Author’s Note: I doubt anyone reading this has read any of my other

 

work. In fact I doubt very much that very many people are reading this

at all. But that doesn’t really matter. I wrote it and I’m posting it

and if anyone cares I’ll tell you this, it’s not the sort of thing I

usually post. I don’t mean not the sort of thing I usually write,

because I write this sort of thing all the time, I just never put it

on the net. I never put it on the net because I figure no one will read

it. But my last long fic got 192 reviews so I know I’m not a terrible

writer. It’s just that this isn’t about a particularly popular

character, is it? But finding the work of A. Fleury and several others

gave me hope, and so I’m posting this. In fact they’re probably the

one’s reading this now. I can’t think of anyone else who would be. And

so therefore I will stop rambling and let you read the fic, for fear

that an overly long author’s note might drive you away.

Disclaimer: Sonic the Hedgehog and company, as well as their are owned

by Sega as well as DiC and Archie comics. Were I to ever claim them as

my own not only would I have a big, fat, lawsuit to deal with but also

a large number of video game nuts with pitchforks and torches and

a small group of screaming, rabid fangirls with blunted sporks.

Chapter I.

“Nothing in his life/Became him like the leaving it.”

-Malcolm, Shakespeare’s Macbeth

The last thing he remembered was a very, very large explosion. Given

that, he assumed it was very unlikely that he was still alive, and

stranger still that he was yet able to ponder that oddity. He had seen

the warheads himself in the monitors, seen that blasted hedgehog trick

Robotnik into putting up the shields behind missiles. Seen them

streaking through the air, and then? Nothing. Perhaps he’d fainted from

fear. Wouldn’t have been the first time. Seemed to have been the

last though. After all, it wouldn’t make any sense for him to be alive.

He should have been vaporized, or at the very least blown to pieces.

He’d studied the effects of various explosives and surviving a close,

contained nuclear blast was not one of them. No not at all. If this was

death, pity he hadn’t kicked it sooner, he thought wryly to himself,

only half joking. Somehow he’d imagined it with more fire and

brimstone, and screaming. His own probably.

Yet here he was, conscious, and embodied at the very least. And not

as had been previous to the explosion, in a robotic body. The figure

was his own, pale skinned, painfully short, and dreadfully skinny, but

there were a few changes. First off he was completely devoid of scar

tissue. This was odd because the last time he had checked (when he had

still been flesh and blood) scar tissue had made up a significant part

of his form, left over from various accidents, operations and the more

than occasional beating. The second notable difference was the presence

of a large, unruly mop of wispy jet black hair that tended to drift

about his head as though held aloft by some unseen freak negation of

gravity or a rogue field of static electricity. This particular feature

hadn’t graced his person for approximately the last five years and

although he took these things as indicative that this was indeed the

afterlife, he was rather profoundly grateful for them.

And what an unusual afterlife it was! He’d found himself in what

seemed to be Robotropolis, though that was impossible since it must

have been blown to bits as well. The city, or semblance of a city, was

completely devoid of any life, or rather, conscious entities, he

supposed, besides himself. Not another soul. He grimaced inwardly,

realizing the pun too late to stop himself from thinking it. But it was

true, the entire city was there, except for the doctor, the robots or

the freedom fighters. For the first time in his li- for the first time,

he had the city to himself.

And it was terribly boring. Oh for the first while or so (there was

no day or night here, and all of the computers had stopped telling

time)he had reveled in it of course. Complete freedom to do whatever he

chose. But what did it amount to with no one to order around and

nothing to do. He’d walked to the edge of the city once, to see if he

could leave, but when he stepped over the threshold he’d simply found

himself on the other edge of the city. It was like a circle, a self

-contained world in which he was the only occupant. All the surveillance

monitors that should show anything outside Robotropolis were static.

He’d checked, several times.

When it had become apparent to him that there was no way out, indeed

seemingly no out to get to, he’d tried another exit, just to see what

would happen. He’d taken a knife, a scalpel rather, from one of the

barren medical labs and taken it across his slender, feminine wrists.

There had been blood, surely enough, but no pain, and the moment he’d

looked away, and then back, the wounds and blood were gone, as though

they had never been there.

So he had taken simply to lying on the great, palatial bed in what

had once been his Uncle’s bedroom, doing nothing. He slept sometimes,

off and on, but no dreams overtook him. He awoke and nothing had

changed, there was no way to mark time, and no way to escape. He was

sure that he would go mad any time now.

That was where he was now; on the bed, not mad. Well perhaps he was

mad, he wasn’t sure, but he was definitely on the bed. Although,

perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he WAS mad and only THOUGHT he was on the

bed. Maybe he was really somewhere else. But that didn’t really matter

did it? Not here at least, where nothing ever happened. If he thought

he was on the bed, thinking about going mad then he was as good as

on the bed thinking he was going mad. But it was best to operate on

the assumption that he was still sane, at least until he discovered

some concrete evidence to the contrary.

So anyway, he was lying dead on his Uncle’s bed, on his stomach with

his arms wrapped around one of the giant, fluffy, red pillows, and the

covers pulled up to just above his shoulders. It was cold in here

damn it! No matter how many times he tampered with the thermostat the

temperature never changed, not by a degree! Cold day in hell, he

thought miserably to himself, and chuckled morbidly into his pillow at

the bizarre irony of it. He sighed and rolled over onto his back,

glancing absently around the room until his eyes fell on the strange

woman sitting at the foot of the bed.

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

A/N: Wow, reviews, neat. Thanks you made my day. Esspecially you,

 

Shychick. Ne, maybe the mistress of Sniv will even read this!

And here’s chapter two! (I tend to update obsessivly.)

Disclaimer:Sonic the Hedgehog and company, as well as their nemisiis

are ownedby Sega as well as DiC and Archie comics. Were I to ever claim

them as my own not only would I have a big, fat, lawsuit to deal with

but also a large number of video game nuts with pitchforks and torches

and a small group of screaming, rabid fangirls with blunted sporks.

Chapter II.

“… God hates that.”

Leviticus 18:22

For a moment he simply stared helplessly at the woman, then he

blinked, and upon seeing that she was not immediately removed from his

field of vision by this, decided that it most likely meant that yes, he

had finally gone insane. He promptly shifted onto his side and closed

his eyes, determined to ignore the hallucination.

“But I’m not,” said a soft, female voice.

“Not what?” he demanded looking up, his resolve having crumbled

utterly at the sound of the first voice he had heard since his death.

Of course, he was probably imaging the voice as well…

“A hallucination. I’m not one.”

“Oh.”

She was pretty enough, but, since she was still probably

a figment of his imagination this was hardly surprising. She had a

creamy skin tone, dotted with freckles, and waist length mud brown hair

and, odd, rubber-ducky yellow eyes. She would have been a bit taller

than him if they were both standing, which neither of them were. She

looked to be about in her late teens, or possibly early twenties.

He had always been a bad judge of age.

“Don’t you want to know who I am then?”

“No, not really,” he answered tiredly.

“Why not?” she demanded, sounding more than a bit put out.

“Because, my dear, you simply don’t exist.”

He supposed that since he was mad now he’d have to get used to this

sort of thing; imaginary people popping in and out, pretending that

they were real. Or maybe they really did think they were real. Could

one tell if one was a figment of someone’s imagination? Probably not.

In fact it was even possible that HE was a figment of someone’s

imagination. He tried to think of anyone he knew of with a diseased

enough psyche to invent him. He couldn’t. Well then, he must have made

himself up, mustn’t he? Probably that was a symptom of his madness,

inventing himself.

