3/12, 10:41 AM Green Hill Standard Time
I have no idea how long I've been here. I'm starting to lose my sense of reality, my sense of myself. Days? Months? Years? How many sequels have I been through? Cartoon spinoffs? When I wake every morning, I vomit bile and raw eggs, and spend the rest of the day praying for death. Until they come and do unspeakable things to me.
I wonder why no one's come to save me yet. I've been trying to slip messages to Sega but nobody answers. Maybe there is no Sega any more. God, don't think that way, Sonic. Gotta stay positive.
It's getting hard. In my worst nightmares, some dark doppelganger of myself taunts me with a strange remote-control. I call out for Tails, but he's strung up in full-body Shibari with a ball-gag in his mouth. I try to reach him, but a sea of Second Lifers push me back.
I wake in a cold sweat; I swear I can hear Mario's distant laughter.
Things get worse and worse. I can barely run. All of my adventures are as twisted as a Japanese RPG. I was once an action hero... I used to be so fast. Someone save me. I want my life back.
(I'm not responsible for any of these images, and if I ever draw something like this, please cap me.)