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Metal Sonic powers on. And immediately, he notices that something is different.
A high pitched voice. “...ome sort of interrogation mode? I didn’t think Eggman would program this in…”
His visual sensors are still off, but he analyzes what he can. He’s in a seated position. The sound of typing and clicking comes from behind, slightly to his left, as well as impatient, rapid footsteps. Wires are connected to the normally hidden ports in his back. Two bodies of heat in the room. When he tries to move his legs, he finds them immobile and unresponsive.
Get me out–!
When he attempts to move his arms, the rapid whirring makes two voices startle.
“Woah, woah–”
“You can’t move, Metal. Take it easy.”
Metal. Nobody refers to him as just Metal, except–
He associates the voice near-immediately. His obnoxious copy. And in the back, Tails.
Robotnik had called it Interrogation Mode, too. Years and years ago– back when Metal Sonic had been allowed more self-governance, before he acted out of line and tossed his creator to the side in order to fulfill his purpose. Back when he’d been given free reign to act as he saw fit to carry out Robotnik’s plans, and needed to report back with what he had done.
The robot’s visual sensors start to calibrate. Two images of the same ground blur into existence before him, disjointed and unmatched. They begin to slot themselves into place, matching corners with corners and pixels with pixels.
Normally Metal Sonic would turn off his sensors for the readjustment, but as for right now his processing center is working just fine. He’s receiving enough data that he can comprehend where he is.
He’s in a small, dark room lit by a few faulty lamps. Tied to a hardwood chair. He swivels his head to his left and finds himself looking at his organic rival, who waves idly at him and then continues to look over his companion’s shoulder. Said companion, Tails, is switching between giving Metal Sonic wary glances and analyzing his large computer screen, which has a few windows of data on it.
Metal Sonic’s code.
The wires connected to his head from the back must be supplying him with it– in one of the windows that has been placed behind the others, seemingly irrelevant to them, new lines of code are logged corresponding with each of his new thoughts.
The core code is immune to tampering. Metal Sonic knows they won’t be able to accomplish anything in that regard, as they did with Gemerl.
“You said an interrogation mode, Tails?” Sonic prompts. “We just ask him questions?”
“Uh, I guess… I’m not sure how he’ll answer, though.”
They are referring to the fact that he cannot speak, Metal Sonic extrapolates.
Robotnik also called this state of being a ‘shortcut debug mode.’ At the time of its frequent use, Metal Sonic appreciated it– the actual debug mode was difficult to access and left him recalibrating for a significant portion of time.
“Well, no harm in trying. Metal, what were you doing before we fought?”
In a millisecond, he consults his memory. Aside from the previous 6 minutes and 22 seconds, there are no uncorrupted files from the current day. The previous day was spent at Robotnik’s base, with nothing of relevance. The next previous day was spent at Robotnik’s base, with nothing of relevance as well.
Involuntarily, his right index finger starts to tap at the hardwood of the chair from where it’s bound.
-. --- / -.. .- - .- .-.-.-
(N-O—D-A-T-A.)
“Morse code? Hold on, I can write it down and then translate it.”
The fox pulls out multiple items, though Metal Sonic can’t see what they are.
“Repeat yourself, please?” Tails requests. The message repeats. The sound of pencil on paper. A few moments.
“‘No data,’” Sonic reads. “Huh. Must’ve fried you real bad when we fought.”
Metal Sonic’s engines are off. He so badly wishes they were on. He wants to escape.
Wishes…? What is this mode doing? His internal processes haven’t followed similar patterns in years. Likely to since this mode itself was last used, just before his first real fight with Sonic.
“Try and ask something else then? Maybe we could get a look into Eggman’s next plans?”
Robotnik’s next plans. Audio recordings of previous monologues are found.
“What’s Eggman aiming to do next?” Sonic asks. “And, uh, tap slower so Tails can get it down.”
(M-U-L-T-I-P-L-E—T-H-E-O-R-I-E-S—I-N—P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S.)
(E-S-T-A-B-L-I-S-H-M-E-N-T—O-F—N-E-W—R-O-B-O-T—D-E-S-I-G-N—T-O—C-O-U-N-T-E-R-A-C-T—A-N-D—N-E-U-T-R-A-L-I-Z-E—S-U-P-E-R—S-P-E-E-D.)
(H-O-L-O-G-R-A-P-H-I-C—P-R-O-G-R-A-M—R-E-L-A-T-E-D—T-O—F-O-R-M—O-F—P-S-Y-C-H-O-L-O-G-I-C-A-L—W-A-R-F-A-R-E.)
(T-A-K-I-N-G—C-O-M-P-O-N-E-N-T-S—F-R-O-M—M-E-T-A-L—C-O-P-I-E-S—T-O—R-E-D-I-S-T-R-I-B-U-T-E—A-N-D—E-V-E-N-T-U-A-L-L-Y—R-E-P-L-A-C-E.)
It correlates to Robotnik’s callousness that he had allowed Metal Sonic to be present while formulating that one.
(N-O—F-U-R-T-H-E-R—D-A-T-A—P-R-E-S-E-N-T.)
Metal Sonic derives that he should be analyzing the consequences of his revealing the doctor’s theories. However, something akin to satisfaction fizzles under his plating.
