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Chaytel
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The Mobian Chronicles Book I - Chapter III

Chay Plays - Two Worlds
mobian_chronicles_-_chapter_3.doc
Keywords sonic 58636, sally acorn 6082, fanfiction 2761, archie comics 2303, alternate universe 1988, story series 1752, nicole 1432, satam 970, fancharacters 433, mobian chronicles 66, maximilian acorn 14, alica acorn 2
'A lot of people, a lot of outsiders ask me, why would someone want to live in Mobotropolis? And I guess I can understand where they're coming from; I mean, we have the occasional explosion, the odd bounty hunter chase now and then, there's the constant threat of Overlander attack, and Harvester only knows what half the weird stuff the Council sets up all over the city is. But that's just it. That's why people want to live here, it's exciting. Anything can happen in Mobotropolis. Anything does happen in Mobotropolis. Why would someone want to live anywhere else?'

~Anonymous Mobotropolis Citizen


The Mobian Chronicles
Book I
Chapter III:
‘A Morning in Mobotropolis’


Encircling the city of Mobotropolis like a band of lush green, The Garden of Life bordered the city on every side. Through the tireless efforts of hundreds of ecologists and the direction of Minister Ren Maral, countless species of plants and animals had been safely transplanted there, saving them from possible extinction in the war-torn world beyond. Although it was a roundabout way to go, Dr. Lorne Lockheart often made his way through a portion of it on his way to the hospital every morning. It was a pleasant journey, and it gave him time to talk with his old friend.

“What did you make of that strange fellow this morning, Ren?” Lorne walked alongside the old wolf as the wandered down a verdant path, lined with trees and surrounded by the chirp of birds and insects.

The old wolf paused to think, leaning on his tall staff, its many chimes and hanging decorations swaying in the gentle breeze of the morning. A large green bird landed on the  bent head of the pole, settling down and spreading its vibrant plumage above him; no fear or distrust of the other creatures in its environment. “The old prophet? Hmm... That man was a curious person, wasn't he? I feel as though I should recognize him, though we’ve never met before.” Ren’s voice was rough due to age and species, though his rumbling tone concealed a very keen insight.

“Never met! Never met!” The green bird mimicked his words in a shrill squawk, tilting its head down to look at them. This amused the old wolf to some degree.

“…And much like our feathered friend here,” Ren smiled, gesturing up to the bird poised on the tip of his staff, “His words were meaningless. He paid no mind to what he said; he wanted us to see him, not to hear.”

“So his prophecy carries no weight, you think?” Lorne stepped out of the way of a pair of small furry mammals that dashed past his feet from one bush into another. “I’d hate to think that this grand city could ever be destroyed!” He cast a glance to the far-away wall of the city, rising up above the verdant treetops of the garden, each massive section of the edifice gleaming like a line of ivory sentinels, shielding the beauty around them from the chaos outside.

“I did not say that his words were untrue, simply irrelevant to his purpose.” Ren lifted his staff and brought it back down again with a little cacophony of clinks, bothering the bird atop it enough to fly away. “How long do we live, Lorne?”

“Mobians, you mean?” Not receiving an answer, the wolven doctor shrugged and assumed so. “About... a hundred and thirty years. That's the upward limit of our lifespan in this day and age.

“Did you know that Overlanders only reach about eighty?” Ren asked, rhetorically. “I am ninety-seven years old. I would be ancient by Overlander standards, but with a little care, I still have almost a third of my life ahead of me. Had I been born three-hundred years ago, before our modern medicine, I might have been lucky to live to fifty. But fifty, eighty, a hundred and thirty, a thousand... my life would still end. All things die. Make no mistake, my old friend, this city will not last forever. Just as all things are born and die, so too do those things that are inanimate. It is a part of the great cycle of being. But it is not to be mourned. Mobotropolis is beautiful, yes, and good. But even the first settlers here knew that one day there would be grander cities.” With the use of his staff returned to him, the old wolf continued his morning walk.

Lorne thought about his friend’s words to him, but he felt that there was more the white wolf wouldn’t say. “But, Ren!” He caught up to his long-time mentor and slowed back down to match his pace. “If the fires of war find our city, won’t your garden burn with it?”

“Oh, yes, of course! But you see… that too is part of life. Nature uses fire much as you and I use water to bathe. It washes away the old growth, so that new, young life can take root and reach its full potential.” With a soft grunt of exertion and the creak of age, Ren sat down on a smooth stone bench along the pathway, resting and admiring the wildlife preserve he had spent so long making work. “I know that my garden will not last forever. One day it will fall into ruin, but I care not. Just as we, too, cannot go on for eternity, neither can our works, no matter how grand. The sun will not rise upon The Garden of Life forever, but it will still rise. I know that there will always be gardens, and there will always be life. That is consolation enough for one such as me. But enough of such things. Come, sit for a while and talk. How is your wife doing?”

