. In, and out.
Jet was just an ordinary guy after all. Extreme gear aside, he had no powers, no strength, no smarts. Just an ordinary, defenseless civilian.
That dammed bird was going to die today.
Stumping a heel at the edge of the board, Jet managed to push him away before getting turned into a mush of bones and broken meat. The other edge of the extreme gear hit against the robot’s chin and forced him to step away in a motion that he couldn’t decide if it was pain or not.
Could robots feel pain anyways? With him being able to feel the humiliation of his inevitable victory was enough. That and having to be concerned by unimportant manner like not getting killed by a war machine.
For a second he had thought that the robot was just a more fun to mess with Sonic. Of course, perhaps the hedgehog wouldn’t try to straight up kill him over the prospect of being second place.
He saw it all over his body language: he was livid. Fists shaking out of pure fury as he kept his attempt of murder at the racetrack. But hadn’t he proposed the race in the first place? And now he was getting all worked up over it. It was almost laughable.
What a sore loser. So pathetic. He would’ve made fun of it if he wasn’t, you know, at the edge of getting killed.
But he couldn’t get himself to be as worried for his safety as he should. Not when he was having so much fun! This is what he had been needing all along: this rush of adrenaline. And it seemed they were the same kind of desperate for a good challenge.
Despite everything, he understood… Well, he sort of understood. The robot clearly had his own problems going on, way more problems than what was worth investigating. But at the end of the day, Metal WAS kind of like an extreme gear, wasn’t him? He had racing etched on his wires.
He was made to race. He was made to win, yet he lacked the soul for it. A real wind master knows how to be one with the wind, to be the wind itself, not just hope for the wind to blow in the right direction and depend on luck.
And even without the passion of a racer, the increasingly desperation on his aggression almost made him be tricked into thinking the robot was alive. Just a few moments ago, when the race was a race and not a warzone, he had tried to blur the image of Metal; reduce him to a blue blur, and see if he could imagine Sonic in his place instead.
Surprisingly, it had worked to perfection.
Almost too perfectly.
Who would’ve guessed? The bot was a good Sonic replica after all.
The perfect one indeed.
That grin found its way back to him. It was reckless, considering the circumstances. But how can you blame him, when the euphoria of the race almost exploded his heart?
“What? The mecha-doll can’t win against the best without cheating? I almost feel bad for you! Hah!” His reaction was almost worth the punch he received at the ribs.
Something cracked under impact. But that wasn’t the priority.
He got enough momentum to slam the board against Metal and made him collide with a loud thump at a wall of rocks. Regaining his footing, Metal returned the attack.
The both refusing to stop for even a second, shoving and punches flew everywhere. Both Metal’s body and Jet’s board sparkled from damage, all while his blood stained over them. It was a blur of red. Crimson. Vile and expanding red.
Out of pure, raw adrenaline Jet was unable to feel any pain. The grin never leaving his face, twisting and contorting to a manic image.
Maybe they were the same kind of deranged, but Jet seemed unbothered to it.
Metal, on the other hand, couldn’t be more aware of how the other was actively dying on his hands. Yet refusing to let his mortality stop from the priority: winning.
It was a good thing that he was physically unable to feel pain. Otherwise his engine not working anymore would’ve been more of an obstacle. It was barely an inconvenience; he was fast enough on his feet. More than enough, considering that the other’s board showed signs of giving up as well.
The carefully crafted vehicle giving up before its mortal, ordinary driver. How ironic.
It was such a Sonic thing to do.
But Metal’s frenzy stopped for a second. Perhaps less than a second. More than enough to take in the gruesome view they had created. A river of blood drowning them both.
For a moment, he almost found it beautiful.
Entrancing pearls of scarlet unifying the both of them. The fluid found its way inside the mechanism of his joints. It scrambled his balance, but he wouldn’t call it an unpleasant sensation, simply an unfamiliar one.