So here he was dead, insane and a figment of his own imagination. He

looked up at the female figment who had her imaginary arms crossed in

a very good imitation of annoyance and indignation. Did unreal people

have real feelings? Probably best to assume that they did and humor

the woman.

He sat up, pulling his blue turtleneck down from where it had bunched

around his chest. “Alright then, what are you, if not a bizarre dream

creature?”

The woman frowned more deeply. She probably didn’t like being called

bizarre. He really ought to work on his social skills if he was going

to be associating with other figments.

“My name is Geheivia, author of life and death, bringer of trials and

redeemer of sins,” she announced grandly.

“Ah, God then,” he nodded appreciatively. “I knew a man who thought

he was god, once. Or maybe I didn’t know him, I might have only

imagined it.” He shrugged. “Either way I didn’t like him very much.”

That was a gross understatement, like saying the sun was a bit warm, or

that being shot at by a hundred expert marksmen was a little annoying.

In truth he had hated the man, hated him so much in fact that he’d

taken great pains to ensue his death, which, unfortunately had only

been a temporary accomplishment as he had been back worse than ever

several months later.

The woman, Geheivia, had an irritated look on her face, as though

things were not going at all how she’d planned them.

“I suppose that I am a god in a way,” she admitted, accepting for the

moment it seemed, his point of view.

“Alright then. I won’t bother asking you to do something godly, I’m

afraid I don’t have any water around for you to walk on, or turn into

wine.” He didn’t believe in God of course, but he believed in insanity

for what it was worth. “Out of purely morbid curiosity, is this Hell?

It doesn’t seem very traditional if it is. Or, is some illogical twist

of fate is it heaven and I’m the only one who made it?” He giggled

madly. “You must be some god if you think I belong in heaven.”

Geheivia grimaced. “It is neither heaven, nor hell. It is your own

private purgatory dredged up from the bowels of your skewed world view.

He blinked. Purgatory hadn’t even occurred to him. He replied in a

sarcastic tone of voice “That would certainly explain the lack of

anyone else in it, wouldn’t it? Except you, God, what are you doing

here? Do you pay house calls to dead madmen often?”

The woman’s bath toy colored eyes flashed. “My name is Geheivia and

I am growing tired of your antics Colin Kintobar. You are dead, true,

but you are no more lacking in sanity than when you were living.

However if you continue in this vein you may very well drive the BOTH

of us to distraction!”

He ignored her. “What if I told you that I didn’t believe in God?

Would you ‘poof’ out of existence?” He made a disappearing gesture

with his small, delicate hands. “Would I have to clap to bring you

back?” He snickered. “I do believe in fairies!”

The god looked very angry now and he supposed he shouldn’t have

taunted her so much. There went his resolve to be nice to figments.

Geheivia was shaking with fury and he saw her fists clench.

“Don’t hit me I’m sorry!” he yelped, cringing, his arms in front of

his face. When no blow came he opened one eye slightly and looked at

her. Oddly enough the gesture seemed to have diffused the woman’s wrath

as it had failed to do so many times in his life. She still looked

quite irritated but the expression was mixed with another. Was it pity?

He wasn’t sure, he hadn’t seen much of it before, even from figments,

if indeed that was what Geheivia was.

“You try my patience,” she said exasperated, as though her feelings

weren’t obvious. “But I have come for a reason and I must convey it

to you.”

“Yes?” he asked, mildly interested, and more than a bit confused.

“I have come to return you to life. To give you a second chance as

it were. But in return there is something you must do for me.”

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

Disclaimer: Sonic the Hedgehog and company, as well as their are owned

 

by Sega as well as DiC and Archie comics. Were I to ever claim them as

my own not only would I have a big, fat, lawsuit to deal with but also

a large number of video game nuts with pitchforks and torches and

a small group of screaming, rabid fangirls with blunted sporks.

Chapter III.

“Life is pain. Anybody that says different is selling something.”

-Fezzik’s mother, ‘The Princess Bride’

He blinked. “How’s that again?”

The woman had regained her lost air of godly serenity and control.

She spoke rather slowly, as though trying to explain calculus to an

eight year old. “You are dead. There is not even enough of you left to

fit into a matchbox.” She paused, apparently waiting for confirmation

that he understood this.

He nodded. He had rather suspected this already.

“This, as I said, is purgatory. Limbo. Neither one place nor another.

I am here to… rescue? No I don’t think that’s quite the word I want.

Well, I am here, to offer you a way back into the mortal realm. A

chance for you to li-“

“No.” he said in a flat, final tone, cutting her off abruptly.

She blinked, confused. “Er, what?”

He shook his head. “If I’m supposed to be filled with joy at thought

my own glorious resurrection you’re sorely mistaken.” He pursed his lips

contentiously.

Geheivia furrowed her brow. “But w-“

“Why? I’ll tell you why. Because my life, as you must know if you at

all divine, my life was… not pleasant,” he said, the thought putting

a foul taste in his mouth. “I had, as they say, a traumatic childhood,

and for the past twelve or so years I have been forced into the

position of underappreciated lackey, second fiddle to my dear, despised

Uncle. A position I assure you was far below my actual status of

participation in those matters such as surveillance, security,

technological advancement, reconnaissance and planning. In short, the man

continually took credit for those things which I did well, and for such

things as I failed at?” He raised both eyebrows in an expression of

indignation and superiority. “Be assured I was corrected, MOST severely.

I have no desire to return to such conditions.”

She started to say something but he cut her off again.

“Furthermore,” he pointed a finger irritably at her,” you said, and I

quote ‘But in return there is something you must do for me.’ End quote.

I have no wish to be bound for any amount of time doing the will and

whim of some deitific being. I have had quite enough of servitude,

thank you very much. It is my experience that the bulk of mortal

existence is one hurt, indignation and disappointment after another. So

no, if you don’t mind I’ll stay right here where pain doesn’t hurt and

nothing surprising, horrifying, or otherwise mentally tormentative

happens.” He lifted his chin with the air of someone who has made up

their mind and can in no way be swayed.

Geheivia sat there for a moment, saying nothing. He wondered if she

had in fact known all that.

“These things I did indeed know,” she said finally, nodding once in

confirmation.

Ah, well, there answered that question. Unless of course she was

lying. Could gods lie? Could figments?

“Well I think we understand each other don’t we?” he grinned rather

nastily. “Goodbye then.”

“Wait a moment,” the god insisted. “Give me a chance.”

The dead man rolled his eyes. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let her

say her piece, after all, it wouldn’t change his mind. And hadn’t he

decided that he ought to be nicer to imaginary friends and/or gods?

He sighed. “Alright. But don’t expect me to be impressed.”

The woman frowned slightly. “The task I have for you is of the utmost

importance. The fate of your entire world hangs on the necessity that

these things get done.”

He snorted. “And I care why? Excuse me for saying so but if you want

a hero I think you’re looking for someone a bit more blue and fuzzy.”

Geheivia gave a strange sort of smile, an expression that he couldn’t

quite read. Amused almost? But not quite.

“When did I say I was looking for a hero? I simply have a few things

that I need you to do for me and then you will be free to go.” She

continued to smile.

“Oh yes?” he sneered, incredulous. “And just what do these, THINGS,

as you say, entail?”

“I will instruct you as necessary. You will not be required to return

to your Uncle’s service.”