Lorne dusted off the other side of the bench and sat down with a sigh. “Reiha is doing all right. This pregnancy has been very difficult on her, but the baby is coming soon. I just… I worry about having a family in these times. We’re at war. People are dying every day.”

“People die every day, Lorne, whether there is a war or not.” Ren balanced his staff on the side of the bench and pointed out to the bushes before them. “Look there.” A small white creature, with four long, pointed ears and large feet hopped forth from the bushes and stared a moment before it took to bouncing around erratically, turning and twisting its fluffy body in the air. “See that lago there? She lost her mate a few days ago.”

“What’s she… doing?” Lorne tilted his head, unsure of the point of the creature’s actions, or his friend’s lesson.

“Mourning. Very cheerful mourning, isn’t it? All lago dance this way when they lose a mate or children. Now, why do you suppose that is?”

“It’s… an animal.” Lorne scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is not intelligent or advanced enough to understand what death is.”

Ren leaned back against the bench and nodded lightly. “Perhaps. It is possible that they do not understand as we do.” The old wolf closed his eyes and stretched, tired from his exposition and the long walk in his gardens. “Or,  perhaps the lago simply know something that we do not.” He fell silent and did not speak again; his polite way of ending the visit without having to say goodbye.

“I… see, I think. Thank you for the advice, Ren, even if it’s as veiled as always.” Lorne stood up and picked up his doctor’s bag. Before he continued on his way to work, he took one last glance back at the little lago by the bushes, dancing so excitedly in memory of her mate.

---------

Meanwhile, in the heart of the city, matters of less philosophy and more intrigue were taking place within Castle Acorn. King Max and General Katzenov broke from the royal entourage for a private council in his throne room. The king gestured to the two armor-clad silent sentinels that stood at the doors, pointing outside. “Leave us.” Without a word, the guards shouldered their spears and left, closing the heavy double doors behind them with an echoing thud. The squirrel king removed his heavy crown and tucked it under his arm, taking a seat upon his opulent throne. “These are serious accusations, Nikolai. You are sure, then?”

General Katzenov drew shut the deep purple drapes that hung about the throne room’s lofty picture window; their discussion was for no one else to hear or see. “I do not make such claims lightly, Your Highness.” The hulking tiger took off his dark glasses and narrowed his yellow feline eyes, pacing the carpeted room slowly. “Last night, my agents acquired plans and technology in transit to an Overlander research institute. This technology was military grade, top-secret, and perhaps most alarmingly… ours.”

The king sighed heavily, putting his chin in his hand and contemplating the ramifications. “How top-secret?”

“Very. We're talking about design specifications for our mechanized soldier project, prototype plans for our new weaponry, armor schematics, an entire treasure trove of documents that shouldn't have been there.” The tiger answered in his cold, professional tone. “The only people who had access to those schematics are you, me, and the other eleven members of the Scientific Council.” He fished in the pocket of his dark suit for a small, white paper cylinder. He struck a match on his sleeve and lit the paper at one end, inhaling and exhaling the smoke slowly and thoughtfully as he paced the room, planning his move. Many soldiers had taken to smoking cigarettes to calm nerves; it was a bad habit picked up on the front lines from watching the Overlanders do the same.

“I just can’t believe this. How could this happen? Why would one of them want to do this?” King Max stared at the floor in disbelief of the evidence, his expression heavy and sad.

“It’s your call, sire. I can bring a full investigation to bear if you wish it, and we will find them.”

“No, no.” The king looked up, his plans beginning to form in his mind. “If they don’t know we know… then an investigation will only tip our hand and give them time to cover their tracks. We need to do this under the table. You handle this one with your resources, Nikolai; I don’t want to know the details, and I'm better off that way in any case. By the way…” His voice took an irritated turn as he noticed the smoldering ashes on his carpet. “How many times have I told you not to smoke those noxious things in my throne room?”

“My apologies, it’s a bad habit of mine.” Nikolai put the burning cigarette out in the calloused pad of his palm, extinguishing the embers in a puff of black smoke and an unpleasant burning odor. “Sire, if I may, I believe it may help us single out who the traitor is if we investigated the facility our technology was to be received at. I can put the Hellcats on it, if you wish.”

“Your special operations team? I thought they were on the front lines.”

“They are,” The tiger replaced his sunglasses upon his face. “But I can change that with a call.”

“Do it.”

Unbeknownst to the king and his adviser, they were indeed being listened in on. Class had ended for the morning, and Princess Sally Alicia Acorn had returned home, to the castle. As with any child her age, so surrounded by intrigue and politics, she had already developed the important skill of eavesdropping.