How did mortal beings do it anyways? Did they not feel the constant flow of blood going through their veins? Could they not feel it moving inside? Didn’t it made them go insane? How could they not feel the pulsation of their organs hitting against their bones, expanding and contracting within themselves? Was this warmth of the blood making its way inside what mortals made of flesh and bone felt daily? If so, how could they function normally without getting lost on the ecstasy?
Clawing into Jet’s arm, Metal got lost in the concept of having lungs breathing in his torso. A living heart beating against his chest. After all, if just the sight of blood was this cathartic, just what would it be like to have something inside his chest that’s not bolts and wires?
He would dissect the hawk alive once he was done with him. Maybe crawling under his skin and dissect him would help him understand why the more the other bleed out, the more alive he felt. Why the flood of red scrambled his senses into a warm dizziness he couldn’t get enough of.
He had been built to kill, so it was merely a natural development to end up finding some satisfaction from it. But this was… different in unexplainable ways.
They kept on climbing at the mountain. Not bothering to look forward where they headed at, or back to what instability they had created at the core of the rocky estructure itself.
Restless creatures. Even more than the wind itself.
Despite not realizing it they were nearing the peak of the mountain. Violent shaking of the floor bellow not allowing them to keep running at a straight line; blue and green blurs twisting and spinning all around the mountain. Blue and green leaving behind a trace of crimson in a spiral going up.
Bright, flashing traces of blue, green and red.
Blue, green and red.
Blue.
Green.
Red.
“Hah… Come on! Is that all you got!?” Jet laughed, ignoring the thread of blood coming from his beak, “I’m not… I’m not even close from starting! Eh?”
Words barely came out from sharp, forceful breaths. Despite the thrill, exhaustion was starting to get the better of him.
And yet still he wasn’t slowing down.
That bird really had a death wish, didn’t he? Maybe it was time to give him an act of gratitude for the race.
Optics on the objective. Calculate distance. Proceed. The robot suddenly launched forward. His claws almost reached through the torso, but Jet grabbed him by the arms just in time.
“Woah-!” He stumbled to regain his balance between the surge of panic and Metal’s frenetic behavior.
Now they were sharing the same wobbly extreme gear, both their feet battling to get a firm standing while the vehicle shifted left to right with in violent shakes. They only stayed off the ground because one was holding onto the other.
The sharpness brushing barely above the white feathering of his chest, and Jet’s arm trembled from keeping the other from ripping his heart out.
Chest going up and down with a revolting, quick rhythm. Up, and down. Up, and down.
It was too close. Barely any close. Not close at all.
“Ngh… Hah… hahaha…” A laugh was choked out between harsh breathing. Broken beak forcing another smirk of amusement, “Wow… You must… REALLY want me that much… To-“
He paused to try and regain control of his board, coughing out residue blood.
“… To need… my heart so badly…“
Metal’s other hand reached to bang his skull against the floor. He was barely able to grab his arm to stop him.
Way too close. The right amount of close. Never close enough.
“Aghk-!… Hah… Is this your idea… of a date…? Hah… Hahah…!”
Metal gave a last shove, forcing his head against the rocks as they kept moving.
But it wasn’t Jet who gave up; it was the floor.
The other gathered his all to kick him away. Then the robot stumbled over the edge pf the mountain. And Jet was barely able to stop moving just in time to be saved.
Metal tried to get a grip of something. Anything. Yet he just ended up hitting his head against the moon. And again. And once again.
Then his arm stopped moving. Something… Something was flowing out of his eyes. It couldn’t be tears. It had to be oil. He couldn’t check; his eye screen had been completely shattered, rendering him blinded. All he could see was the blue of the river below, getting closer and closer. An endless, mocking blue.
Motionless once again.
He had been free for a moment. The last traces of his consciousness grasped to get that thrill back.
But it hadn’t been happiness. Not a genuine one anyways. He had been manic, completely insane. Why would the doctor construct him to be mentally sane anyways? It was too much to ask.