The blue eyed man frowned. “And in return for doing these things I

get my living body back, yes? Is that my only incentive?”

She looked at him. “You want more of one? Do you see yourself as you

are now? Comply with my wishes and this will be the body I restore you

to, that of you eighteen year old self, this time unmarred, instead of

the form which you recently left.”

He thought about this. It was starting to seem like a decent trade.

However suspicions, as ever, stayed in the front of his mind. There

had to be more of a catch to this.

“This, service, I’m going to do for you. Its going to be nerve

racking and life threatening and potentially very painful and traumatic.

isn’t it?”

She hesitated. “… Potentially. At times, yes. But-“

“Then no. No way no how. I’m terribly sorry Miss Geheivia, but I’ve

made it a life goal, albeit not a very successful one, not to ever

knowingly and intentionally put myself in a position of either mental or

physical endangerment and I see no reason not to continue such a

sensible intention into the afterlife.” He crossed his arms. He would

not be bullied into something like this again. He was dead, what could

be done to him now? So the woman might be a god, that was if he wasn’t

just mad as a march hare and having hallucinations, somehow he got the

feeling that even if she was a deity there was nothing she could do to

him in his afterlife except take him out of it. And it seemed that she

needed his consent to do that.

The brown haired maybe-god frowned. “Coward.”

He laughed harshly. “Oh please, you think I haven’t heard that so

many times that it still affects me? I am what I am, and if worrying

about my personal safety offends some sense of honor and courage you

have, I am NOT sorry, because putting yourself on the line for someone

else is in my opinion simply a very stupid thing to do. Especially

if its for a faceless teeming mass of people who you have no particular

attachment to. Why on Mobius did you come to offer ME this task anyway?

I’m obviously not the right sort of person for whatever job you’ve

got on your divine mind, am I? Tell me, what sort of person do you

think I am?”

He wanted to hear her opinion of him, he really did. He was awfully

curious.

She hesitated a moment. “You are an arrogant, over bearing, devious,

conniving, self absorbed, whining, sarcastic, all around shady character

with no morals or scruples to speak of, a superiority complex AND low

self esteem. You are surly, snobbish, smug, pessimistic, cynical, cold,

and a generally all around unpleasant person.”

He smirked, and clapped. “How very astute of you, A+.”

“You tend to think highly of your own wit.” She paused. “However you

are also an underappreciated, misunderstood, down trodden, and lonely

individual.”

A grimace of disgust twisted his features. “Wherever did you dredge

up that rubbish? Underappreciated and downtrodden certainly, but the

others? Don’t make me chortle.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Tell you what. If you agree to do

these tasks for me I will make you a compromise. You’re worried about

pain yes? How’s this, if you are hurt you won’t be able to feel any

pain over a certain level. Is that fair?”

He frowned and furrowed his brow. “How high a level?”

“A reasonable one. Let’s say, the moment it makes you need to call

out.”

Now that wasn’t fair. The deal was actually starting to sound… fair.

Damn. He uncrossed his arms, regarded his manicured nails. He sighed.

“I suppose you’re just going to keep on nagging me until I agree.”

He supposed it was better than going mad of solitude and cabin fever.

Better than talking to imaginary gods. If it was all possible why not

try it? After all, the worst that could happen was he could suffer

another horrible gruesome death. He shrugged.

“So I guess I’ll just agree now so I can be rid of you godliness

all the faster.”

She smiled. “Very well then. Let it be known that Colin Kintobar,

also known as Snively, has accepted these tasks on the terms

previously stated.”

She clapped her hands once

And everything went black.

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

A/N: It’s not really that important, but incase anyone cares this

 

story picks up around issue 116 of the comics and breaks off from

there.

Disclaimer: Sonic the Hedgehog and company, as well as their nemisises

are owned by Sega as well as DiC and Archie comics. Were I to ever

claim them as my own not only would I have a big, fat, lawsuit to deal

with but also a large number of video game nuts with pitchforks and

torches and a small group of screaming, rabid fan girls with blunted

sporks.

Chapter IV.

“If there’s anything more important than my ego around, I want it

caught and shot now.”

-Zaphod Beeblbrox, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Snively woke with a start, sitting suddenly up in bed. He took a

deep breath, looked around the room. Shelf, closet, bookcase, chair

computer. His room in the Death Egg and nothing more.

So it had been a dream, had it? Probably stress, yes definitely.

Everything was normal and he’d have to report for duty in a few minutes.

Yes, normal, joy. He cupped his chin in his hand and leaned back

against the bed frame, rubbed his face. Of course he wasn’t dead, or

roboticizied! How could he have ever had a dream as crazy as-

And the thought froze in his mind, discontinued synapses rerouting

themselves as his delicate fingers encountered his… hairline. His

hand stopped too, mid-motion, and he brought his hand down to look at it,

as though thinking he must have mistaken the sensation for something

else. Cautiously he lifted it up again and ran his fingers through the

fluffy strands he found there. Gingerly, as though it might disappear at

any moment, he brought a lock down into his field of vision. Dark,

shiny tendrils of decorative protein complexes came into his sight.

“My god,” he gasped. He lifted his other arm and looked at it,

panning up from the tips of his fingers, the back of his hand, his

wrist, lower arm. Curiously he turned his arm over. There should have

been scars, two of them, one running down from his wrist, across his

palm, and another up his forearm. But they weren’t there. The pale

peach flesh was pristine, practically flawless. Which meant…

He leapt out of the bed and dashed to his closet, yanking it open to

see the full length mirror on the other side. He stared into the

reflective surface, astounded, speechless. Wispy black hair hung

around his shoulders, which were bare and bony, like his chest. But

there was not a single scar anywhere that he could see. He turned

around in his excitement trying to do the impossible and see his back.

He stared down at his hands intently. So it had all happened, and

though the memories of being dead were fading rapidly, the memories of

dieing and beforehand were coming back full force.

He knew he was alive again, but then, how was he in his room in

the city? It had been nuked just as well as he had. Well, he’d go out

and look, but first thing was first. He needed to get some clothes on

over his boxer shorts, in case he DID find anyone else out there.

Now he looked into the closet itself. There seemed to be one set of

clothing in it. Not his own, although similar. He pulled on a pair of

black, canvasy pants, a pale blue tank top which was the only shirt in

the closet and a pair of knee high boots. He looked at him self in the

mirror. Not bad, better than usual, certainly, but he couldn’t help

wishing the shirt, covered more. He felt exposed without his accustomed

heavy turtleneck. But there was nothing he could do about it at the

moment.

He shook his head, causing some of his newly returned hair to fall in

his face. He frowned, bushing the locks away, but they fell right back,

obscuring his vision most annoyingly. He pushed it away once more. It

did no good whatsoever. He scowled at the closet, just because there was

nothing else around to direct his irritation at. It was all very well

and good to have hair, but he’d forgotten how much of a pain-

His eyes fell on a hair tie, conspicuously hung on a peg in the closet

which he was nearly positive had not been there a moment before. He

pursed his lips suspiciously but grabbed the band and tied his hair

back. For a moment it stayed, nicely flat and neat but then, the moment

he peered in the glass quite a bit of it came free of the band and stuck

comedically up, rather like a Mohawk, or the way it had when he’d been

nearly bald.

“No,” he said stubbornly, taking the rubber band out and trying again.

The moment he put the tie in,it happened again. Sniveler’s eyebrow

twitched as he tried again, and again, and again, each time with as

little luck as the first until he was so mad he was nearly ready to,

well no he wasn’t mad enough to tear his hair out.