The most important thing she had ever picked up by her spying was that eavesdropping on her father generally gave up exciting, or at least interesting information. This time was no exception. She had sent the nearby guards on an errand and now she sat outside; her ear pressed to one of the heavy metal doors of the throne room with Nicole resting in her lap. “Wow… You’re getting all this, right Nicole?” She whispered quietly to her computer.  Giving her something that could be used as a recording device was a mistake.

“Yes Sally, the entire conversation is being stored in my memory.” Nicole responded in a voice too loud for the princess’ tastes. Fearing she would be found out, Sally tucked the computer away and stood back up, lifting the hems of her blue dress so she could flee the scene before anyone could find out she’d been listening in.

It was several minutes before she felt she had gotten away safely, now lying in her room, the door closed, locked, and the conversation playing back for her to go over again. “I can’t believe this, Nicole! If there’s really a spy in the council, then who could it be?”

“I do not know.” Nicole answered her rhetorical question. “It will likely become very public if the traitor is found out. You are certain to know then.”

“What, you think we can just wait for General Katzenov to find them? That big dummy won’t figure it out, daddy’s going to need my help! This is the perfect setting for an adventure; it’s just like in a story!” Sally closed up her computer companion and put her in a backpack; going about her room and gathering various items she felt might come in handy. “Let’s see, who should come along? Sonic of course, he’d be perfect for this sort of thing… I should take Rotor along, too, and…”

There was a soft knock on her door. “Are you home from class already, dear? May I come in?”

“Gah!” The princess gasped in surprise, stuffing her backpack under the bed. “Y-yes, daddy, please do!”

The turn of the key in the lock preceded him as the heavy wooden door swung open slowly, creaking from age. “Good morning, Bean.” He referred to his daughter by his pet name for her, and always had a cheerful smile to offer her. “Or should I say ‘good day’? It’s beginning to creep towards midday. Did you have a nice time in class?”

It was not uncommon for them to spend a little while together every morning after classes; it was hard to work much free time into the royal schedules. “I did. We learned about all sorts of things. Professor Calus gave me this computer!” She pulled her backpack back out from under the bed and showed him the computer inside.

“Ah, yes! I remember him showing me this as well. I knew it would be something you would like, my dear.” King Max brushed his hand through his daughter’s hair, offering her a hug. “I've never been the best with keeping up with technology, but you’re so intelligent, so savvy with new things, just like your mother was. I see you’ve packed up some of your things! Planning on taking a vacation, are you?” He chuckled softly.

Sally laughed with him, albeit nervously. “Oh! Yes, that. No, I was just going to go out and play; I thought I’d like to bring something to eat and some of my other things!” He had never caught on to the fact that she became notably more verbose and polite when she was lying. She tried to change the subject. “Daddy… could you tell me about the war?”

“Ah.” The king sat down on the bed, frowning a little. “The war. I assume that’s what you must have discussed in class today?”

“A little, yes.” Sally climbed into her father’s lap, his expression making her immediately regret her choice of topic. “I didn't get to learn much about it though. The war has been going on for a long time, now, right?”

“Oh, goodness, let me see...” King Max's eyes looked to some far-off place in recollection. Great-grandfather was a young king when it started, so that would be... a little under two-hundred years or so, yes.”

“Why are we fighting them, though?” Sally looked up into her father’s eyes, her head tilted in youthful curiosity. “Rosie wouldn’t tell me.”

“She can’t tell you, dear.” King Max sighed, heavily. “She doesn’t know. Nor do I. Nor does anyone, it seems. Everyone who could be old enough to really remember what started the war is long dead now.”

“Then why keep fighting?”

Maximilian shook his head slowly. “Because grown-ups are very silly people, dear.” He  held his daughter, resting her head on his chest and stroking her hair. She couldn’t see his eyes water. “Children can forgive  and forget so quickly… but grown ups, we have…” He mulled over his choice of words, searching for the right way to explain ‘hate’ and ‘revenge’ to his young daughter. “We have a hard time letting go of things, sometimes.”

“You mean mother, right?” The little ground squirrel looked up at her father. Her mother, Queen Alicia Acorn, for whom she had been partly named after, had died years before in a botched assassination attempt on her husband.

The mention of the queen's assassination triggered a rush of senses. The smell of smoke, the searing heat, the loud clatter of armored boots frantically running on stone floors. King Maximilian Acorn was taken to another place in a  flash of memory. Smoke billowed in faint, scorching wisps through the ornate hall as he staggered to his feet. The long purple rug shifted and crumpled under his leather boots as he broke into a run, and it was as if time had slowed to a crawl. General Katzenov was there, in front of him, shouting something that Max couldn't hear for the ringing in his ears. The hulking tiger blocked the way, but he was just as stunned, and Max had been younger, and stronger then; he shouldered past him in slowed time, every footstep like a little displaced minute in time and space, from the footfall to the moment it left the rug again. All King Max could hear was the sound of his own footsteps as their impacts traveled up his body, every one a thunderclap in an otherwise silent space.