Too much to ask…
…
Somehow he wasn’t disappointed. Was he really that easy to please? Even with falling straight to his demise, he was satisfied?
… It was so quiet…
The wind accompanied him to his fall. Mute, silent wind. That’s when he realized that the wind had never been trying to tell him anything at all, because the wind doesn’t have a consciousness, and thus it was just as trapped as him.
Both were prisoners because they weren’t alive. The wind moved because external forces made it move. It was at their mercy, just as much as he was at the mercy of the world.
Falling free, closer and closer to an endless water of nothingness. The doctor would never find his corpse there. Sinking and sinking until reaching the very core of the earth. Alone yet again. Motionless forever.
… But he felt at peace.
Mind clouded and systems shutting down. For once his thoughts leaving him alone; not worrying about going back to the base, going back to Eggman. Not thinking of revenge. No craving of violence and flesh, he had taken quite enough from Jet already.
His only thought was knowing that he wasn’t enough. Not enough of a killing machine. Not fast enough. Not good enough to beat Sonic. Not good enough to deserve to be him. And… he was fine with that failure.
He was satisfied.
What was this overwhelming calm? Why couldn’t he bother to try and save himself? Was this… acceptance? Already breaking apart, so close to the sweet, sweet taste of death.
It was going to end soon.
He closed his eyes and braced himself from the impact. It was time to rest.
…
But the fall suddenly stopped.
A hand grabbing him by the wrist. Weak, exhausted grip. And his body limply floating in the middle of nowhere.
“You… Tsk… You think… you could get away from the race… th… that easily… ?” When opening his eyes Metal was met with a strained grin.
One hand desperately holding into the extreme gear, the other holding him by the arm. Grip stained of blood, warm from the touch of a mortal body.
They were barely moving. Jet only managed to raise the other slightly before failing again. It was impossible to lift him back to safety with a bleeding, shredded arm. And he couldn’t use both arms without letting go off the board and falling too.
But he wouldn’t relent. The Babylon rogues didn’t knew such silly concepts as ‘giving up.’ So he tried again. And again. And yet again.
“… God, you’re heavy…” The bird’s grip became shakier.
Turns out that loosing a liter of blood affected to your physical strength as well, go figure.
Jet refused to relent. He refused to let go. And the extreme gear was giving obvious signs of shutting down; the smokes and sparkles coming from it. It wouldn’t last for long.
No, it couldn’t be. Not when he was so close from real liberation.
Still prisoner of the motionless imposed by his damaged form, Metal used whatever strength he gathered to try and sway him away. To make him let go and let him have what he wanted for once.
It only achieved the exact opposite results; Jet forced his body to hold on to Metal tightly. Eyes flickering, as if staring to lose sight.
He growled.
“Stop squirming, you suicidal idiot!” With a last pull he finally slumped Metal back to the board. The added weight almost made it collapse.
“Don’t think that I want a death count under my name… Even if you started it, so this is actually your fault” Wobbling back to his feet, they made it back to the mountain just in time before the board completely gave up.
Being ejected from it with a bad landing, the both rolled in the ground before collapsing. A mix of blood and oil splattering into the floor.
Oil and blood. Life and machine. A beautiful mix of a bloody black. And then the sickening smell of it…
With the adrenaline over, the pain finally took over the hawk. At least five bones had to be broken, and the dizziness was probably a bad concussion.
Damn robot. He’ll just go back to his beloved dad and be fixed as if nothing. How lucky, to be able to have that much of a disregard for your own safety without consequences.
“You still owe me an actual race, you know?” He got no answer.
Of course he didn’t, it’s not like Metal could talk. But the robot wouldn’t even look at him; he was just slumped there, like an actual doll. But he was conscious… At least he was half sure he was.
He was lucky to be so easy to repair and go back to peak condition. How was he the one sulking down? Or was it that…?
