Chapter Text
Sonic the Hedgehog Adventures #1
Sonic the Hedgehog jumped over stepping stones by the waterfalls, totems, and quickly zipped past the crumbling cliffs—fragile rocky ledges that disintegrated the moment they were stepped on. Green Hill looked and smelled heavenly like the Garden of Eden. Paradise, if Sonic were to describe it. Paradise thrived with flora such as wild sunflowers and tall, tropical palm trees with droopy fronds. Sharp-edged, jagged shrubbery that litters the foreground. Flowers with an unusual geometric shape that rotated counter clockwise. Some beautiful landmarks were cascading waterfalls flowing into crystalline lakes and rivers, and ancient, carved wooden poles with various facial expressions scattered throughout the zone.
He enjoyed every last bit of it. To anyone else, the terrain was a treacherous obstacle course of crumbling ledges and spiked pits, but to Sonic, it was a tactile playground. Flickies waved at him as he zoomed by, copyrighted SEGA music would bounce in the air, and loop-de-loops by the hill were practically waiting for him. Everyday at Green Hill was perfect . . . well occasionally there would be Dr. Eggman.
But nonetheless, his routine always managed to stay the same. He'd followed a not so busy but productive schedule:
At 9' o'clock, Sonic would wake up and spend his day:
From 9 to 10 jogging
From 10 to 10:30 doing workouts
From 10:30 to 11:00 eating breakfast
From 11:00 to 11:30 taking his late early morning nap
From 11:30 to 12:00 jogging again
From 12:00 to 1:00 hanging out with Tails in the workshop
From 1:00 to 2:00 listening to music and reading books
From 2:00 to 3:30 traveling across the sea to visit friends and families
From 3:30 to 5:00 saving the world from Dr. Eggman's schemes
From 5:00 to 6:00 exploring other zones
From 6:00 to 7:00 dilly and dallying
And from 7:00 to 8:00, that left time for dinner and then an hour later, Sonic would go to bed at 9:00. It didn't matter much when he slept or how much he slept throughout the night as long as he had time to dilly and dally the next morning.
The following morning:
Boing!
Sonic hit a spring pad with a metallic boing! that echoed off the checkered walls. He tucked into a spin with kinetic energy as he descended from the air and transitioned from a stretch to a sprint in a single heartbeat.
Suddenly he skidded to a halt, his sneakers kicking up a spray of dirt that tasted of dry earth and wet grass. He whistled at the sight of a towering, clanking Swatbot whose red cracked optical sensor pulsed faintly.
"Oouhh, check out this bad boy's hardware," Sonic quipped to no one in particular, his voice dripping with a cocky confidence. "Robuttnik’s really outdone himself this time. It’s almost a shame I have to turn it into a toaster!"
"Eat my dust, scrap-heap!"
He became a blur of cobalt blue, the air creating a tornado around him as he broke the sound barrier with a sharp crack. He tucked into a tight ball, his quills hardening into serrated edges. As he collided with the Swatbot’s reinforced chest plate, the sound was like a sledgehammer hitting an anvil—a jarring, metallic GONG that echoed through the trees. Sparks showered the grass, smelling of burnt copper and melting plastic.
The robot groaned, sputtering with sparks and smoke. It collapsed into a heap of useless junk. Sonic landed perfectly, the friction from his shoes sending a small wisp of smoke into the air. He flashed a grin that was all teeth and ego. "Freshly squeezed badnik!"
Throughout the day, he sat on a floating platform, legs dangling over a bottomless pit of sparkling azure water, watching the moto-bugs trundle through the lush tall grass. It's a warm feeling that is only temporary. The afternoon came and the sky was a slow fade of violet and orange. He swung by a small, sun-drenched clearing where a familiar wooden cart sat. The aroma of toasted cornmeal and spicy cumin hit him before he even saw the steam.
"The usual, Ted?" Sonic asked, leaning against the cart with a lazy grin.
"You're three seconds late, Sonic," the vendor joked, handing over a grease-stained paper bag.
As the stars began to pierce the darkening sky, looking like Chaos Emeralds scattered on velvet, Sonic finally slowed down after looking for a spot beneath a palm tree that curved just right, the leaves rustling like dry parchment in the evening breeze. The first bite of the chili dog was a sensory explosion: the snap of the casing, the heat of the peppers, and the cooling tang of onions.
It was just too perfect. Closing his eyes, the taste of salt still on his lips and the hum of the world in his bones, he dreamed of eternal peace and tranquil paradise. Tomorrow would bring robots and world-ending stakes, but for now, the only thing moving was the wind.