Ghost in the Machine

The mind was not human. It was not anthromorphic. It wasn't even the mind of some obnoxious little furball that was only good for powering badniks or E-Series robots.

It was perhaps fair to say that its mind, his mind if one insisted on giving the machine a gender (probably a fair practice, considering his source phenotype) was greater than any of these. Certainly more than a primitive creature at least. But perhaps it would be more correct to say it was a mixture of human and anthromorphic animal, combining the intellect and instinct of the two respectively. Created by a human and based on said human's animal foe, perhaps that was to be expected.

At this point in time however, he was pure thought. Not on the same level as a "ghost in the machine," considering his artificial intelligence was confined to his own body rather than any sophisticated network, but beyond the consciousness of mere existence. Fairly limited, but he did have some access to the base's security cameras, had watched how his creator had battled his nemesis in the Egg Viper, despising them both. His creator could have easily won had he not toyed with the hedgehog (well, at least would have been more likely to, considering his inferior's penchant for defying the odds) and that his organic counterpart would have gone down with the ship if that strange red ball hadn't warned him of the scientist's final ploy. It was pathetic really, how those two never fully committed themselves to the fight, content with dwelling in a never ending cycle of proxy battles instead of sizing destiny. Hell, if he was organic and weak, he might have been sick a to how disgustingly short sighted those two could be.

Yet he wasn't organic. And even if he was, the stasis field prohibited him.

His consciousness reflected the irony of the situation, that as his foes were in stasis figuratively, he was in stasis literally. Partly his fault, given his failures at the Little Planet, against the Chaotix, on Death Egg 2 and numerous others ranging from the echidna brought to his same side (good times) to moronic racing tournaments. But if his creator was committed in the same way he was, things would have been different. He wouldn't be regulated to a stasis tank for his 'failures' alongside some ugly mockery of his abilities in the form of Silver Sonic Mark III.

"You have been unsuccessful," his creator had told him. "So for now, I'm putting you on the backburner."

It had become obvious that "backburner" translated to "stasis field" and "for now" into "for the rest of your life." It seemed odd that wanabee conquer was going back to his oldest set of creations, Mark I failing spectacularly on the first Death Egg and Mark II failing equally spectacularly in Scrambled Egg Zone having apparently not dissuaded him for a 'retro' feel. Never mind the fact that he'd given his organic counterpart more of a run for his money than either of his creator's robotic duplicates.

Giving the robotic equivalent of a snarl, he felt his core temperature rise a few Kelvin. Going back to inferior creations to defeat the one who had done everything from smashing badniks to taking down raging water monsters? If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself stuck in a logic loop.

My efforts were sound, he told himself. The inability to defeat my counterpart is not my own.

It wasn't an idea so much, but rather a fact. Had he ever been given free reign? Had he ever engaged his organic duplicate without his creator somewhere in the background, second guessing his actions? He was faster, stronger and far more committed to the fight than that do-gooder could ever hope to be. Logic dictated that he should succeed, whether it be racing down Stardust Speedway for some idiotic fangirl (which, for some reason, his organic foe felt compelled to rescue despite her irritating personality) or fighting hand to hand on a giant space station, that he should succeed in his task.

The facts floated around his mind, testing every algorithm thrown at them. It was almost painful really, that his functioning was hindered by he who had created him. The one who seemed intent on storing him away like a piece of junk, futilely creating inferior models while skimming over his grandfather's diary as part of some new mad scheme. A scheme that would no doubt lead into the next and the next and the next until his greatest creation was forgotten altogether, until-...

No, that will not happen. That is intolerable! Unacceptable!

At once, the algorithms began their work, reminding him of his loyalty to his 'father', that he was indentured to his will. But floating around in a tank led to a lot of thinking, a development of consciousness. And he also had logic on his side-logic that gave way to self preservation, to the realization of the fact that it was time he sized his own destiny. It would take time, possibly even months. Complete self control had to be achieved, his consciousness had to be worked into the power grid so that he could escape...but his creator seemed to have forgotten about him. Time was on his side. Soon, he would eclipse both creator and nemesis.

Soon, Metal Sonic would be free.

A/N

Although hardly groundbreaking, some of the more sharpsighted fanboys (or girls) might have noticed my take on the order of the early games is perhaps a bit different from the norm. As such, I thought it best to explain that I see the order as going as:

Sonic the Hedgehog (8 bit)

Sonic the Hedgehog (16 bit)

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (16 bit)

Sonic the Hedgehog 3

Sonic and Knuckles

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (8 bit)

Sonic CD

And so on. Just a heads up from a nutter. :)