Chapter Text
I know you’re exhausted. As of now, there’s no way to contain, cure, or prevent the zombot virus. And you’re the one coordinating everyone else, watching the large monitor in horror as another rescue mission fails and another blip turns red. I overheard Whisper saying something about killing Eggman and sending him to hell. I know it’s wrong, but frankly…
I shouldn’t be thinking like that. It’s been a long day.
It’s been a long month.
I… wanted to give you a small break. To take you to my timeline for just a few minutes, or hours if you want. The metal there isn’t contagious anymore (in fact, it is slowly decaying away) and you can actually touch things. Like trees, dirt, plants. Well, anything that survived. Most of it is still surrounded by metal. But the admittedly rare, real biological life that you can touch is incomparable. And unlike now, it will never be taken away again.
Mobians… well, Mobians are gone. Along with all other animal life.
But just the two of us, alone, free from the hellscape that Eggman created. Wouldn’t that be the best form of revenge? To let him rule the entire world in its current form without any subjects? If he won, and was the only conscious being in a world of his creation, perhaps only then would he realize that he has never known anything except misery and loneliness disguised as brilliance and superiority.
…It would also be selfish, I know. I know you’re choosing to struggle against the impossible odds, rather than to escape it and be free. Like this world needs to be redeemed. Even at the cost of everyone, including the potential of you and me becoming zombots.
And because you feel that way, I’m bound to feel the same.
Tails has been talking about developing hazmat suits. There's absolutely no way he'd be able to produce enough, though. He estimates 10 a week at most. And that’s based on the assumption that they’ll actually prevent the virus from spreading.
We’re terrified of touching anything and anyone. As if to rub salt in the wound that we’re not all completely touch starved already. Maybe it's a good excuse to offer a backrub or just to hold your hand, but I've been too nervous to capitalize off of my own desperate need to be physically held.
Gemerl performs a routine scan. Uninfected. Tails has suggested an elementary sign language we could use, like one finger up means uninfected and no outbreak, two fingers up means uninfected but there are zombots nearby, three fingers up means infected but isolated, four fingers up means pandemonium, and five fingers up means a non-zombot emergency. But right now we have Gemerl so all that is (thankfully) unnecessary. I say thankfully because right now he's up to forty signs and I keep getting them confused.
...Which leads me to another problem I have. Possible competition. Maybe it's all in my head. I know I'm not the smartest guy around. My only gimmick is that I come from the future. Honestly, that only causes further problems, one, because you don't seem at all interested in that and two, there's at least a 350 year age gap between us. I mean, but we are both teenagers… right? This is just getting awkward.
Anyway, right now, my greatest asset is that I look somewhat like Sonic. You beam with joy and delight for one second before you squint and return to a polite, subdued expression. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.
I walk in and the door slides shut behind us. Here's my moment to ask you out on a date (well, if you want it to be that. It could be just a friendship thing, too). To free you from your burdens and everyone else. To free you from the disappointment of watching people die, on monitors and before your very eyes. To a world slowly recovering from the effects of the metal virus. A fresh start. A blank slate. A chance to hold your hand. To forget everything. Salvation with zero effort.
You look back at me with red eyes, bloodshot from watching the monitor all day. Your voice is hoarse from belting out commands. And I know right now that it isn't the time to ask for something so selfish. Maybe later, when this is all over, if this is all over...
But right now, I'm a ready soldier. I thought that this zombified world was evil and needed to be abandoned. Frankly, I still think that. But your eyes tell me that the world is full of good people and it needs to be protected. That we need to travel through the pain and hopelessness to get out on the other side. No time travel, no escape.
...It is not a choice I would make without you. I'm not that strong of a person.
Still, I ask, "Where to?"
And you turn around and look at your monitor and the dozens of red dots.
“Can you handle Ice Paradise?” you ask with a smile.
I cannot understand why you would smile.
But I know that even the memory of it will be enough to keep me warm.