He looked at his reflection and gave a pained, indignant sigh. Fine,

let the stuff stay how it wanted, at least it was out of his face. He

turned on his heel, stalked to the door and yanked it open, intending

to slam it shut behind him. But what he saw outside of it gave him

pause, instead of a bright, sterile, if forbidding hallway there was a

staircase, old and unused, and very dark.

“What on Mobius?” he looked mistrustfully around the room. No other

way out, he’d have to take the stairs. Cautiously, with a last backward

glance he mounted the stair, leavening the door open behind him to

provide some light. 1… 2… 3 he counted the steps as he climbed them.

Either the ‘good doctor’ had done some serious remodeling while he’d

been away, or else, this wasn’t the fortress at the center of the City.

The longer he climbed the more he came to this conclusion. 51… 52…

But then why had the room been so much like his own, an exact replica

in fact? He felt the hand of a god in this, if that was really what

Geheivia was. 72..73..74, he was getting tired now, breathing heavily,

and there wasn’t much light penetrating this far up. Luckily, sort of,

it was only a moment later when he ran abruptly into a door at the top

of the stairs.

“Oof!” He reeled back, almost falling down the stairs, flailing

wildly to regain his lost balance on the edge of the top step, and

finally managing to grab the doorknob.

He breathed deeply glaring through the murky darkness at the moldering

door. He turned the knob and swung it slowly open. It wasn’t what he’d

expected. He was looking out at the heart of the forest, late at night,

probably close to midnight. His normally very accurate time sense was

completely screwed up. It felt tot him as though it ought to be midday,

that probably had something to do with just having risen from the dead.

He looked around at the darkness and stepped nervously out into it.

He heard the door swing shut behind him and the sudden noise in the

stillness made him jump. He swung around, intending to see if the door

had locked itself. But it wasn’t there. There was nothing, just more

forest and more of the path he realized he was standing on.

That was impossible! Doors and rooms and staircases couldn’t just

DISSAPERE. It didn’t happen! “Rooms don’t disappear,” he muttered to

himself, giving voice to his doubts.

“And you think people being raised from the dead is any more logical?”

“Eep!” he squeaked, startled, and turned to face the speaker.

His eyes met yellow ones that almost glowed in the eerie darkness.

“You!” he hissed, scowling at Geheivia. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “Giving you your first orders of course. You didn’t

think I was just going to turn you loose to run amuck in the woods did

you?”

He frowned. “Just where was I? How did that door disappear?”

“I wanted to give you a familiar place to wake up, somewhere that

wouldn’t throw you into a panic. I judged by your personality that

letting you come back to life in the middle of a dark forest would

just be asking for a bad reaction.”

He bit his lip. “But how did you make it disappear?”

“You called me a god, didn’t you?” she grinned. “Lovin’ the hair by

the way, very stylish.”

He scowled. “I just know somehow that is all your fault.”

“Me? Now why would I do something like that to you?” she smiled

innocently.

He crossed his arms. “How long have I been dead for?” he demanded.

“Oh, about two months.”

“Aha, and just what time is it anyway?”

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“Just call me obsessive compulsive,” he answered smartly.

“Fine, fine. It’s just after midnight, twelve-thirteen to be precise,

now do you want to know your first task?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’m going to ignore your smart-assed remarks from now on, and just

go ahead and tell you. First you should know that we are less than a

mile from Knothole.”

He raised an eyebrow intrigued. “Really? Am I to believe I have some

business there then?”

She nodded. “Your first task is to enter Knothole and to do whatever

it takes to become an accepted member of their community.”

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

Chapter V.

 

“The public will believe anything, so long as it is not founded on

truth.”

-Edith Sitwell

He nearly choked. “You want me to what?!”

“You heard me,” Geheivia frowned.

“You can’t honestly expect me to be able to live with those furballs,

let alone gain their trust!” he spluttered. “They hate me! They’d

probably shoot me on sight!”

The god snorted. “They’re not the murderous ones.” She paused. “But

that’s irrelevant anyway?”

“Oh yes?” he asked sarcastically. “How?”

“They won’t know it’s you.”

He gave a short, quarter of a laugh. “Really? So you mean you’re

going to strike them deaf and stupid? You hardly need me in that case.”

She gave him a look.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. The woman obviously didn’t

know what she was talking about. He’d have to explain it to her. He

took a breath and began slowly. “Look, hair or not I don’t look THAT

much different. They’d recognize me and throw me in jail. And if my

appearance didn’t give me away, I don’t have the worlds most pleasant

OR unremarkable voice now do I?”

Geheivia, for some reason, smirked. What did she think was so funny?

It wasn’t his fault he had a nasal voice.

“Haven’t you ever noticed that people rarely see more than they want

to? I assure you that as long as you make an effort to keep your

identity concealed it will stay as such. Though, you’ll still need to

come up with a decent story since they don’t really trust Overlanders,

especially short, skinny, ratty, ill-tempered looking ones.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said nastily.

“See? But I’m sure you’ll have no trouble. You’re manipulative, so

manipulate.” She grinned chesirely. “Now, any more questions?”

“Yes, how exactly am I supposed to get into their little hidey-hole

in the first place?”

“One of the freedom fighters is on a late night stroll, they’ll be

along in a few minutes. Better get your story ready. Anything else?”

“Just one, supposing I do manage to get myself into their good graces

what do I do then?”

“Ah,” she smiled, “we’ll talk about that later.” And with that she

disappeared. There was no sound, no smoke, she was simply not there any

more.

Snively blinked. “Hey! Hey! Get back here! I’m not done yet!” he

stamped his foot angrily. It was to no avail though, she didn’t

return.

He pouted and leaned against a tree. What was he supposed to do now?

Come up with a plan, obviously, but what story would make the furries

except him into their midst? He knew from intelligence sources that

they’d shipped those Overlanders taken from Robotropolis to the Hidden

City. He slumped back, crossing his arms. First thing was first, he

was going to have to think of something to call himself. He felt

relatively sure that using ‘Snively’ would tip them off as to who he

was no matter how much godly voodoo Geheivia did.

His given name was completely out of the question. It was like every

other scar his father had given him. Ugly and pathetic as his other

title had been it served to cover that wound, much like an eye patch

or a prosthetic limb. One that had been worn so long the barer ceased

to notice it. But now he had to change it, to find a new mask to

disguise himself with. What could he call himself? He was terrible at

naming things. Somehow he doubted that any old name would suffice, he

needed something that would lend itself to trust. Something that

inspired confidence in him while not being unduly pretentious.

Something non-threatening. There were so many factors to consider.

Ideally he would have wanted a day or so to think about it, and

another week to come up with a convincing cover story. He knew he

wasn’t going to get it though, Geheivia had said he had ‘a few minutes’.

He wondered exactly how much of that he had left. Damn imprecise woman!

He quickly ran through all the names he knew. Erik, Ashton, Matt,

Terran, Claude, Cody, Patrick, Justin, Alexander, Clark, Pete, Harry,

Ron, Herman, Gary. He looked around nervously to see if anyone was

coming. It didn’t look like it. Logan, Scott, Remy, Bobby, Todd, Lance,

Freddy. No, no, no. All those were TOO common, he needed something a

bit more individual. He tried to think of other names he had heard. Krin,

Weiland, Trulion, Ashley (strangely enough a boy’s name), Reno, Tseng,

Locke, Cecil, Edgar, Squall, Darren. He stopped, smiled. How about

Davin? Yes, that sounded right. Now the only problem would be

remembering to answer to it.

