"Shoot him!"

"Don't let him get away!"

"Move! Catch him!"

"Murderer!"

Tears ran down my peach cheeks as I stumbled and dodged my way through what seemed like a horde of G.U.N. soldiers, all of which are were trying to kill me.

I don't know what started this, all I know is that no one will help me. I've tried, believe me. Gunshots were ringing out left and right, some missed, some hit, and some simply grazed me. I keep running, barefooted as I lost my shoes some time ago in panic. As much as it all hurts now, it'll hurt a lot more if they catch me.

Hurt. Something I've been feeling a lot of lately, be it physical or emotional. Everything hurts, from the cries of terror I hear when people catch sight of me, to the harsh words and stones my friends use to keep me away.

A particularly close gunshot leaves my ears ringing as I continue to sprint past them. For a few terrifying moments the world is silent, which only intensifies the primal sensation of fear as I scramble through legion upon legion of soldiers and robots. I can feel the mud squishing between my toes, between my fingers as well from the times I've fallen and had to scramble back to my paws. I can feel the throb of exhaustion in my legs and chest, I can feel the blood roaring through my velvety ears, leaking out of numerous cuts and wounds.

When my hearing returns, everything seems unnaturally loud, the blast of guns, the shouts of the men and women, the turning of gears within the massive robots. I can hear everything.

Once more I slip through the mud, landing on my back and sliding quite a distance due to momentum. My fingers claw at the ground trying to gain some small purchase in the wet soil, I need to get back up. I have to get back up. I know what will happen if I don't.

Death, or worse. No matter what there's no mercy planned for me.

I fail to get a grip, and slide right off the muddy field into a flooded ravine. The water is deep, I sink right into it, flailing my hands to try and rise to the surface. A stray bullet finds the side of my hand just as I find the edge of the ravine through the murky water. I sink back to the bottom, bare toes scraping the soggy riverbed as I kick, still trying to breach the surface.

Without intention, I open my mouth, releasing the air I had in my lungs. Panic, stronger than before, sets in. I've always been terrified of drowning.

Thankfully, it won't happen to me today. A robot, large enough to grasp me in one hand, lands in the swamp next to me, reaching to grab me. My hands find it first, and I use it as a stepping stone back to the surface. I crawl on top of the metal creation, gasping and spewing water from my lungs.

A few shots and a sharp pain nicking my ear reminds me I don't have the time to rest. My clawed toes scrape the paint off the robot's head as I push off, launching myself into the forest.

The chase continues all night, I am only just able to outrun their vehicles. With my shoes, I would have left them in the dust wondering which way I'd gone.

Now, I'm covered in mud, blood, and water. I'm soaked through and cold, I want nothing more than to curl up and cry somewhere. I'm in a forest clearing… somewhere. My guess is Windy Valley, judging by the sparsely grown trees and tall, healthy grass.

I don't care much for the trail of soggy mud I leave in my wake, heading for some fresh water my nose can pick up somewhere over the next hill. My legs shake as I stumble over the incline, my eyes catching sight of a pond resting undisturbed on the other side. My pace increases as I'm reminded of my thirst. My throat is parched from running constantly for the past few days. I haven't slept or eaten either. Reaching the edge of the water, I drop clumsily to my knees and lower my face to the water, not even bothering to use my hands as a scoop. My wounds throb with the motion, but I ignore it. I drink as much as I can hold before lifting my face to pant.

I'm tired. I ache. I'm not thirsty anymore, but I am coated in mud. Despite nearly drowning earlier, I crawl forwards into the water, stretching out in the shallows to scrub the blood and dirt from my short coat. I'm glad for once that it's never had much length, so at least it doesn't tangle or mat as easily.

It takes a while, but after some effort I manage to clean myself off to the point where I could sleep without hassle.

I retreat back to the forest, hoping to find a small cave or maybe an abandoned animal burrow to sleep in. The last thing I want is to sleep in the open. The best thing I can find is a clump of ferns, but it will have to do. I'm too exhausted to be picky.

I slumber the rest of the night away, and the majority of the following day as well. It's a deep sleep, dreamless and comforting. My life has steadily gone downhill for about a year now, I have to fight to remember better days, despite those days being what made up the majority of my life.