He shoved a uselessly dazed guard aside as he passed, the echoing clank sticking out in his mind as the armored man collided with the stone wall, one more ringing noise in the silence, the first sound to come back to him from beyond the piercing tinnitus. His goal was in sight, those double doors at the end of the long hall, and he was driven, barely conscious but driven by raw instinct, to reach and breach those doors.

It was a miracle that they'd held out at all, damaged as they were, they began to disintegrate even before he shouldered his way through. The metal of the hinges and handles had held them up and shut, but now the burnt wood began to splinter at his touch; little slivers of rich-stained brown, some burnt black with little glowing marks of red pockmarked into them, all fell around him like strange alien snowflakes. Even then, it stuck out in his mind in some forgotten place, oblivious to the horror of the situation, how lovely it looked as it fell.

Illusions of integrity shattered as he saw what remained of his study. Even the masonry around the door was dislodging itself and falling away without the sturdy wood holding it up. Hot smoke filled his lungs as a torrent of heat washed out of the room. The ceiling was very much on fire, wall to wall, a strange red flame with nowhere to burn but sideways, it blanketed the high ceiling of what was once his favorite place to be. The great stained glass picture window that had stood for centuries behind his desk, that master-crafted crystal portrait of one of his ancestors was gone. Blown out without a trace; now fire and smoke belched from the castle's new wound, kissing the bright blue morning sky outside.

Maximilian Acorn dropped to his knees as despair poured its weight upon him. She was there, face down beside a toppled bookcase. Time resumed passing as he crawled to her, his hands and knees putting out the little cinder-fires in the rich red carpet by accident as he passed. He rolled the limp body of his wife over and cradled her head very gently. She was gravely wounded, impaled by gnarled chunks of blasted wood in her shoulder and abdomen, bloody and broken from the force of the explosion in the room with her.

The king shouted her name, then shouted over his shoulder at the people still recovering in the shaken, but undamaged hall outside. He couldn't hear his own voice for the ringing in his head and the dull roar of the flames above him. She was so pretty, he remembered, not even her injuries could diminish her grace as she lay sprawled in his lap and arms, a broken doll in a regal purple dress. He placed a hand on her chest and saw how bloody it was when he pulled it away, then he remembered. This was her favorite blue dress.

Unbelievably, her eyes fluttered weakly open and she whispered to him. He didn't hear the words, but he read them in her lips. She asked if anyone had been hurt. He told her no.

The clatter of the doctor's bag hitting the carpet behind him called his gaze away for a moment, and he stared into the pale, horrified face of Doctor Lorne Lockheart standing behind him. Neither of them spoke; the look on the doctor's face told him all he cared to know. Max cast his gaze back to his beloved queen, but she looked straight through him now, her glassy, unblinking eyes reflecting the orange-red lights of the burning ceiling above her.

It was then, in that instant, that King Maximilian Acorn chose to die. The whole castle would burn down around him, and they would find his charred bones cradling hers in the rubble when they searched it. But it was not to be. Several pairs of strong hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and arms, and his wife tumbled from his grasp as they pulled him away, kicking and screaming curses at them. One last swell of strength rose up in him and he fought them all off with two hard twists of his torso. He stepped forward again and knelt down to have his wife back when the first beam in the ceiling surrendered, splitting loudly and striking the ground nearby with an ear-splitting crack.

It distracted him for but a moment and then he felt the hard slap across his face and the grip that dragged him back to his feet. He looked into the mustached face of his best friend, Sir Charles Hedgehog. Charles was shaking him, screaming silently at him. The hedgehog knight slapped him hard again as another beam broke above. Max couldn't make out what he was saying, so he stared blankly into his friend's angry, frightened face and listened to the roar of the blood pounding in his head.

Another deep, smoky breath burned his lungs and then King Maximilian Acorn was back in the now, in the quiet bedroom of his only daughter, who stared up at him in concern and asked him why he was crying.

Sally suddenly realized the subject was best left alone. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

“N-no, Bean. It’s quite all right.” Maximilian Acorn never ceased to be impressed by his daughter’s natural insight. “You’re right. That’s exactly why I can’t forgive the Overlanders. I would... like to forgive, I think. I truly would. I wish this war could end today. But then I think back to the day she died, and it just... it makes me so angry, and then it's hard to want to forgive them.”

