"Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly, nodding toward some unseen point beyond the trees. "There's a chili dog stand about two zones west of here." His nose wrinkled slightly—just enough to make his whiskers twitch—as he sniffed the air. "Smells like they're running the double meat special today." The words hung between us like a poorly rendered texture, hovering just a little too long before sinking in.
Somewhere behind me, the river kept looping—water splashing against the same rocks with mechanical precision. I counted the seconds between splashes out of habit. Six. Always six. Never seven. Never five. The ladybug thing reached the tip of Sonic's shoe and promptly vanished into thin air with a tiny *pop* sound effect.
Sonic didn't react.
Apparently this was just completely normal here.
I swallowed hard—my stupidly edgy voice catching in my throat like a poorly coded dialogue box. Sonic's offer hung in the air between us, pixel perfect and loaded with implications.
I took a deep breath—inhaling that weirdly nostalgic mix of chili grease and fresh-cut grass—and immediately regretted it as my stomach growled loud enough to startle a nearby frog into executing a perfect backflip into the river. Sonic's ear twitched at the sound, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. The frog resurfaced downstream, shaking its head with exaggerated dismay before vanishing into the current with a *plop* that echoed like a sound effect from 1998.
I stared at the ripples where the frog had been, counting the concentric circles as they spread—seven rings exactly, each one perfectly spaced—before looking back at Sonic. His sneaker was tapping again, kicking up little puffs of dust that hung in the air just a fraction too long before dissipating. The ladybug thing reappeared suddenly on his shoulder, its wings flashing a pixelated ":D" at me before vanishing again with another tiny *pop*.
Somewhere beyond the trees, the distant sizzle of a grill and the murmur of more food drew me upwards.
Yes I just ate, and yes I was being a fat ass.
Sonic's nose wrinkled—not in disgust, but in that specific way people do when they're trying not to laugh at you. The kind of look you give a puppy who just face planted into its own food bowl. "Uh-huh," he said, drawing the words out like taffy. His foot tapped again, kicking up a tiny dust cloud that hung in the air exactly three seconds too long. The ladybug thing reappeared on his shoulder, its wings flashing ":D" at me again like a glitch in the matrix.
I glared at it.
It didn't fucking care anymore.
Somewhere beyond the trees, the smell of chili dogs grew stronger—artificially so, like someone had turned the "appetizing" slider up to eleven. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and a nearby frog startled so hard it backflipped into the river with perfect form. Sonic's smirk widened. "Yeah," he said, nodding toward the scent like it was a foregone conclusion.
"I thought so."
The ladybug thing vanished with a *pop*. The frog resurfaced downstream, shook its head with exaggerated dismay, and disappeared into the current with a splash that sounded suspiciously like a stock sound effect. I stared at the ripples—seven perfect rings, evenly spaced—and wondered if anything in this world operated on actual physics. Sonic's glove creaked as he adjusted his stance, the fabric at his thumb worn thin from years of... whatever the hell Sonic does with his thumbs.
I took a deep breath—inhaling that weirdly nostalgic mix of chili grease and fresh-cut grass—and immediately regretted it as my stomach growled loud enough to startle a second frog into performing a perfect backflip. Sonic's ear twitched at the sound, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. The frog's splash echoed unnaturally, like someone had layered the same .wav file three times.
Sonic tapped his foot—the rhythm matching the river's looping splashes exactly—and jerked his head toward the trees. "Come on," he said, voice pitched somewhere between "cool older brother" and "guy who definitely doesn't have his taxes in order." His gloves squeaked slightly as he gestured—a small, human detail that made my chest tighten weirdly. "I'll even spot you the rings."
The ladybug reappeared on my shoulder this time, its tiny wings flashing ":D" before vanishing again. I exhaled through my nose—the sound coming out as an edgy growl I didn't intend—and stood up slowly, my stupidly tight pants pinching in places no pants should pinch. The river kept looping below us—six seconds between splashes, always fucking six.
What was this world?
And why was I stuck in it?