Before thinking anything about it his phone rang. Actually, it had been ringing the whole race. The screen was completely shattered beyond repair, but he could make up an avalanche of texts from Wave, demanding to know where the hell he was.
Oh, right. He forgot he had sort of abandoned them…
‘I got your location. We’re on our way’ was the last text sent. And judging by the increasingly loud sound of jet engines coming at the distance, he could tell she meant it literally.
“God dammit…” He groaned to himself.
Check the board. His poor Type-J now all ruined. Because of what? Because of a cheater not wanting to lose? A suicidal cheater that almost got them both killed over a race.
All because of some insane robot that would do it all to win. To prove to himself that he war worth something. That would rather sink into the depths of earth before accepting defeat.
He chuckled. Oh, what a race it had been. His only regret was having to deal with Wave’s rants and scolding about having broken it.
She’d get over it.
The ship was already at sight. It casted a shadow over them.
Metal could only burry his head on the floor. Reduced to nothing more than an ant: small, insignificant, unable to do anything right on its own.
The doctor was right.
Of course he was. What was the use of him, if he couldn’t obey simple commands? Look at what happens when he tried to take initiative for once. Whenever punishment may come to him it would be deserved.
With some luck, maybe his system would fail soon and he’d be unconscious by the moment he was found. To be unaware of the consequences of his actions.
“… You’re no fun if you’re sulking and dying like this” Moved from his spot of misery, now he had been slumped into the broken extreme gear.
Feeling the warmth of that pair of hands forced him to lift his head. Jet looked like he was barely able to walk, yet insisted on dragging him along too.
“Come on, Sonic. Wave should be able to fix this stupid mess…” Whenever the mess refereed to the board or to him was unclear.
They were nearing the ship, now parked at the other end of the mountain.
Wave was a mechanic, right. Was she good enough to figure out the mess and complexity of design of the doctor? He searched for the data; the results were inconclusive from the lack of it.
But there was a fact he could be sure off without a data log of it; she was meticulous. Having seen her repairing the extreme gears of her team after a race. She was careful with what she did, working patiently as to not break the machine even more.
Nothing like the doctor, that was for sure.
Now inside the ship, he could vaguely hear Wave scolding Jet for his recklessness, and Storm giving him fearful glances and preparing for a fight.
Jet gave him a last stare. Despite barely standing up that smirk never left his face.
“Repair him as soon as possible. Me and the blue idiot still have a score to settle.”
Jet seemed satisfied with himself. Because who cares about his physical integrity? The other was in a worse condition, that means he had won to him.
He had won to a Sonic.
Because the replacement was him all along, wasn’t he? It was in his nature to not be more than a shadow. And he had felt alive because he had believed to be Sonic at that moment as well.
Why would he think he had the control of a situation? When has that ever happened before?
As he was being dragged at the workshop, the flashing colors from the race before flashing over his code. Blue, green and red.
Blue.
Green.
Red.
Blue quills. Royal blue, electric and curved. Blue as in the ever expanding water that had almost granted him peace.
Green eyes. Emerald eyes, sharp with a confidence of knowing you can never be wrong. Green as in the color of life itself.
Red shoes. Crimson red, vibrant scarlet. As in the rush of adrenaline that pushed mortals ahead.
Blue, green and red.
They had been complete at the moment, one in the same, because they had almost been a complete Sonic.
He realized why he hadn’t killed Jet. He had the chance. It would’ve been so easy. At the end of the day he was just a normal civilian. No strength, no power, no smarts.
But he was special because he was alive. He thrilled to be alive and was enough of a person by merely existing.
Metal lowered his head. Defeated.
So that’s how it is…
Then maybe, if he couldn’t be good enough for anything else. If he seemed to fail at everything, being a constant disappointment to his creator, at least he’d be enough of a second best option to one person.
He’d be enough of a replacement, and then he’d deserve to exist.