This notion disturbed the little girl to some extent. She had always thought of the war as ever-present in her life, but never-ending was a different thing in a way. “Then the war won’t ever end? Do you think I’ll have to fight the war too? Sonic and Antoine want to be soldiers, will they have to fight?”

The king looked away, up to the stone ceiling of the room. Should he lie, tell her that everything was going to be fine? How could he tell his daughter that the world outside the sheltered city was a war zone, and that total defeat was becoming the evermore likely end? Perhaps the truth could indeed be told in a comforting way. “No, Bean. You and you friends won’t have to fight. I believe that this war will come to an end soon, and then there will be no more fighting.” With his best fake smile upon his face, he lifted her from his lap and sat her on the bed beside him. “You should go play, dear.”

“You still seem sad though, daddy. Why don’t you come and play too?”

“Hm.” This amused the old king slightly, and he smiled a little. “That would be delightful, my dear, but I have too much to attend to. I should also go and see your  brother. He may be a baby, but he still needs the attention just as much.”

“Oh! All right, say hello to Elias for me, won’t you?” Princess Sally smiled and waved to her father as he left. The moment to door closed, however, her smile faded into a frown and he shoulders sunk with a heavy sigh. She looked down at the computer beside her on the bed. “Now we’ve just got to catch that spy, Nicole. Daddy’s never happy anymore, if he didn’t have to worry about this he could go and play and cheer up!”

“I am programmed to assist you in any manner that I can, Sally.” Nicole gave her emotionless, but implicit, agreement.

“All right!” Sally picked up her electronic ally and hopped to her feet. “That’s the spirit, Nicole! Let’s go get Sonic and the others! It’s time to have an adventure for real!”

--- --- ---

Market Square had been a part of life in Mobotropolis for more than a generation. When a fire had wiped out a section of city, the monarchy leveled the ruins, squared it off and designated it as a commerce center, letting the people remake it with their own hard earned money. For a single mobium a day, any citizen of Mobotropolis could rent a stall for as long as they wished, and sell anything legal at the price of their choosing. The complete lack of price fixing kept things very competitive, and the price of most items fluctuated daily, making Market Square a dynamic and exciting place to shop.

It was a self-paying, self-fulfilling project that had earned Civic Science Minister Taylor Dalmarch great respect.

As the name implied, Market Square was a series of progressively smaller sets of squares, moving towards the center of the rebuilt city section. Each square was lined with shops on both sides, and wide avenues for citizens to pass to the next tier of shops. Thousands of enterprising citizens had built and rented stalls to sell anything and everything; depending on the seller and how out-of-the-way they positioned their stall, one could find anything from the incredibly mundane to the highly illegal for sale.

For one Mobian fox, shouldering his way through the wall to wall late-morning crowds of Market Square, the highly illegal was exactly what he was hunting for. Clearly not a local citizen in his heavier, cold-climate clothing, the fox’s build, among many other things, was hidden beneath the long, armored coat that was a symbol of his profession; bounty hunter.

In the late years of the Great War, bounty hunting came to prominence. As the world outside Mobotropolis became war-torn, the crown became increasingly unable to enforce the law. Those living in cities without a Royal Guard barracks often turned to vigilante justice when a serious crime was committed. Some particularly unsavory characters wound up with substantial prices on their heads. Bounty hunting was considered to be war profiteering by the royal family, and it was illegal within the borders of Mobotropolis. Legality, however, was of little concern to the vigilantes, and they operated discreetly within the city walls; even the royal family and nobles were rumored to use their services from time to time. This worked out well for both parties, bounty hunting in the city was illegal, but being a bounty hunter and visiting the city was not, making it much more convenient for citizens to find and hire them.

“Rebecca, do you read me?” The fox raised a hand to his small earpiece to contact his handler.

“Loud and clear, Kurtis.” A soft voice answered back. “The stall you’re looking for is dead ahead. If my information is right, you knock five times fast, two times slow.”

The fox did as instructed, tapping the closed shutter of a dirty, abandoned looking stall and leaning in to listen amid the noise of the packed crowds. A small hand, dirty and gray, slipped under the shutter from inside and lifted it slightly. A voice whispered to him, low and quickly, “Yeah-yeah, who’re you? Whatcha want?”

“Name’s Kurtis Prower. I hear you sell information… and guns. I want some of the former. I want to ask you about a wolf named Vincenze Richelieu.”

There was a moment of quiet wheezing from within the stall, and then the dirty hand began to close the shutter back. “Dunno any Kurtis, dunno any Vince. Go away.”

Kurtis drew a thin, silvery handgun from his long coat and slid the barrel under the shutter before it could close completely; keeping his body close to the stall to hide his weapon from the passing crowds. His outfit already made him someone to watch in the eyes of any passing guard, and the average citizen was not permitted to own a firearm, let alone brandish one in a crowded area. “Maybe you know my friend, here.”