I trailed after Sonic—who was moving just fast enough to be annoying—with my hands shoved deep into my stupidly shallow pockets. The path ahead twisted unnaturally, like someone had designed it with a level editor rather than geography. Sonic's sneakers kicked up little clouds of dust that hung in the air just a fraction too long before dissolving.
We passed a signpost—arrow pointing left toward "Emerald Hill," right toward "Chemical Plant"—and I wondered briefly if my entire life had become a branching dialogue tree with no good options. Sonic vaulted over a fallen log with unnecessary flair, landing in a crouch that sent his quills bouncing with perfect cartoon physics.
"Oh yeah, I didn't get you're name by the way! But I'm Sonic, Sonic the Hedgehog, and what about you!" He asked as he turned around to face me, his hands behind his head as he walked backwards with a seemingly unnatural balance.
I hesitated, suddenly hyper aware of how stupid my old OC's name would sound out loud in this bizarrely tactile world.
But also my old name was way to normal.
"Sonic NEO Xtreme" sounded like something a twelve year old would scribble in the margins of a math notebook—which, technically, it was. The syllables clanged together awkwardly in my head, each one worse than the last. I could already see the way Sonic's nose would wrinkle—not in disgust, but in that particular way people react to bad puns at family reunions.
I took a deep breath—inhaling that weirdly nostalgic mix of chili grease and fresh-cut grass—and blurted out the first thing that didn't sound like a rejected energy drink flavor: "Nox." The word hung between us, simple and unadorned, lacking the Xs and Zs my younger self would've crammed in. Sonic's ear twitched—just once—before he shrugged, the motion loose and easy like he'd expected something worse.
The name settled into the air between us, lighter than I expected.
No neon signs.
No gratuitous umlauts, no unnecessary Xs—just three letters that didn't immediately scream "I made this in MS Paint at 2 AM." Sonic nodded like it made sense, his ear flicking once at a butterfly that fluttered past with suspiciously symmetrical wing patterns. "Cool," he said, the word stretching into two syllables as he spun on his heel to face forward again. The path ahead dipped suddenly into a half-pipe shape for absolutely no reason, grass textures repeating every three feet like a lazy (or probably an overworked) dev's copy paste job.
We walked in silence for a while—if you could call it walking when Sonic kept pace by bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid hopped up on birthday cake. His sneakers scuffed the dirt with that specific squeak I'd only ever heard in gameplay trailers, kicking up little puffs of dust that hung in the air a frame too long. The trees thinned out ahead, revealing a stretch of checkerboard hills that rolled into the distance like someone had forgotten to turn off procedural generation.
Sonic suddenly stopped mid-step, spinning on his heel so fast his sneakers left scorch marks on the ground. "Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles with a series of pops that sounded suspiciously like sound effects. "This is getting a little boring. Ya wanna race?"
His grin was all teeth—the kind of smile that said *I've already won* before the starting line was even drawn. One foot tapped impatiently against the dirt, kicking up a pixel perfect dust cloud that dissipated exactly three frames later. The challenge hung between us like a glitched prompt waiting for input.
I blinked at him, my stupidly edgy voice catching in my throat. "Uh," I managed—eloquent as ever—before clearing it with a growl that made a nearby bird thing execute a perfect 180 degree midair turn. Sonic's smirk didn't waver.
His gloves creaked as he cracked his knuckles again, the sound suspiciously identical to the last time. "Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the distant hills. "First one to Chemical Plant buys the chili dogs." His foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the dirt, kicking up little dust clouds that hung in the air a beat too long before dissolving. The challenge was there—simple, stupid, exactly the kind of thing that would've made middle school me lose my mind in the DeviantArt comments.
I stared at my stupidly pointy shoes—already feeling phantom blisters forming—and tried to remember if I'd given NEO any actual speed powers or just vaguely gestured at "all Sonic's abilities plus lightning." The silence stretched just long enough for Sonic to start bouncing in place, his sneakers leaving faint afterimages like a poorly rendered sprite. "Well?" he prompted, dragging the word out until it frayed at the edges.
But that was the thing, I wasn't twelve years old anymore.
I hadn't been for a long time.
"Nah I'm good."