Sorry, I must be going pretty fast for you. It's a lot to catch up on, believe me. I'm the one stuck living through it. I'll do my best to help fill in the blanks…

-x-x-x-

It started around nine or so months ago, with some new report claiming I'd been seen with a gun or something at the site of over a dozen murders. I being… well, me. Sonic the Hedgehog. Anyways, it had been a night club of some sort, attacked in the midst of a rave party. Honestly, I didn't do it. I was napping on Tails's roof at the time.

At first, my brother had valiantly defended me. He had even threatened G.U.N.'s Commander, Towers, telling the man to back off with quite a few colorful words. Ihad lightly scolded the cub for his vulgarity, but I made clear that I appreciated my brother's defense.

A week later, it happened again. Another week passed and yet another mass murder followed. Each one was framed around me being the perpetrator. It got worse though, with the number of victims steadily rising, as well as the 'proof' that it was me.

It reached a breaking point when I come home one day to find Tails pointing a gun at me, telling me to leave and never return.

I did leave, after about thirty uneasy minutes of trying to talk with the confused and angry kit. When Tails finally squeezed the trigger, firing a warning shot, I did leave. I left with my tail between my legs. My brother had never done anything like that before.

I ended up finding some form of shelter with Knuckles, who was far less affected by the media. It went well for awhile, until Shadow came to arrest me on behalf of G.U.N. Knuckles was confused to learn that some 42 people had died supposedly by my hand.

"He's been with me for two weeks Shadow. Something doesn't add up."

Shadow had let me go, but made Knuckles swear to keep an eye on me. I was confined to the temple for weeks. Shadow returned then, and informed me that I was still believed guilty as there had been no more murders since I had been confined.

With strong shackles on both my wrists and ankles, I was marched through one of G.U.N.'s many bases and locked in a cell. Shadow told me I'd be going on trial in three days.

Three days to prove my innocence. Three days until I was free, or locked away forever.

When the trial came about, I didn't stand a chance. So many accusations flew across the room, and each time I tried to defend myself I was told to shut my mouth. Eventually, the judge ordered the bailiff to muzzle me. Humiliated, confused, and accosted, I watched my downfall unfold. I was pronounced guilty. It was then a small part of me felt betrayed. They didn't want to hear anything other than my guilt. They wanted me to go down. They needed someone to punish, regardless of guilt or innocence.

Rather than be sentenced to life in prison or execution -both of which the judge mused about in court- it was decided that I was to be sent to a place called the Hell Pits. One of Mobius's most notorious prisons.

Well, I say prison, but really it's a deep, dark crack in the planet's lower bedrock with only one way in and one way out. The worst of the worst are put there and left to die. I had heard the stories, just as everyone else, and it was one of the few places I never wanted to go.

I was dragged out of court and brought back to the cell. It would be my last day above ground, they said.

I wasn't ready. That's when the first bit of panic set it and I don't remember too much of what happened next, but I know that it cemented my guilt in the eyes of the world. I escaped with my life, but that was where I lost my shoes. Shadow had been charged with guarding my cell, not that I had known at the time, so when I came blasting down the hall I practically tackled him myself.

I think he knew I was in a blind panic. He handled the situation with such ease, pinning me down with one hand and ripping off my beloved runners with the other, and no amount of kicking or fighting was able to knock him off until I finally ended up scratching him. The act of aggression caught him off guard and I was able to escape, just barely.

Honestly with his chaos skills and my lack of speed, I wonder how I managed to get away. Did he let me go? Did I surprise him so much that he froze? I don't know. Nothing really makes sense.

I've been on the run ever since. No help, no mercy, no real chance. From the little bit I've gathered, the murders are still happening.

No one knows that it's not me. No one wants to believe.

-x-x-x-

Taking another drink from the pond, I prepare myself for another day of clinging to existence while hiding from the world. The field is quiet now, only a few birds or crickets making noise. The sun has yet to make an appearance over the horizon, leaving me with the few shafts of light that manage to peek over the clouds to go by.

I lean back against a mossy stone and investigate the wounds I gained yesterday. My left hand has a horizontal slash between the index and thumb from the bullet the nicked me in the creek. My right ear has a circular chunk missing. There's a bullet wound on my belly, but from the way it looks I think the bullet just went straight through. That's a mercy at least, I won't have to go digging around for a hunk of metal in my innards.

