Hope

by TwilightSnarkle


Chapter 2

Chapter 2
The universe had, somehow, lurched horribly. There was a disturbingly silent rending, and then everything was annihilated by pain. Eternity itself lay motionless, floating adrift in nothing, for aeons. And then, as suddenly as it began, there was a ‘him’ again.

It took a rather long time for him to realize that ‘him’ meant ‘he’. A few moments later, he realized he had no idea what was going on.

The first word that came to him was “white”.

“White” floated about for a while, until it was joined by “blurry”, “windy”, and “cold”.

He lay on his back in this cold, windy, white blur. While these words went a long way to describe his current state, he could not ignore a screeching, keening sound. It sounds like someone screaming, he thought, and it seems to be coming from everywhere at once.

With some effort, he closed his mouth, and the noise vanished.

He lay there a while longer, before it dawned upon him that neither ‘cold’ nor ‘windy’ were improving. Slowly, painfully, he sat up, and surveyed his surroundings.

Snow. Well, that explains most of it. 

Overhead, a brilliant moon shone across a severe landscape of white drifts and black, craggy peaks. Nearby, the wind-blown snow swirled near an impossibly dark shadow against the stone.

A cave? Anything would be better than this chill. 

He staggered through the snowdrifts towards shelter. When he entered, he found it slightly warmer than the outdoors, and noticed a few scraps of wood and stone in a corner.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he peered into the gloom, and poked at the scattered debris. Wooden crates, it would appear, and some packing material.

Being too dark to see anything more, he decided to solve both problems at once and start a fire. Soon, a merry glow battled against the gloom, and fought against the chill.

“Guess I should check out th—,” he began, before a yawn split his features.

He tried to speak again, but sleep had already rolled him under.

***

Morning came and went, yet the hedgehog slumbered on. It was not until noon that he stirred, and then, in a panic, scrambled to his feet.

“Dammit,” he growled at himself, “I gotta get to work.”

While he could see brilliant sunlight shining on the snow outside, it was just as dark within the cave as it was when he had found it—the fire had long gone out. That’ll teach me to sleep in when I’m on-duty. He glanced about for enough wood to start another fire, and then remembered his time limit. Maybe widening the entrance would be faster? Sure enough, with a bit of digging, there was enough light to see.

The shapes in the back of the room were crates after all, and each of them empty. More importantly, each of them bore an all-too-familiar emblem: a pair of spectacles, and a bushy moustache.

“Looks like I owe Knuckles a drink,” he muttered to himself. He turned to the cave’s mouth, and stared out at the blinding mountainside. “I hope I can buy it for him.”


The world became warmer, greener, and more welcoming as Sonic descended. It was winter, here, wherever ‘here’ was, but spring was fast-approaching.

The fastest way to search, he thought, is to cover as much ground as possible. I can zig-zag back and forth, at speed, and see if there’s anything unnatural or out-of-place. And so he proceeded.

It was dusk when he finally noted a wisp of smoke in the distance. Changing plans mid-stride, he made a beeline for the silvery-grey tendril that trailed from the forest ahead. As he did so, signs of habitation began to appear.

He crossed a path, leapt a stream, and trod through an abandoned campsite on the far side. Further ahead, he passed the remains of a treehouse, scraps of its rope ladder in a pile against the trunk.

Night had fallen in truth by the time he neared the source of the smoke. Up ahead, he saw a comfortable-looking home perched on the side of a cliff, built of stone and timber. It had a wrap-around porch, and appeared to stretch out over the edge of the mountainside. Why it—

The world went black, then green, and erupted in pain.

Sonic moaned, biting back a choice obscenity as he gingerly poked at his legs. Nothing broken, he marveled, which is a miracle in itself. Leave it to me to stop watching where I’m going.

His legs were tangled in a low, manicured hedge, expertly woven into the terrain to appear as a natural growth. He pulled one leg out and had started on the next when a light came on in the house before him. He froze behind the shrubs, and hoped that he had not been spotted.

After a time, more lights came on around the building, illuminating the deck on all sides. Soon, a creature appeared to investigate. It circled the home, stopping to check windows and the surrounding wood, pausing from time to time to shine a flashlight across Sonic’s hiding place.

Soon, the creature turned away, and Sonic relaxed, taking the opportunity to examine the resident.

It appeared, for all the world, to look like a shaggy pony, yet one with a coat and a flashlight. It walked towards the back of the house, and looked about to leave, when it paused and leaned against the rail, looking out into the valley. Soon, it was joined by a second pony, who brought something with it. The two creatures spoke in hushed tones for a while.

A beetle began to climb up Sonic’s leg, and he twitched uncontrollably, shaking the underbrush. The pair of ponies did not seem to notice.

The discussion on the deck seemed to become heated, and then subsided, and soon both ponies went back inside, leaving a basket in their wake. Moments later, the outdoor lights went out, and then the tiny patch of yellow vanished from within.