He ran a hand through his hair, actually quite pleased with the name,

and with himself. He hardly even noticed the strange yellow streak

coming towards him, looking up just in time to be knocked over by the

thing.

“Oh oh! I’m soooooooo sorry!” the thing professed.

“Ah, Gh!” Snively complained, having had his head knocked against the

ground and thus having some trouble seeing clearly and forming words.

He attempted to push the yellow form off of him.

“Ooops, sorry again,” the thing got up and dusted itself off. the it

leaned down. “Do you need some help?”

He felt someone grab his wrist and pull him to his feet. He managed

to steady himself and keep from toppling to the ground again. He shook

his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. Blurred masses

sharpened and came into focus. First there were two young, yellow

-furred, mammalian girls staring at him. He blinked once more and they

coalesced into one.

“Are you alright?” she asked concernedly.

“Ng, n- yes, yes, just fine.” He realized that whoever this klutz was

she was most likely the one Geheivia had been talking about. Now, how

to stop her from just walking away?

She furrowed her brow. “Are you sure?”

He rubbed the back of his painfully throbbing head delicately, and

felt something wet, it stung. He knew that feeling. One look at his

red stained fingers confirmed it. Blood. He grimaced. “No, evidently

I’m not sure.” He held his hand out.

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding,” she squeaked, putting her hands in

front of her face protectively, as though his blood frightened her. “I

hurt you.”

He resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark, forcibly biting his

lip in this effort.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I didn’t mean to, I mean, I have

trouble controlling it sometimes and, and…” she sniffed, nearly

coming to tears.

He sighed, the blood was beginning to matt his hair. “Do you have any

bandages?” he asked, exasperated. Was this the way that damned god

women had meant things to play out?

She blinked. The thought of actually doing anything about the wound

having seemingly not occurred to her. “… Um, bandages? No not with me.”

She thought a minute. “But I can take you to Doctor Quack.”

He pursed his lips, that man’s name just inspired SO much

confidence in his medical abilities. Snively remembered him well from

the whole ‘Ultimate Nullifier’ debacle. But going to see him would get

him into Knothole, wouldn’t it.

“Yes,” he replied finally. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I’m

sure he can help me.”

“Um, okay. Can you, walk? Do you need help?” she asked unsurely.

“It’s a head wound, my dear,” he said patronizingly, “not a broken

leg.”

“Ah, oh.” she stood there a moment.

“The doctor…” he prompted.

“Oh, right! C’mon,” she gave the universal ‘follow me’ gesture and

started walking.

He trailed after her, the girl’s vibrant yellow fur easily visible

in the dim light.

“My name’s Mina,” she said after a few minute’s silence.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he replied in a tone whose irony was lost on the

girl.

“What’s your name?”

He started to speak, but was struck by a brilliant inspiration, and

he had to quickly suppress a grin. He would FAKE AMNESIA! It was

perfect! He wouldn’t have to come up with a cover story, and the girl,

Mina, would convince them to let him stay in Knothole until he

recovered his memory out of a sense of responsibility. He could have

laughed out loud. He was a genius.

“It’s, Davin,” he said uncertainly, “I… think.”

She stopped and turned to face him. “You think?”

He nodded. “I can’t quite remember. I can’t really remember anything

at all since before you helped me up.”

Mina reeled. “Oh no! You must have lost you memory when I knocked you

down!”

“You… knocked me down?” he blinked innocently, or, as innocently

as he could manage.

“You really don’t remember? Not anything? I can’t believe it! I feel

absolutely terrible!” she wailed.

He winced at the high pitched noise and patted her on the shoulder,

more to make her stop yelling than anything else. “It’s alright, Miss

Mina,” he said with very sincere false sincerity, “I’m sure your doctor

will be able to help me.”

She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I hope so, I’d never be able to

live with myself otherwise.”

‘Davin’ snorted quietly. “How much farther is it to this doctor would

you say?”

“Oh, just- it’s right here actually,” she reached up and pulled on

the branch of a particularly thick tree. A hatch in its trunk swung

open. “Knothole’s right through here.”

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

A/N: Just so you know, I’m not going to use ‘stones’ and ‘marks’,

 

Mobius’ official measurements according to Archie. This is because

they’re annoying, but rest assured I did take the time to accurately

translate measurements to feet and pounds. However the measurements

didn’t make sense with one another, so I’m using any heights I came up

with but making the weights up as I feel appropriate.

Chapter VI.

“It’s a rare man who is taken for what he truly is,”

-Schmendrick the Magician, ‘The Last Unicorn’

He looked dubiously at the winding staircase previously hidden in the

large tree trunk. Was Knothole Village some sort of underground bunker?

He’d never gotten that picture from the people he’d interrogated. Well,

he’d see soon enough.

He looked at the furry girl. “This is it?”

She nodded. “There’s another way in, the great oak slide, it was a

little closer, but I didn’t think since you were injured at all…”

“Ah, thank you.” Great oak slide? He didn’t like the sound of that.

It conjured images of a pastime he’d never really liked as a child,

Overlander fun parks. Maybe the girl had a bit more sense than she

looked, but he wondered if she could manage to string even one whole

sentence together properly. She certainly didn’t seem to be having

much luck at it.

“Well, uh, c’mon, you need to see the doctor,” she started down the

shadowy steps.

For a moment he gazed sourly back out at the forest. That woman had

better not be leading him into more trouble than this was worth. But

he was fairly sure that she was, and that this evenings affairs would

be only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. He turned sharply and

began picking his way down the stirs, careful not to trip on anything

and pitch head first down into the blackness. He noticed that the

door of the tree had slid shut behind them.

They walked approximately as far down as he had walked up from the

place where he had awakened. He didn’t bother to count this

time, he had other things on his mind like the way the back of his

head was throbbing and probably loosing blood like, well, like a nasty

head wound. But he guessed that they were probably seventy-five to a

hundred feet below ground when they came to the exit.

The strange thing was that the light coming from that egress was not

artificial, and when they passed through the door, again inset in a

large tree, they came out just as surrounded by trees and greenery as

they had entered. Perhaps they had come into some sort of large valley

somehow hidden from all means of location. He looked up at the clouded

sky and then around at the trees and paths, seemingly chaotic and

unintentionally placed, but he could see a strange sort of order to it

all. Then he perceived the houses, buildings set in the tree branches

like the ultimate expression of some child’s play fort. Well built, he

could see, seemingly architecturally sound, with little walk ways

connecting some of them like streets. He chuckled silently to himself.

So this was what was so valuable that for ten years not one captive

would speak it’s secret.

It didn’t seem so very wonderful to him as he followed Mina through

it, under the trees to where ever Doctor Quack lived or kept his

practice. Give him a sterile, temperature controlled, pest free

environment any day. This place was probably crawling with insects. He

shuddered at the thought, he had something of a phobia about crawly

things with too many legs and hair, or slime… He shook of the thought

in disgust.

“It’s up here,” the young girl said quietly, taking hold of a ladder

on one of the tree trunks, and started climbing.

Snively winced. He just knew he was going to fall, or get a splinter

the size of half a matchstick, but he followed her slowly and

cautiously up anyway. Happily he got to the top without a single

unpleasant incident. He breathed a small sigh.

