"There you go Bernadette, that wasn't so hard now was it?," Jules purred, his voice unexpectedly smooth, "I was the one who just gave birth asshole," Bernadette spat, "You don't get to fucking say that." Jules chuckled, "You're right, I don't," he said, "But your stupid ramblings aside, what shall we name our son?," Bernadette asked, "i was thinking . . . Jules Junior perhaps?," Jules asked, Bernadette rolled her eyes, "We are not fucking naming him Jules junior," she said, "Well then, what shall we name him?," Jules asked, Bernadette thought for a moment, "How about Sonic?," Bernadette asked, Jules chuckled, "Sonic?," he asked, "yeah, sonic," bernadette said, "why Sonic?," Jules asked, "because he's fast," Bernadette said, jules chuckled, "he's fast?," he asked, "yeah, I was only in labor, without you by the way for like 30 minutes," Bernadette said, jules chuckled, "Well then, i guess Sonic it is," he said. Jules looked at his son, "he's beautiful," he said, Bernadette smiled, "he is," she said, Jules looked at Bernadette, "I did great," he said, Bernadette immediately frowned, "yeah, thanks," she said, Jules chuckled, "you're welcome," he said, Bernadette rolled her eyes, "You're such an asshole," she said, Jules chuckled, "you're the only one who says that you know," he said, Bernadette just stared, "Yeah, because everyone else has to kiss the ruler of all of Mobius' ass all the time," she said. Bernadette looked at Sonic, "he's so small," she said, Jules smiled, "he'll grow," he said, bernadette sighed, "I hope he doesn't inherit your ego," she said, Jules chuckled, "He'll inherit my charm," he said, bernadette rolled her eyes, "If he inherits your 'charm', he better inherit more of my common sense," she said, Jules chuckled, "he will," he said, bernadette sighed, "I hope so," she said.
Jules looked at sonic, "He's got my eyes," he said, Bernadette rolled her own pair, "Yeah, he does," she said, Jules looked at Bernadette, "He's got your nose," he said, Bernadette chuckled, "he does," she said, Jules smiled, "I'll make him perfect," he said, Bernadette just sighed, "he already is," she said.
I can't open my eyes, I can barely hear anything, just barely names: Jules, Bernadette, and something about Sonic, like from the games and movie series? it feels like i'm underwater, drowning in syrup. my thoughts are sluggish, fragmented—like trying to catch smoke. I'm also too small, way, way, way too small. What happened? Where's my shitty apartment? Bernadette's voice cuts through the haze: "He's stirring." Jules leans closer, his shadow blotting out the light.
"Look at him, Bernadette—already impatient. he knows greatness awaits." His chuckle vibrates my tiny frame. "Thirty-minute labor? that's *my* bloodline efficiency. this child will outpace legends." My limbs jerk uselessly against swaddling cloth—a pathetic rooting reflex seeking warmth. Jules' thumb brushes my forehead, proprietary and cold. "perfect reflexes," he declares. "observe the precision. not some common hedgehog flailing. this is aristocratic motor control." Bernadette just sighs.
"He's two minutes old, Jules. he's hungry, not auditioning for your private guard." The arrogance radiates off him like cheap cologne. "Nonsense. potential must be recognized early. Sonic," he rolls the name like a vintage wine, "Will command armies before he sheds his baby teeth. those fools in the Northern Baronies won't have a choice but to accept peace once they see *this* specimen." Jules lifts me slightly, his grip firm, displaying me like a trophy. Bernadette's sharp intake of breath cuts through his monologue. "Put him down, Jules! He's not a medal to pin to your chest." her voice trembles with exhaustion and fury. "He needs milk, not your political fantasies." Jules ignores her, turning me towards a polished brass mirror hanging crookedly on the infirmary wall. "Look, Bernadette. Do you see the lineage? The precise curve of the brow, the defiant set of the jaw—utterly mine. even his quills, though soft now, promise aerodynamic perfection."
He traces a finger along my spine, making me flinch. "This isn't just speed. this is *calculated* velocity. he'll outmaneuver adversaries before they even register his presence." bernadette struggles to sit up, her fur bristling. "He'll outmaneuver *you* if you don't hand him over this instant, you pompous windbag!" I squirm against his hold, a feeble protest lost in the folds of cloth.
Jules' grin widens, triumphant, oblivious to the tremor in my limbs or the raw panic clawing its way through my infant mind. my apartment—gone. My body—trapped, helpless. This wasn't rebirth; it was imprisonment in velvet and arrogance. Bernadette's claws dig into the thin mattress, her voice sharpening. "Politics later, Jules. Milk *now*." Jules merely adjusts his grip, tilting me towards the mirror again. "Patience, Bernadette. can't you see he's absorbing it? the legacy? the *inevitability*?" His voice drips with self-congratulation. "Look at that focus in his eyes—already assessing, strategizing. he recognizes superiority. why, i bet he understands every word i'm saying."