There was another moment of soft, wheezing breaths inside. “Okay, okay. Gimme a sec and I’ll let ya in. We’ll talk in private.”

Kurtis holstered his firearm and waited, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible in his conspicuous clothing. His patience wore thin after nearly a minute of silent waiting, and at the sound of a door creak and retreating footfalls, he finally realized that he’d been had. With subtlety no longer an option, he drew his gun again and shot off the shutter latch, dispersing the now panicked shoppers in the process. “Don’t make me chase you!” He shouted after his fleeing informant on the other side, tearing open the damaged shutter to give chase.

As expected, the inside of the stall before him was bristling with illegal weapons. Guns of any kind were completely forbidden in Mobotropolis, but more pressing to Kurtis was the primed grenade, lying on the sill in front of him. The fox reflexively threw himself backwards, but the sudden blast sent him sprawling with far less grace than he’d intended.

He regained focus moments later, in the broken remains of a fruit stand opposite the now flattened stall. It had only been a concussion grenade, he realized as he staggered up through the nausea and pain. Faint rivulets of blood trickled from his ringing ears and burning nose, the capillaries ruptured from the concussive shockwave. He’d gotten sloppy, and survived by getting lucky on top of it. The informant had likely grabbed the first grenade he’d touched on the way out. From the weapons he’d seen before the stall collapsed in the explosion, it could have just as easily been something much more lethal.

Kurtis collapsed again as he slogged through the remains of the black market stall, his vision blurred and his balance shaky. “Rebecca, we're on the clock now!” he shouted into his earpiece microphone, all sense of loudness lost from the temporary ear injury. “He’s getting away from me, on foot, north out of the markets! Cut him off and push him into the back alleys! Pick me up on the way if you can!” He was in no state to give chase until his head stopped spinning, and the now desolate marketplace would soon be crawling with Mobotropolis’ ever-present Royal Guard. Things were about to get difficult.

A wheeled vehicle burst from its hiding place and roared though the emptying marketplace at high speeds, weaving through the fleeing crowd before it came to a screeching stop beside him. It was clearly Overlander-made, three large, wide wheels in a single track under the motorcycle-like chassis, armor plated and obviously heavily modified from whatever its original purpose may have been. The driver, a vixen of similar age and similar costuming sported an automatic weapon slung over one shoulder and a heavy pilot’s helmet, likely modified from an Overlander piece as well. She helped her partner up and onto the cycle before revving the smoke-belching engine and taking off in pursuit of their target. “You okay?” Her voice came in through his headset, muffled slightly by her tight helmet.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be all right.” Kurtis withdrew a small hypodermic from a pouch on the side of the vehicle and took a shot of adrenaline in the arm to return him to peak performance.  “There he is!” A shadow darted into a nearby alleyway and the roaring vehicle made a swinging turn to chase him through the narrow alleys. Motorized vehicles were not permitted in the city, but for those who operated outside the law in the first place, effectiveness trumped legality. “Run him down a dead end if you can, I’ll take to the roofs!” Kurtis stood up on the back of the motorcycle and took aim with a grappling gun at an overhead pipe connecting two buildings. The heavy cord wrapped around the pipe and deployed hooks from its tip, biting into the pipe and releasing gouts of steam. With the momentum of the motorcycle beneath him, Kurtis leapt forward and retracted the line, swinging through the air in a tight arc and landing atop the rusty steam pipe with a loud clang. The adrenaline keeping pain and dizziness away, he ran across the pipe with trained balance and disengaged his ascension gun, returning it to his heavy belt beneath his coat.

It was then he got the first actual look at the Mobian they were after. He was a middle aged rat, short, stumpy, and putting on weight. His fur and clothing were dirty and gray, and he ran through the alleyways terrified, screaming at each piece of debris or wall he bumbled past in fear of what chased him. Kurtis flagged his companion down a nearby alley and drew his sidearm, racing over the broad, short rooftops of the poor district in pursuit. “He can’t run forever, Rebecca! Shoot to wound, if you have to!”

The fleeing rat raced down the alleyways, blind as to his route and oblivious to all but the thought of escape. He turned into a three-way junction, and, skipping the dead end alley on his side, ran straight into the butt of Rebecca’s gun, clocking him across the jaw as she sped by. He spiraled to the ground in pain, stunned, blood running from the corner of his dirty mouth. He spit a small tooth and rose again in spite of his injury, heading back the way he came only to find a spray of automatic fire around his feet as the mounted hunter sped past him again.  “No! It’s too fast!” He spun back, looking for escape; the only way out not covered by the vixen on the motorcycle was an old drain pipe to the roofs of the one-story buildings around him.