Sonic counted out three minutes, and then flicked the curious beetle off his arm, extracted his leg, and flexed it. Good, nothing wrong but a little stiffness. He stood, and spared the house one last glance before moving on again.

He approached the cliff’s edge, being careful to avoid the open spaces wherever possible. One house implies more, he thought, peering through the oddly-tinted pines that lined the ridge. Sure enough, a sprawling village slept below. From this distance, it appeared that most of the buildings were dark, but an occasional lamp cast a faint amber glow through the empty streets. Before he could search there, however, he’d have to make his way through what appeared to be an orchard.
 
Orchard first, then. He breathed on his hands to warm them, then bent to tighten his laces, and dropped silently over the rise. After that, the village itself.

 


 
Destroying the robot was easy enough. It hadn’t tried to stop him, or defend itself. It didn’t even seem to notice he was there until he flipped it over and smashed it. Still, it had the look of Robotnik’s work, and that meant it was worth investi—There.
 
He pried a badge from the twitching machine’s undercarriage. While he could not understand the strange letters, the emblem looked familiar: even in the moonlight he could make out the stylized moustache and glasses, although the horseshoe was new.
 
“Here for a day,” he complimented himself as he turned the logo this way and that, “and I’ve already found one of his machines.” The corners of his mouth twitched in the memory of a smile—a familiar smirk briefly finding its way home before it vanished. Something buzzed in the distance, and it was getting closer. It sounded like...
 
SWATBots!
 
His heart raced as he scanned his surroundings for a hiding spot, but the barren trees afforded little in the way of cover. Forcing himself to remain still, he listened a moment longer, locating the source of the sound. Then he sped off in the opposite direction.
 
Stupid, stupid, stupid! His face twisted in disgust at his own carelessness. It had been too long, and he had gotten lazy. Of course it would sound an alarm! Next time, just destroy it, don’t take your time! You’ve wasted enough of it already! His good mood quickly turning sour, he set off for the village, doing his best to avoid any further devices in the orchard.
 
It wasn’t long before he arrived. The village was clean and tidy, with well-groomed walks and houses in good repair. Whoever lived here clearly cared for their surroundings, but as he had not yet seen a living soul, he was wary. Could robots be staffing the homes?
 
He circled the hamlet once, then twice, trying to see any hint of movement or even a night guard. Pausing next to a small shack, he crouched, catching his breath and deciding on a course of action.
 
I could search the main streets, he debated, counting out his options on his fingers, and try to find something else with this logo. He extended another digit. I could stick to the back alleys and see if there’s anyone or anything that lives in this place. A third. Or, I could wait for sunrise and simply walk in and say hello. He chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah. That’d go over great.”
 
Time’s an issue, so... His thoughts trailed off as he stood, stretched, and strode into the town, heading to what appeared to be a road of shops and storefronts. He had barely walked for ten minutes when he found something promising.
 
It can’t be that easy. The shop was huge, easily twice the width of any other building on the street, and standing three stories tall. Even in the dead of night, it was softly lit, every window glowing with gentle amber light. Most importantly, it bore a sign that hung out into the street: a large horseshoe, over which a pair of spectacles and a huge moustache rested.
 
He approached the picture-windows with caution, looking this way and that for tripwires, lasers, or switches. Seeing nothing, he peered inside, and marveled. On every countertop and every shelf were dozens of boxes, bags, and loose devices, each bearing the shop’s mark. There were wheeled devices, some that had legs, even a few with wings. They were all... Toys. Why would he make toys?
 
Pushing the thought away, he peered around the edges of the windowsill, and then looked up and down the street. Seeing no wires or witnesses, he smashed the window, wincing in expectation of an alarm. Beyond what sounded like barking in the distance, there was no response. Someone had to have heard that, he realized. Gotta jet.
 
Making haste, he cleared out enough glass to safely enter, then stepped inside. He leapt over tabletops and low shelves until he arrived at what appeared to be the register. Ignoring the machine for what lay beyond it, he headed to a solid-looking door. A shove granted no access, nor did attempting to force the handle.
 
He took a breath, stepped back, and dashed against the hinges, curling his head low and exposing his spines. To his relief, the door groaned and he heard something give. Trying the handle again, he was satisfied to find the door now opened, and more importantly, concealed the shop’s office.
 
A small safe was set into the floor, and a large desk took up the entire far wall of the tiny room, but what caught his eye were a series of framed newspaper clippings that decorated a low table near a padded chair. Each one featured a photograph of two happy creatures—ponies—like the one he had seen earlier at the house on the cliffside.
 
No, not like that pony. The mustachioed, wild-maned smiling face clearly was that same pony, and...
 
That moustache. Those goggles. That had to be this zone’s version of Robotnik. But he seemed so... nice.
 
