the inherent horror of the roboticised sonic theory. you’re dead, forced to become something unnatural and made to work for the same man who killed you. your entire being has been transformed and reprogrammed until there’s nothing left of the original you, just broken bits of memories and white hot burning hatred for the world that let this happen to you. if even a single scrap of your orginal self still exists, it’s the part of you that won’t stop screaming about how you’re the real you. there’s a fake version of you running around that is alive and happy and has your face and your name. you are the real sonic. he doesn’t know you’re the real you him. none of his friends know you’re the real him you. you are the real sonic. you have to kill him you and regain take his your place. nobody believes you when you say you’re the real you, and the only people alive who know are you and the man who did it to you. you are the real sonic. he is your inferior copy. you are the real sonic. nobody will ever believe you.