He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through my fragile bones. "Thirty minutes from womb to world. that's not just speed, my dear—that's *efficiency*. a military-grade deployment. the Northern Baronies' generals couldn't orchestrate a maneuver this flawless." Bernadette's claws rip through the thin infirmary sheet. "Jules Hedgehog, if you don't hand me my son *right now*, I i swear by the cursed Anarchy Beryl I will rip those ridiculous epaulets off your shoulders and shove them down your throat!"
SUMMARY^1: Ignoring Bernadette's escalating threats, Jules insists the infant Sonic understands his declarations of political destiny and military efficiency, praising his own lineage while the narrator feels trapped and panicked.
Her voice cracks with exhaustion and fury, but Jules merely arches an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he pivots away from her grasping hands. "Tsk, Bernadette. Such vulgar threats undermine your noble lineage. Our progeny requires exposure to ambition early—coddling breeds mediocrity." He lifts me higher, his cold fingers pressing into my ribs as he addresses me directly. "Observe, Sonic. this is the sound of domesticity trying to stifle destiny. remember it." My stomach cramps violently—a primal, overwhelming hunger that drowns out jules' grandstanding. I manage a weak, gurgling cry, limbs flailing against the suffocating swaddle. Jules interprets it as enthusiasm. "Ah! see? He agrees! This child understands the weight of expectation!"
He strides toward the window, ignoring bernadette's choked sob of frustration. Below, the anarchic sprawl of Mobotropolis pulses—a neon-drenched labyrinth of hover-traffic and anarchic energy. Jules' voice lowers, conspiratorial, dripping with paternal pride. "Look at it, Sonic. a fractured world screaming for order. *our* order. Sadly not even I alone can pacify the Northern Baronies or deal with the disgusting Overlanders. But *you* . . . with you by my side i'll be remembered for generations as the bringer of a great peace."
Bernadette finally lunges, fueled by maternal fury and sheer exhaustion, her claws raking empty air as jules pivoted smoothly away. "Peace? You call suffocating an infant with your ego *peace*!?" Her voice shredded the sterile infirmary air. Jules merely adjusted his grip on me—a trophy clutched too tight—his gaze fixed on the riotous cityscape below.
"Sentimentality blinds you, Bernadette. true peace demands sacrifice. Sonic's purpose transcends your disgusting *milk*." His thumb pressed possessively against my temple. "He's the scalpel that will excise all of Mobius' anarchy. One precise cut, and the bleeding stops forever." Jules spun back toward the mirror, his reflection a study in smug certainty.
"The Overlanders pollute our skies with their
iron beasts. the Baronies fracture our borders with petty warlords." He tilted my face toward the brass surface, forcing my unfocused eyes to meet his triumphant ones. "But *you*, dear Sonic—you'll change everything." "Well, he can't do that if he's starving dickhead!"
Bernadette snarled again, finally managing to snatch me from Jules' startled grasp. the sudden warmth and softness of her fur against my cheek was an immediate, overwhelming relief, a stark contrast to Jules' cold possessiveness. She cradled me protectively, her glare daring him to intervene. "His purpose *right now* is to eat and sleep, not listen to your dumbass megalomaniacal manifestos!"
Jules straightened his uniform, his smirk momentarily faltering before returning as quickly yet now with added sharpness, "Fine then harlot, I have business to attend to anyways," he declared, striding towards the infirmary door without a backward glance. "The Baronies' latest ceasefire violation requires my . . . *personal* attention."
His footsteps echoed with military precision down the corridor, leaving bernadette trembling with residual fury, her claws still partially extended. Bernadette sighed, the tension leaching from her shoulders as she finally brought me to her chest. and then I realized what she meant by 'milk' when she started pulling her shirt down, and my terror skyrocketed above what it already was before just by being a game animal character.
"Shh, little one," she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion and something else—defiance most likely. "Ignore him Sonic. Your dumbass father sees pawns where there are sons." Her heartbeat thudded a frantic rhythm against my ear, a drumbeat of fury barely contained. Outside, the distant wail of sirens pierced the night—a reminder of the anarchy Jules claimed only he could tame. Bernadette's claws retracted slowly, her fur softening against my skin. "Eat, Sonic," she whispered. "Grow strong. Strong enough to tell him 'no' when it matters."