He picked up one of the pictures and quickly made his escape. He had a thousand new questions, but the only place to look for answers was back at the beginning.
 


 
Worker blinked and poked his head out from beneath a pillow. It was just before dawn, he noticed, and the sky was just beginning to change from a deep blue to a —
 
He was startled awake by a hurried tapping on the glass. Adrenaline coursed through his veins when he realized a large, winged silhouette loomed at the door. Worker found himself halfway across the room before he recognized the blue & white mane of his old friend.
 
“Sundown!” he croaked. “What...” Breathing was good. Yes. He took the opportunity to cross the room and unlock the door. “What are you doing here? At this hour?”
 
The athletic pony wasted no time, turning to leave as he delivered the message. “There’s a problem in town, Worker. Something happened to the shop, and it doesn’t look like it was an accident. You need to hurry.”
 
“The shop? Let me wake Skyshine, and then I’ll head there with you. Please, come in and warm yourself a moment. I have some loose tea if you think we have time for a cup.”
 
“I don’t think we—” began Sundown, but Worker trotted away.
 
Skyshine was already up when Worker opened their door.
 
“I heard the commotion,” she began as he entered. She hurried a brush through her mane and kept one eye on him. “Is everything okay?”
 
“I don’t rightly know. There’s been a problem down at the shop, but Sundown seems more intent on getting back to Pasofino than explaining. I’m going to pop down there and check things out. I should be back well in time to help with Snowdrop’s party.” He sidled close and pecked her cheek.
 
“Mm. Be sure you do.” She nuzzled him in return, and smiled warmly. “She’s got quite the list of preparations, you know.”
 
“I saw the wish-list last week. Regardless, I have to go. Love you, Skyshine.”
 
“Love you too,” she replied, before tending to her coiffure.


 
“I don’t think I’d enjoy being a pegasus!” Worker poured every measure of magic he could to keep himself firmly atop Sundown’s back. The town passed below, and then the sky, and then the town again. “I think I’m going to be ill!”
 
“Nonsense!” Sundown laughed as he shouted over his shoulder. “You were fine until the updraft!”
 
Moments later, the mischievous weather pony gracefully turned a dive into a gallop, then a trot, and then an easy canter as Worker slid off his back, panting. “Ha!” laughed Sundown. “You’re as green as my coat.”
 
“You’re lucky I didn’t change its color,” Worker replied, still nauseous. “Never. Never... again.” The airsick unicorn staggered on his feet, and tried to find his bearings. “Ah, yes, the shop. And-” his eyes narrowed, “-it’s got a broken window?”
 
“Nobody’s been inside yet. I figured you’d be able to tell if anything was out of place, but someone went in through here.” Sundown flicked his synthetic wing at the broken pane, then clarified. “At least, the hole’s big enough for anyone in town to have entered.”
 
“I see,” Worker replied, his stomach’s protestations suddenly silent. “Let’s go in.”
 
The door opened slowly, and the pair entered on careful hooves. Worker peered left, and then right. Suddenly, he asked, “How’s your memory, Sundown?”
 
“Uh, pretty good, Worker. I used to deliver messages for the Cloudsdale Weather Service before I hired out here.”
 
“Mm. Okay, so, I need you to remember what I’ll be saying here, best you can. I don’t have a recorder or a notebook at the moment.”
 
“...Okay?”
 
“Good.” Worker stepped forward, took a breath, and began surveying the room.
 
“Glass shattered inwards. Two distinct arcs of shards, suggesting the window was broken first, and then widened. I cannot detect prints in the glass, but there seems to be a coating of street dust from the outside. This implies someone entered.”
 
He stepped in further and began calling out items that caught his notice.
 
“The third craft table has been jostled and moved, with a weight atop it. There are gouges in the floor, and what appears to be a strange impression in the papers. The toy that previously sat on that table has been knocked to the floor and smashed. Craft table seven as well as the half-wall separating the children’s work area from the rest of the shop also display road dirt and signs of disturbance.”
 
Worker turned and flicked a switch, flooding the room with light, then smiled at Sundown before continuing his narration. “Someone stood on these tables and then leapt on them across to the back of the building. From here, I can see the door to the office has been forced. Come with me, please.”
 
The two of them wove a careful path through the disturbed papers and the swinging door to the back of the store. “Peering into the back of the shop, I see nothing obviously disturbed, and the safe does not appear to have been opened. Skyshine’s papers are still stacked upon the desk.” Worker stepped closer, and moved through the door.
 
“In fact, the only thing that seem to be missing is something that was framed here. If I remember, it was an article about the shop, with a picture.” Worker’s throat suddenly went dry. “Sundown, it was a picture of me and Skyshine. If she’s in trouble...”
 
“No time to waste. Outside. We’ll get you back home.”
 
“I... yes. Let’s go.”