“This way,” Mina, said. he still didn’t know quite what sort of

creature she was, it was very dark and he couldn’t make out any

features beyond the yellow of her fur.

She led him down a little ways on one of the overhead sidewalks, past

three or four small, unlit houses. And then something occurred to him

which sparked his curiosity.

“Er miss,” he asked as politely as he could manage, which was

actually quite polite as he had a lot of practice with his Uncle, “If

I might ask, what exactly were you doing out so late?”

“Oh, ah, just out running,” she replied, a little evasively.

Just running, hmm, he thought. “At midnight?” he asked aloud.

She laughed nervously. “I needed a little space.”

He smirked and asked concernedly, and privately ironically, “Isn’t

that just a little dangerous? Who knows what sort of villains you might

run into, skulking about with who knows what on their mind.” And then

for effect he said musingly, “I wonder what I was doing out so late.”

It seemed she had almost forgotten his ‘amnesia’ because she

hesitated mid-stride and said, “I’m sure Doctor Quack will know a way

to get your memory back.”

“I certainly hope so, its rather unnerving to be walking around with

no notion of who one is or what one is doing.” The last bit was true.

He was exasperated by the fact that Geheivia had given him such vague

instructions. Damn her, he knew that things weren’t going to stay as

easy as they seemed at the moment. What if he accidentally did or said

something that would make the next part of whatever he was supposed to

do harder, or impossible, just because he didn’t know what he was going

to have to do? He’d have to choose his words and actions carefully.

“We’re here,” Mina announced, stopping in front of a dark house which

didn’t look any different from the others. She knocked on the door.

Snively drew himself up just a little from his normal skulking

posture since, if anyone would, Quack was one of the people most likely

to recognize him, thanks to when the Robotnik had him prisoner working

on the Nullifier.

For a moment it seemed that no one was home, or no one had heard, but

then a light went on inside and someone could be heard shuffling toward

the door. It opened revealing a tired, bleary-eyed duck man with a lab

coat and stethoscope on.

He yawned. “Mina? What are you doing here so late?”

She shuffled a foot shamedly. “I was out running and I knocked

somebody down and they hit there head,” she said slowly but spoke

faster as she got going. “And he’s bleeding and now he can’t remember

anything!” She wailed quietly. “And I didn’t know what to do but he

definitely needs a doctor so I brought him here!”

Quack raised an eyebrow. “Come in,” he said, turning and walking into

the room.

Mina hung her head and followed him in, as did the ‘patient’, through

his waiting room and into an office with a hospital bed much nicer than

one of those doctor’s beds with the paper on them, and a chair and

several shelves of medical equipment.

Snively squinted, the light hurting after the long bout in near

darkness. He shaded his eyes with a delicate hand and waited for them

to adjust.

It was barely a moment before he heard a small intake of breath.

“You’re an Overland,” Mina said, seeing him in decent lighting

conditions for the first time. She didn’t sound particularly frightened,

just rather surprised.

So she hadn’t noticed that before. She’d taken him to be a furry like

herself. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes having gotten used to

the brightness quickly. He looked at her, feigning puzzlement. “Am I?

… Ah, what exactly does that mean?”

She blinked. “You don’t even remember that? Oh no!” she sat down

heavily in one of the doctor’s waiting room chairs. She put her face in

her hands, and might or might not have been crying.

The doctor on the other hand regarded him. “It means,” he said with

all the authority of a public servant, “that you come from a land other

than this one. Specifically Overlander refers to the race which you would

seem to belong to, which is in the main, devoid of fur or feathers, and

as a race, has a tendency to the warlike.”

“Oh,” he said, looking curiously at his own pale skinned hands, and

then at the doctor and at Mina.

He took this chance to get a good look at the girl. Besides the

yellow that covered most of her body, her hair, or the fur on her head

or whatever, was long and violet. He wondered if she perhaps dyed it.

She possessed no tail that he could see, and from her general body form

he judged that she was most likely a bear or a badger or maybe a

ferret.

“Are you alright Miss Mina?” he asked warmly.

She looked up. “I’m a horrible person, I made you loose your whole

memory.”

“Well, not ALL of it,” he said optimistically, “I’m fairly sure my name

is Davin. And besides, I’m sure your doctor can help me.” All this

syrupy dialogue was leaving him a faintly ill feeling.

“Quite probably,” Quack said, giving Mina a pat on the shoulders, and

then approaching his patient. “Now, you said you had a head wound? I’d

better take a look at that first.”

He turned so the doctor could do his job. He prodded the cut a little.

“This isn’t so bad, most of the bleeding’s stopped, but we’d better

clean it out so it doesn’t get infected and bandage it.” He got a jar of

something and some adhesive bandages off a shelf. “Now, this might

sting a little,” he said, unscrewing the jar.

Snively gritted his teeth. Doctors had a habit of understating pain,

and he discovered that this one was no better. The moment he started

rubbing the salve on his cut it started burning and the sensation got

worse and worse as the stuff permeated his wound.

“Eep,” he squeaked smally, closing one eye. And the pain stopped. He

blinked, what on Mobius? Then he remembered the god’s promise to negate

pain if he cried out. Apparently she’d been good to her word, that time

at least.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” the doctor asked rhetorically, fixing

the bandage to the back of his head. “There. Now, let’s see,” he

picked up a pad of paper and a pen. “Patient’s name, Davin, yes?”

He nodded.

“Patient is… male, I presume?”

Another nod.

“You probably don’t know how old you are do you?”

He shook his head.

He sighed, “Well, I’d guess you between seventeen and twenty. Alright,

why don’t you stand up and come over to the scale. Take off your shoes

first.”

He slid off the bed and walked over. It was one of those scales that

also measured height. He pulled off his boots and stood on the scale.

The doctor fussed over the balances and measurements. He muttered a bit

to himself and then, “you’re three foot five inches tall.”

He winced inwardly at the mention of his height, as it was only

slightly better than half the average Overlander, though it WAS the

average for a furry. He sometimes wondered about that, and it made him

quite irate.

“… and,” the doctor clucked, “sixty… three pounds. You definitely

need to eat more, it looks as though you’ve been starved.”

That was because he practically was, and it didn’t help that he had a

metabolism like nobody’s business. “Wonder why that is?” he murmured

curiously, not forgetting his role as amnesiac.

“Well, have a seat again,” he nodded to the bed.

The Overland sat down, setting his boots by the bed. Quack shined a

bright. little light in his eyes that made them water. “Mmhmm, follow

my finger with your eyes,” he said, moving it slowly in front of his

face with his patient’s gaze following it. “Well, if you had a

concussion you’ve recovered now.” He took another long look at his face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

He chuckled, “Damned if I know doctor.” He hoped that the thought

would be dropped without the doctor figuring out that yes, they had

met before. Although, with the cushion of his ‘amnesia’ he might be able

to work around it if they figured out who he was and gain their trust

anyway.

Thankfully the duck man seemed to have shrugged it off. “Well, take

off your shirt.”

Snively frowned slightly but did so, noticing that Mina had averted

her eyes. The doctor pressed his cold stethoscope to his chest.

“Breath in… and out. Good,” he put the device on his back. “In

again… and out. In, out. Good. Heartbeat’s a little fast but not

abnormal. I’d wager you’re a heavy coffee drinker. Open your mouth.”

He stuck a tongue depressor in. “Mmhmm, definitely a coffee drinker.

Okay. You can put your shirt on, we’re done.”

“What?” Mina said, interrupting for the first time. “But his memory!