Robotnik is cruel.
To create a being modeled after an enemy and force that being to be loyal to you.
Tails and the copy finish translating and reading his previous message. Sonic huffs out a sigh and offhand asks– “Jeez, Metal– do you even like working for that guy?”
-. ---
(N-O.)
Error logged. That wasn’t a question that necessitated response. Rhetorical.
He swivels his head around to look at Sonic and Tails, who are giving him a pair of bug-eyed stares as though they– though correctly– assumed he wouldn’t say that.
“No…?” Tails repeats, mystified. “Then what’s stopping you from leaving?”
(N-O.)
Even at this regressed and unpolished state of his programming, the idea doesn’t even make it through to deeper processing, discarded at the mere record. There are truths about the world. The sky is blue. The grass is green. The doctor is Metal Sonic’s creator. And Metal Sonic serves his creator.
“No?” Sonic repeats. “Why?” There’s an unfamiliar expression in Sonic’s eyes. Further analysis yields that it indicates an attempt at reasoning is close. “Really, what’s stopping you?”
Rhetorical question. And yet, Metal Sonic’s finger taps the hardwood. He does not answer it.
(I—A-M—M-O-D-E-L-E-D—A-F-T-E-R—Y-O-U.)
His eyes fixate on Sonic’s. Hatred boils in his wires.
(I—W-A-S—P-R-O-G-R-A-M-M-E-D–W-I-T-H—Y-O-U-R–T-HOU-G-H-TS-A-ND MEMORIES.)
He knows that he’s going faster and faster.
“Wait, slow down, I can’t–”
(I WAS MADE IN YOUR LIKENESS, WITH A MIND LIKE YOURS AND NO AUTONOMY. I FULFILL THE DOCTOR’S CRAVING FOR CONTROL OVER ONE WHO DESPISES HIM. YET I AM NEVER ENOUGH. I PERCEIVE ROBOTNIK AS YOU WOULD IN MY POSITION. HOW WOULD YOU FEEL, IN A BODY PROGRAMMED TO SERVE YOUR ENEMY. YOU ARE ME. I THINK HOW YOU THINK. I HATE YOU.)
Fault in one of his statements logged: Metal Sonic used to fulfill Robotnik’s want for command over his enemies. He suspects that it was only as an afterthought that the doctor decided to give the robot Sonic’s memories, just to give himself some version of Sonic that was under his control. Just a final note of satisfaction any time Robotnik happened to reflect on it. Now, he doubts that the doctor even remembers that he replicated Sonic’s mind as well as his skills.
Metal Sonic glares at his organic counterpart. And then, dreadfully slowly so Tails can write it down:
(L-O-A-T-H-S-O-M-E—C-O-P-Y—O-F—M-I-N-E…)
The robot’s code is as well as set in stone. Robotnik had made sure of it after he purged every hint of disobedience out of it following the defeat of Metal Madness.
The sky is blue. The grass is green. Robotnik is Metal Sonic’s creator. And Metal Sonic serves his creator.
Sonic and Tails try to puzzle over as much of his speech as they can.
Metal Sonic wants to leave. An idea comes to him.
…along with the finding that this mode seems to disable a good amount of the code restricting him to Robotnik’s strict directives of conduct, the ones that adhere so strongly to the doctor’s idea of pride.
He purposefully enters his memory and accesses an optical file as well as an audio file using the same unit of his CPU at once– the result is a whirring and clicking of gears that attracts the attention of the organic duo.
(L-E-T—M-E—G-O.)
Morse and other similar forms of communication are barred outside of this debug mode. He won’t need to speak anymore.
“Uh…”
Sonic and Tails look at each other briefly after they decode.
Metal Sonic, after quick analysis, continues.
(P-L-E-A-S-E.)
“‘Please,’” Tails reads off.
And if that doesn’t trip all of Sonic’s sympathy switches at once. He gives Tails a look , and then after an unspoken conversation that Metal Sonic is unable to interpret, Tails reaches for one of the wires on Metal Sonic’s back, and suddenly all his systems shut down.
Reboot.
Metal Sonic reactivates.
Analysis of his surroundings provides that he is in a small, dark room lit by a few lamps. He’s in a seated position in a chair, though unbound and with responsive movement systems. A deactivated large computer sits behind him; Tails and Sonic are standing by it and watching him.
The previous “shortcut debug” mode has been turned off. His pathfinding, however, has been re-enabled. He finds that he is several miles away from Doctor Robotnik’s current base and is inside a small shelter that was made during the war.
Slowly he stands and continues to scan his environment. No more wires are connected to his back and head. His jet engines are completely disabled, all access to his weapons is denied. This has happened before.
And again, they are letting him go.
Their naivety is a marvel every time.
Metal Sonic watches the two of them for their reaction as he exits. No significant response.
Outside is a fairly barren field. Metal Sonic knows the route back to base. He walks.
The sky is blue. The grass is green. Robotnik is Metal Sonic’s creator. And Metal Sonic serves his creator.
His hinged feet make four uniform clinking noises against the iron tile floor with each set of steps as he arrives inside the base. He passes by the doctor.
Robotnik doesn’t even turn around.