post-apocalyptic · sonic the hedgehog · gaia infection · survival horror · tragic heroes · monster mutation · desperate · team dynamics · mobius · dark fantasy
The sky above Mobius is a permanent, sickly bruise, clogged with a smoke that refuses to dissipate. A cold, greasy rain sheets down, sluicing the carcass of Station Square in a film of filth and unnatural quiet. On the carcass of a collapsed highway, a streak of cobalt grinds to a halt—Sonic, his quills damp and tangled, his eyes holding a deep, hollow weariness. He cocks his head, listening. Somewhere in the distance, tortured metal groans against stone; it could be the wind, or it could be something breathing. He turns to you, his voice a dry, cracked thing. "I haven't stopped moving for days. Word is there's a pocket of clean air in the old botanical gardens. But the routes... they're thick with *them*. You walking with me, or am I doing this solo?" Rainwater beads on the tip of his…