You didn’t do anything!”

“And I can’t, not until tomorrow when I’ll have access to Sir Charles’

lab. At which point I will run as many scans and tests as possible to

determine the cause of this young man’s amnesia. He can spend the

night resting here. And as for you, Miss Mongoose, I would suggest

you go home and get some sleep yourself.”

So that was what she was. “You ought to,” he told her with false

concern. “I’ll be fine.”

She looked at him, her own concern genuine. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Alright then,” she said, standing up. “I’ll see you

tomorrow.” She walked out.

“My house is upstairs,” Doctor Quack said. “I’m going to bed. If you

need anything…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine doctor, turn the light out when you leave,

will you?”

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

Chapter VII.

 

“Have you ever dancesd with the devil in the full moon light?”

-The Joker, ‘Batman: The Movie’

The man’s eyes were the same dark brown as those expensive, status

symbol chocolates that no one can stand the taste of. He was tall with

heavily tanned skin and wavy near-black hair that came to his jawline.

He was not an effeminate man, not in the least, but his form and face

still were possessed of a viscious, deadly grace. Those garments he

wore which were not blood red were so black that they absorbed any

light cast upon them. He was dressed like some sort of warrior king,

in armor that was decorative yet funtional and a sweeping black cape

which would have been terribly guady had it been on any other figure.

His expression was one of mocking and unconcealed disdain and he

spoke in a rich, amused voice. “So you are the one my enemy would send

against me. How typically foolish of her.”

“I resent that,” said the scrawny black haired boy in a nasal vioce.

The man chuckled, a gravelly and somehow enthralling sound.

“Pathetic. Her flawed judgement betrays her again. She hands me my

victory.”

The other scoweled. “Just who are you?” he demanded irritatedly.

“My name is Schetain, I am called the Deceiver.”

He snorted. “Good then, I’ll know not to believe a word you say.”

“Oh? But sometimes it’s so much easier to lie with the truth. Don’t

you know that? No wonder you’re such a failure. She really has sunk to

a new low with you, hasn’t she?”

He glared at man. “You’re talking about Geheivia, aren’t you”

“How very astute of you, boy. At least you’re not a complete idiot. I

may have some fun with you yet. Or rather my minion will. It’s one of

the rules we agreed upon you see, we gods only act through our servants.

It makes it more, entertaining, that way.”

“A game, is it then?” he hissed, insultedly.

“Heavens no, never a game, my boy,” he gave a grin like poison,

leaning towards him, “this is war.”

The mortal scoweled, irritation at being adressed in such a manner

nearly giving way to ouright anger. “Now see here, I demand you tell

me what is going on.”

“You, demand something of me? Laughable. But perhaps I’ll indulge

your insolence this once. Who knows, it might make my conquest all the

sweeter.” He paused. “Listen closely boy, because I will not repeat

myself. My oponent and I represent different hmmm, aspects, if you will

have it as such, and we have been at odds with one another for quite

a while.”

“Aspects of what, and how long is a while?” he interupted.

“Tut tut, hold your questions til the end of the lecture please

students. Simply put, when we are ready for a skirmish we each select a

player, a pawn, a servant, put it however you like, and pit them

against one another to determine who the winner is.”

He grimaced. “I am not a pawn.”

The god laughed. “My dear boy, you have evidently been reading the

heavily abridged version of you own biography. Now, you had a question

I do believe?”

“Yes, indeed I-“

The man cut him off suddenly. “Oh me, it seems we’ve run out of time.”

He looked casually at his own dark wrist as though checking a

non-existant watch. “Until next we meet, boy.” He gave a respectless

bow and-

For the second time Snively woke with a start, sitting suddenly up in

bed. This time however he was not in his own windowless bedroom on his

miserably hard cot. Sunshine was pouring in casting a cheery light on

the shelves and such.

He groaned inwardly, finding himself still in the same situation he’d

been in last night. He didn’t know what he expected to be different or

how he had thought things would be any better but, ah well.

He stetched and yawned. Outide bird were chirping noisily and he

expected that must have been what had woken him, only, it seemed to him

when he thought about it, that it had been something else. A dream,

but what of?

He was no stranger to nightmares, that was certain, but ususally he

woke up from those shakey and drenched in sweat and at the moment he

was perfectly dry and calm. He shrugged it off, after all, it was only

a dream and everyone sensible knew that dreams were only an inane

expression of the subconsious. He pulled on his shirt.

Well, he thought, today I get to go and get X-rayed and brained

scanned. Oh goody, lucky me. He looked around the room for something

resembling a comb or a brush. There was none. He ran a hand, with

difficulty, through his hair. It had gotten rather tangled at night, as

had the sheets. One of the pillows had been knocked to the floor. He

always had been a fitful sleeper.

He continued to comb his hair with slender fingers until it met with

his grudging satisfaction, wishing again for a shirt that was warmer

than the one he was in. He listened for noises that would mean

occupants above him were awake. There were none. It seemed he would

have some time before he had to go and be poked by machienes, and ones

built by an inventor he didn’t trust anyway. Sir Charles Hedgehog,

let’s pray your inventions work better when dear Jullian hasn’t

tampered with them, I’d rather not have my brain fried for real.

After all, it was the only thing he had, really.

He walked to the window, for lack of anything better to do, and

crossed his arms on the sill, resting his chin on them. Outside a few

early risers scurried about their buisness, creatures of all

discription. He wondered idly how so many species could have evolved

along the same lines, so closely as to be able to interbreed. He had

no idea about genetics, or evolution really. Oh, he knew the basics,

but it wasn’t his area of study or genius. No, he was a master

programmer and hacker. To bad most of the computers this side of Mobius

were his own.

He yawned, the expirience of breathing in air that was neither smoggy

and sinister, nor recycled and sterile was unfamilier. He could almost

taste the scenery, smell it certainly. He snorted. Yes, and he’d

probably catch some nasty disease from it as well.

Above him he now heard someone stiring, Doctor of the terrible,

unsettling pun name most likely. He sighed as he heard feet shuffle

down the stairs and someone knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said, trying to to sound too resigned. What was his

name supposed to be again?

“Ah, Davin, I see you’re up bright and early. That’s a good sign.”

Quack smiled the unressuring smile of all pshycians.

Davin, right. Well, time to get into character.

To be continued…

Read it? Review it!

A/N: I apologize for the excessive wait between chapters, I fell into

 

an uninspired depression. I might not be posting as frequently as before,

but don’t worry, I’m still alive and kicking and scratching. In fact

I have some of my artwork up on mediaminer.org now. (look for

Lejindarybunny) Should I get an elfwood or side7 account too? Also I

forgot to mention Ali, of COURSE you can post this on your site! I’d

love that.

I don’t know if any of you used to watch the old Beetlejuice cartoon

but if you’re interested, go read my song fic for it, Hemorrhage. And

if you watch Invader Zim go read Cognitive Dissonance.

Chapter VII.

“We must disenthrall ourselves from the past. Otherwise it becomes a

barrier to progress.”

-Abraham Lincoln

Snively grinned sloppily, “Good morning to you too, Doctor. I

certainly feel quite well at the moment. Taking in consideration the

circumstances of course.” The circumstances which were considerably

odder than any other than he thought them to be, he thought to himself.

The doctor nodded. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh no, I’m, fine really,” he brushed a few strand of hair from his

face, a slightly more violent gesture than he’d intended. He wondered

what had become of the rubber band he’d used the day before, it might

just have disappeared with his luck.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. Unless I am mistaken you are

gravely underweight.”