The infirmary door hissed shut behind jules, sealing us in sterile silence. Bernadette's fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her hold, her gaze fixed on the crooked brass mirror. Jules' reflection still seemed to linger there—smug, proprietary. "He thinks he owns the fucking future," she muttered, almost to herself. "Thinks he owns *you*."
Her voice dropped lower, raw and urgent. "Don't let him, sonic. swear it. swear it on something real." My tiny muzzle pressed against her fur, instinct overriding panic. The scent of milk—warm, thick, *biological*—flooded my senses. Hunger screamed louder than terror. I very, and i cant stress this enough, very, reluctantly latched on clumsily, the act profoundly alien (even if i did this as a baby, which I couldn't remember if i did or not) and deeply primal. The taste was cloyingly sweet, utterly unlike anything i'd ever consumed. As i fed, Bernadette's whispered promise echoed in my infant ears: "Strong enough to tell him 'no'." Her claws gently stroked my spine, a counterpoint to Jules's cold assessment. outside, the rhythmic thump of distant artillery shook the infirmary windowpane—Jules's "personal attention" already underway. Bernadette's gaze hardened, fixed on the city's neon glare reflecting in the crooked mirror. "Hear that?" She murmured against my forehead. "That's the sound of his 'peace'. explosions." Her voice cracked. "Don't become that sound, sonic. Be fucking literally anything else." I just thought about what she said: "Strong enough to tell him 'no'"
I had never been strong when i was human, I was born in a poor home, wasn't strong, smart, or lucky, and I was still a loser at 30, and then i died, probably from being a loser. but now i'm trapped in a baby hedgehog's body named Sonic, almost certainly the same Sonic that was from the game franchise, though I thought he didn't have parents honestly, and my new birth father; Jules was talking about mobius and Overlanders and some kind of Northern Baronies, which I didn't recognize from the games or movies at all.
It felt like i was trapped in a nightmare—a loser reincarnated as a baby version of a hero destined to be a symbol of freedom. Hmmm, maybe with how much of an asshole Jules is it lead to the OG Sonic valuing being free so much? That'd make sense, i think . . . but here's the thing: I wasn't Sonic. I was me—a coward with a lifetime of failures etched into whatever passed for my soul now—trapped inside the tiny, blue-furred body of Mobius' (I thought he was from earth) future hero.
Jules' cold ambition felt suffocating, Bernadette's whispered defiance a terrifying burden. how could *I*, a lifelong loser, possibly live up to either expectation? The sheer impossibility of it choked me worse than the unfamiliar sweetness of a new mother's milk. My tiny limbs trembled not just from hunger, but from the crushing weight of destinies I hadn't chosen and couldn't comprehend. "Strong enough to tell him 'no'," Bernadette murmured again, her voice softer now, laced with a bone-deep weariness that echoed my own internal panic. Her claws gently traced the soft curve of my ear, a touch meant to soothe, yet it only amplified the frantic drumming of her heart against my cheek. Outside, another muffled explosion rattled the infirmary window, it's deep *whump* vibrating through the thin mattress. Jules was already making his "peace" with the Northern Baronies—a peace built on beat downs and historical methods of intimidation, not diplomacy. The hypocrisy tasted bitter, mingling with the milk. Bernadette shifted slightly, her gaze drifting back to the crooked brass mirror. Jules' phantom reflection seemed to smirk back at her from its warped surface.
"He sees a weapon," she whispered, her voice cracking with a raw edge I hadn't heard before. "A perfectly forged little blade for his endless wars against Overlanders, Baronies . . . anyone who dares question his 'peace and order'." her grip tightened protectively around me. "But weapons break, Sonic. or they get used up." She paused, her breath catching. "Or they turn on the hand that holds them." The implication hung heavy in the sterile air, a dangerous thought she dared not voice fully. another distant explosion shook the infirmary, closer this time—a visceral punctuation to bernadette's unspoken treason. Her claws dug into the mattress stuffing, pulling out coarse yellow fibers.
"Listen to me Sonic," she hissed, leaning down until her muzzle brushed my ear, her voice barely audible over the artillery's aftershock. "He'll try to mold you into his perfect little soldier. Training grounds before playgrounds. tactics instead of laughter. Don't let him steal your childhood for his foolish crusades." Her breath hitched, warm against my fur.
"Play dumb if you have to. Be clumsy. Drop things. Cry over scraped knees. Be *slow*. anything to make yourself useless to his plans." The desperation in her whisper was terrifying—a mother begging her infant son to sabotage his own potential. The sheer absurdity of it, paired with the distant *crump* of artillery, made my tiny stomach clench tighter than hunger. Play dumb? Be clumsy? those weren't tactics; they were my entire pathetic existence back on earth. Failure was my native language. But despite her insestance I wanted to learn another one this time . . .