There's another cut on my calf of my right leg, it's somewhat deep and makes movement a pain. My bones ache just as much though from the constant stress. I need to find some herbs or something to keep infection away. I've evaded the entire world's grip for nearly a year, I won't be done in by some stupid cut.

Standing, I turn to look around for a patch of trees, where herbs would be most likely to grow. Somewhere sheltered and safe.

Gods I wish I was a plant sometimes.

It's the sound of footsteps that has me on edge. There's someone nearby. I bite my lip and peek out from behind the tree I'm crouched behind, using it as a shield. My hands rest on the gunshot on my belly and the mashed up plants I've got caked over the wound.

"The trails ends over here, sir."

"Keep looking. With wounds like his, he can't have gone far." the deep baritone voice of Shadow picks up, leaving me terrified. There's no doubt that the Ultimate Lifeform already knows where I'm hiding. He can probably even smell me. Hell, after a year of living in the woods, I can smell myself.

"Sir! I've got footprints. There's even a bit of fur." a young human soldier is crouched behind a bush holding a tuft of my pelt between his gloved fingers.

My lip quivers without me realizing it, and I lean back against the bark of the tree, wishing -yet again- that I could be the plant. A rock would do even. Anything other than me.

Quiet words catch my attention, as Shadow whispers some commands. I'm screwed. He knows where I'm at. This is it. The not-so-glorious end of Sonic the Hedgehog.

A foot thumps the wood roots that sprout from the ground, not too far from my ear. Shadow is leaning on the trunk above me, not looking at me but perfectly aware that I'm two inches to his left.

"I don't see him. Move on."

What? My head turns ever so slightly to look at him. He's facing straight ahead, but his eyes are turned towards me. My breathing kicks up, still silent but borderline hyperventilation. The dark male's eyes are positively burning.

The blood color of his eyes flick down to examine the wound I'm clutching with both hands, and he turns to look over his shoulders.

"How bad is it?" he asks softly, his tone a complete opposite of the expression on his face. I struggle to speak for a moment, having not spoken to any living soul for months.

"It's manageable… Bullet went straight though…"

Shadow hums at my words, "The only reason I'm not turning you in right now, is because that would be hypocritical of me. I've killed people before, so I have no right to lock you away for it."

"I-I didn't…" I whimper out, words spilling from my lips before I can stop them, "I never killed anyone…" I can feel cool, salty tears streaking down my cheeks, "I never-"

"Sir! Everything alright?" a soldier calls from somewhere behind us. Shadow turns to look at the man I can't see.

"I think I've found something, give me a moment." the male turned back to me, "They don't have any trucks, you can outrun them easily. When I move to grab you, trip me and take off."

A few moments of silence pass, until Shadow lunges for me. My foot lashed out, making contact with his metal boots. He kept all his weight on that foot intentionally. It hurts when my bare toes slam into his hover shoes, but I keep my mouth shut, focusing on running before the larger hedgehog lands on me. I hear him grunt, hitting the ground as I break into a dead sprint through the woods, the all too familiar sound of gunfire chasing me.

Shadow's behavior is confusing.

-x-x-x-

I'm limping now, it hurts too much not to favor my leg. I didn't have a chance to dress the wound before Shadow's patrol found me two days ago, and it's starting to swell. Good news is the wound on my belly is starting to heal up well.

I stumble through a shallow creek, the throb in my calf having grown too large to ignore. The water smells awful and it's an odd brown color, I won't risk drinking it, much less trying to clean my wounds. I reach the other edge of the slim ravine the creek flows though, reaching to grab a tree for extra support as I try clamber out of the stream's shallow reach. The plant groans beneath my weight, making me second-guess my choice of support. I release the dying wood and reach instead for the roots of a nearby bush, yipping as I'm greeted by thorns. Now without support my infected leg gives out, sending me crashing into the creekbed. Brown water splashed everywhere, into each cut and scrape. Some even gets in my eye.

I'm suddenly made aware of the fact that it burns in my wounds. I claw my way out of the stream and curl up, crying and trying to shake the water off. It clings to me like oil, I can't get it off. I shake my pelt repeatedly, pride forgotten to pain.

It doesn't come off. I'm left shivering beneath a bush (the same one with thorns, mind you) waiting for the sting to fade.

I wish I was a freaking plant.