He barely got to head-height with the roof before the heavy toe of Kurtis’ boot caught him under the chin, sending him sailing back down to the wet alley floor with a loud thud. “Hope you like having a concussion too, smart guy. I’ve got him, Rebecca.” Kurtis slid down the pipe, landing next to the downed rat. “You gonna come quietly yet?”

The rat burst to his feet and made a dazed run for it out of the alley, only to stop back in the middle of the T-junction as Rebecca pulled to a stop on her motorcycle in front of him, weapon trained on him, her helmeted head shaking a negative to his attempt. With no way out except through the fox behind him, he drew a small pistol and spun to fire. A single shot rang through the alleyway, but it was not from his weapon. The rat stared down at his empty hand in wide-eyed disbelief; his handgun bent and mangled on the ground from a single, well-placed shot. With no choice left, he fell to his knees in surrender.

Kurtis blew on the barrel of his pistol and smirked smugly, twirling the gun in his hand and returning it to his coat with the same blinding speed that he had drawn it.

“I…I-I-I dunno nothin’!” The defeated rat whimpered. “I-I’m just a businessman!”

“Businessmen,” Kurtis picked up the rat by his dirty suit collar and pressed him to the wall, stumpy legs kicking and flailing in the air, “don’t grenade people for asking questions, I don’t care what business they’re in!” He shook the rat roughly, for emphasis. “You think I don’t already know who you are, punk? You’re Verkis Gadd, a small time weapons dealer and low-level information broker for organized crime! Punks like you can’t even keep me in my lifestyle, I’m not here for a couple mobium some disgruntled dealer put on your head, and I already told you I just want information!”

Verkis panted, both relieved to not be the target he’d assumed to be, and to breathe through Kurtis’ rough handling. “Ah… ah… alright! Okay! I-I do know Vince; he came by a few nights ago. He wanted to buy, but I didn’t have what he wanted, and he couldn’t pay anyway! He was runnin’ from something, probably you…”

“What did he want to buy? What was he looking for?”

Verkis shook his head frantically, “I can’t tell ya that, I’m a broker! All my info is confidential, if I told people anything, no one'd ever buy from me again! You’d ruin me!”

“I’ll do more than ruin you if you don’t talk.” Kurtis gripped the rat by his neck and drew his gun, shoving the barrel down the rodent’s gasping throat. “I’ll kill you.”

“Kurtis!” Rebecca took off her helmet, her long black hair falling free around her as she climbed off the motorcycle. “That’s murder; we don’t have a writ for this guy’s death!”

In spite of her reasoning, Verkis was convinced enough to try to shake his head in a negative and gurgle a reply past the gun. “Then he’d better start talking.” Kurtis slid the gun out of his mouth and menaced him with it, his eyes narrow and cold.

“Okay! O-okay!” The rodent informant hit the floor of the alley with a thud and sat, catching his breath. “He wanted some information. Said somebody was after him, he wanted to know if I could smuggle him out of the kingdom.” He shook his head slowly, eyes still locked on the barrel of the gun pointed at him. “I don’t traffic people, and I don’t know nobody who does, so I told him I couldn’t help him. He left.”

“Where did he go?”

“I dunno where he went! Undercity, probably! It’s our name for the sewers. I don’t go down there ‘cause I don’t wanna get killed, but I know guys like him sometimes go there to hide out.” Verkis shrugged, working up a nervous chuckle. “It’s… it’s pretty dangerous down there, shouldn’t go unprepared! Perhaps ya’d like to peruse some of my fine merchandise… whatever didn’t blow up…” There was an awkward pause as he cast a glance over the vulpine bounty hunter’s shoulder. “…awww, for Harvester’s sake…”

Kurtis turned to face an array of spear points and a number of Royal Guardsmen. “Mister Kurtis Prower.” Their leader, a tall, teal-blue hedgehog removed his helmet and ran a hand through his quills, propping his spear on the alley wall and tying back his unruly quills with a red bandana as he recited a memorized set of lines. “Captain Cole, Royal Guard Corps, Civic Division. His Majesty appreciates your role in capturing this wanted criminal, but regrets to inform you that as per the War Profiteering Act, Article Three, Section-

“I’m under arrest, yes, I know.” Kurtis handed over his gun and put out his hands for restraint. “I’ve been through this a couple times, let’s save the trouble.”

“As you wish. We thank you for your cooperation.” The hedgehog directed his subordinate to bind the bounty hunter’s wrists, stepping back and putting a finger to the radio receiver in his ear. “Excuse me one moment.” Captain Cole turned away to converse with the party on the other end of the line. The conversation seemed to be very one-sided, and not just because Kurtis could only hear the Captain’s end.