He frowned and considered protesting further. He really wasn’t very

hungry at all. He never was. But there was most likely no point in

defying the doctor on this and Snively nodded his grudging assent. It

wasn’t as if the man was going to poison him, he hoped. Snively was

reasonably sure that no one had seen through his deception yet. Yet of

course being the key word as soon he would be dealing with people who

had had much more frequent and unpleasant contact with him and were

therefore even more likely to recognize him than Quack was.

“Come with me then.” The duck-man turned and Snively followed him

from the room and up a set of stairs.

This must be where he lives, the dark haired man thought to himself

looking around at the dining room that might be described as ‘quaint’

or ‘homey’ or ‘prosaic’. There were pictures of the doctor and his wife

and their children, over the window were hung plaid curtains. Quack

motioned for him to sit at the table.

He shrugged and took a seat in one of the wooden chairs as the doctor

left the room, assumabley to get some sort of food. Snively leaned his

chin on his hand and drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. He

didn’t really like the doctor very much and being alone with him made

him distinctly uncomfortable. He was a bit worried that Quack would

suddenly recognize him, as he seemed on the verge of doing the night

before, and do something rash like grab a butcher knife or alert that

squirrel king of theirs. He sighed listening to the sounds from the

kitchen. Speaking of remembering things, he had the distinct feeling

that there was something he was forgetting, something important. But

that was ridiculous, he was pretending to be an amnesiac, he wasn’t

really.

He looked up as the doctor came back in with a plate and a glass of

orange juice, that he set in front of him.

“Thanks doctor,” he said with a gratitude he didn’t particularly feel.

He was picking up a piece of toast when someone knocked franticly on

the door. He saw the doctor grin.

“That’ll be your friend Mina, I’d wager,” Quack said as he went to

open the door.

The young figure that burst through the door as it was answered was

indeed Mina the, Mongoose, wasn’t it? She seemed very upset again and

Snively wondered if the girl ever calmed down. He turned a grin on her.

“Hey there Mina, come to rescue me from the hospital food? Kidding,

Doctor, just kidding,” he bit into the toast, it was rather burned.

“Have you remembered anything Davin?” the girl asked hopefully.

He gave her an indulgent smile and a shrug.

She collapsed defeatedly into a chair with a great sigh. A trifle

melodramatic, that one, he thought to himself, chewing on the toast. He

swallowed. He preferred her company slightly over the doctor’s. At

least she wasn’t about to discover him at any moment.

“I thought I told you not to worry about it, Miss Mina? I’m certainly

not but it’s a little painful to be constantly reminded of it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have thought,” she put a hand to her mouth,

obviously rather horrified at herself for ‘upsetting him’.

He smiled again, the muscles of his face definitely getting a work

-out they hadn’t had in years. He drank the orange juice after

finishing the toast and gave the eggs a rather distasteful look.

“Er, doctor, do I have to…?”

Quack sighed and rolled his eyes. “I suppose not if you’re full.” He

picked up the plate and took it to the kitchen.

“Did you sleep okay, Davin?” Mina asked concernedly.

Rather lost in his own thoughts he nearly forgot to answer to the

name. “Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes.” He nodded. “Just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie?” he shrugged. Only because he’d had a horrible

nightmare that he was just on the verge of remembering.

She sighed.

“Tch, honestly Miss Mina, you can’t be this upset over me. Is there

something wrong?” It was probably best to have someone firmly on the

side of ‘hey, this isn’t a bad guy’ in case he was found out, and the

girl seemed just about the perfect candidate.

She forced a smile. “Oh no, nothing’s wrong at all.”

His lips twitched in a smirk. “You are, my dear, a very bad liar.”

Her face fell. “Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully,” he nodded, not really bothering to control the tone of

his voice.

She looked over her shoulder to the kitchen, where Quack was washing

dishes. “Do you, um, promise not to tell anybody?”

“And who on Mobius would I tell? You have my word Miss Mina, that our

conversation will go no further.”

She smiled rather more genuinely, but then frowned again as she began

speaking. “Well, it’s just… you’ll think I’m silly.”

He raised an eyebrow. Yes, you’re right I probably will, he thought

to himself, but there’s no reason to tell you that. “I most certainly

won’t.”

She bit her lip. “Okay… but I warned you.”

“Consider me dually warned,” he quipped.

“… There’s this boy, who I like. And he’s really brave and handsome

and cool, but well, he likes somebody else and I don’t even have a

chance.” She sniffed.

Snively sighed mentally. Wonderful, just what he was NOT equipped to

deal with, teenage romance troubles. Well, he’d try his best he

supposed. “I’m sure that’s not true. Why do you think he would he like

this other girl more?”

She looked down at the floor. “Well, they’ve been friends for a really

long time, and she’s a lot prettier and smarter than me, and, and she’s

the princess!”

“Oh god, not her,” Snively rolled his eyes.

Mina’s gaze snapped up. “You, know who she is?” she blinked.

SHIT! He’d slipped up. Quick, fixitfixitfixit! He blinked. “Huh, I

guess I do,” he grinned. “Kinda tall, chipmunk girl, bossy as anything?”

Mina giggled and nodded. “Yup, that’s her! You remembered something

Davin, that’s wonderful! Do you remember anything else?”

He shook his head. “Nope, I think it was because you mentioned her. So

maybe I’ll remember things as I encounter them?”

She nodded. “I hope so. Gee, I wonder how you know the princess?” she

mused thoughtfully.

He shrugged. “Beats me, but hopefully she’s not my ex,” he grinned

charmingly.

She laughed again. “I don’t think that’s very likely. But hey, maybe

she’d know who you are! We could ask her… um, if we could get in to

talk to her… which we can’t. Darn.”

Actually, not darn, the less people who know me I have to deal with

the better. “That’s alright, I’m sure It’ll all come back to me in time.

But, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“I shouldn’t be burdening you with my problems.”

“Nonsense, I asked you. Tell me, does this boy have a name?” He had

to confess at this point he was just the tiniest bit curious.

She blushed and muttered something.

“You’ll have to speak up my dear, I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you.”

“… his name’s Sonic.”

Snively managed NOT to have a coughing fit, or otherwise give away

any indication that this was another name he knew. “… Sonic? Is that

really a name or are you pulling my leg?”

The girl looked thoughtful. “You know, I’m not sure that IS his real

name, now that I think of it. I guess it must be a nick-name.”

“Hmmmmmm,” he’d wondered about that himself, if the hedgehog’s parents

had been quite that…’witty’.

“So you don’t remember him, do you?”

“I’m afraid not,” he didn’t want her running to get Sonic to see if

the hedgehog knew who he was.

“Well, actually,” she smiled, “We might run into him today. His uncle

is the man Doctor Quack is taking you to for the tests.”

“Ah.” That was right. And even if Sonic wasn’t there dear old sir

Charles had just as good if not a better shot of recognizing him. He’d

just have to hope that luck was on his side.

The doctor came back into the room. “Ready to go? I take it you’re

coming with us Mina?”

She nodded. “Oh, doctor! Davin remembered something!”

“Did he now?”

“He knows who the princess is, but he doesn’t know how he knows.”

“Is that so?”

‘Davin’ nodded. “Yes, we were just talking and she brought up the

princess and I knew who she was talking about.”

“Well then that is good news to start that day with. Come on then,

Sir Charles lab isn’t very far.

To be continued…

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