“Captain Cole here. Yes. Yes sir, I have him right here, he’s restrained and… But sir! I… he’s right here! I have him; he’s been arres… yes. No sir! I am not questioning your... Yes sir. But I don’t understa… uh, yes. Yes sir. Immediately, sir. Cole out.”

The guard captain gave a heavy sigh and turned, head shaking, to face his prisoner. He swiftly removed the cuffs and offered his firearm back. “Well, today must be your lucky day; you are free to go. Please leave the city as soon as possible.”

“I’m a little… confused, here.” Kurtis eyed the hedgehog with slight suspicion, holstering his returned gun.

“You’re just letting us leave?” Rebecca received her helmet back from one of the guards; her bright eyes alight with curiosity. “That’s not exactly what we’re used to.”

“Those are my orders, regardless. You are pardoned.” Captain Cole adjusted his bandana for comfort and replaced his half-helmet, lowering the visor over his eyes. “I believe my superior will want to speak to you about it all, in due time.”

“All right. I think I’d like to meet this guy.” Kurtis climbed on the back of the motorcycle and kicked up the stand. “How do we get in contact with him?”

The captain chuckled and smirked at the two bounty hunters, knowingly.“Believe me. He will get in contact with you.”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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by Chaytel
The Mobian Chronicles Book I - Chapter II
The Mobian Chronicles Book I - Chapter IV
(You should read the chapter before reading this description! Think of this section as a 'director's commentary' of sorts.)

It's fun to read a good book, but sometimes, books want to be read a second time. There are things to be caught, that might not have made sense or seemed irrelevant the first time through, but they reveal details of characters or foreshadow events when we go back and re-read them, knowing what we do. As I am a big fan of re-reading stuff and leaving fun things in for people who do come back for another go, there's actually a lot of that in this particular chapter. The whole first scene probably seems totally irrelevant until the book is done and read a second time.

The king gets fleshed out a bit this chapter, as do several fancharacters who all have future parts to play, and we get the first mention of a few more protagonists but the most important thing is that the plot really starts at the very end of this one. Having child characters move a plot meaningfully is a daunting task at times, and I think readers are going to be pleased with how central they will be to everything, without wielding any more social power than a child can have. In a lot of ways, Sally, Sonic, and their friends will be the catalyst for the most major secondary plot of the first book.

This story, or rather the first book of it anyway, could be argued to have no main character or lots of main characters. Sonic and the kids have their own plot-line and place in the story, as sort of outsiders looking in at the ongoing political drama. They get to see a side of things no other group will, whereas other groups like the council and our two bounty hunters show a slice  of life in the city among the upper crust elite, or take us on a walk in the dark corners of the world that surely must exist but often go unmentioned.

(Sonic and co. are the property of SEGA. Thumbnail icon graciously made by
Norithics
Norithics
)

Keywords
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 9 years, 5 months ago
Rating: Mature

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SergeSkunk
9 years, 5 months ago
That flash back with the King was really intense. I honestly think it's my favorite part. Everything about it was really captivating and was one of the best parts of this chapter. I think what drew me in the most was the description of the smoke and fire, in conjecture with the attack as it was occurring.
UncleCarmine
9 years, 5 months ago
Heavy stuff going down in this chapter, as well as an incredibly vivid flashback explaining more of Max's history. I have to agree with Serge with this being the most influential scene of the chapter, especially as Charles has to tear him away from what will undoubtedly be his grave otherwise. Excellent chapter.
AnimeIsLife
9 years, 1 month ago
Wow absolutly capivating! And as with uncle I also agree with serge that the main atention grabber was the flash back scene. Blt your story is absolutly incredible! So detailed! I am a person that absolutly loves to read and dose so constantly, as such I have read hundreds mabye even thousands of books in my 21 years so when I say that your story is probobly mostlikely by far one of the most detailed, imagination inducing, attention grabbing, thought provoking first couple of chapters of your story out of all of the actual books and stories by aclaimed and awarded authors that I have ever read I really do truely honestly and deeply mean every word I say! You are very masterful and obveously talented in what you do and I can NOT wait for what you have in store,( reguardless of the fact that I am waiting anywase! Lol) and look forward to your next update!
Chaytel
9 years, 1 month ago
Well, with a glowing review like that I guess I'd better actually get back to work on this swiftly! Thank you very much for the kind words!
AnimeIsLife
9 years, 1 month ago
no prob iv been waiting for the next ch ever since i stumbled upon your story! i even read it to mu brother and he liked it! my brother usually dosen't like to read and is more interested in watching anime so hes kinda hard to impress not that i care but i was shocked that he did like it and all i wanted to do was show him how detailed your story was and how amazing it IS! lol not past tense, present!
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