The following short story is based on characters created and/or
copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic
Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation.  All
other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.
	The author gives permission to distribute this work freely as long
as it remains intact and unaltered, and the transfer of monetary units is
not involved.
	Questions, comments, suggestions, complaints?  Send them to me at
.  I enjoy hearing from people who can
spell.

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Quote for the day:

	"I shall give a propagandist reason for starting the war, no
matter whether it is plausible or not.  The victor shall not be asked
afterwards whether he told the truth or not.  When starting and waging a
war, it is not right that matters, but victory."

							-Adolf Hitler
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	The Storyteller
		by Roland Lowery


	CHASSIS LOOKED at the small, flickering chronomenter that was set
in the upper right range of her vision.  She thumped the side of her head
to make it quit flickering.  Satisfied that it wasn't going to, she tried
to decipher what it said anyway.
	11 55h.
	She gasped, gaining the attention of the two other 'bots walking
along the filthy sidewalk.  She looked around and shrugged at them, then
started running in the direction of a nearby building.
	The building, like all of the others in the enormous city of
Robotropolis, was dilapidated.  It was almost three stories high, and each
story sagged towards the one below it.  All of the glass windows had been
broken out, and filth was strewn across the sidewalk in front of it.
	There was only one thing that made the building that Chassis was
running towards special.  Once a week at precisely noon, a lot of the 
neighborhood 'bots, young and old, gathered there to meet with the 
Storyteller, the singularly spectacular 'bot ever to exist, and 
supposedly the only 'bot to have survived after the great Robotnik 
Wars.
	At the thought of Robotnik, Chassis shuddered and cast a long
glance at the giant tower that loomed on the horizon.  It was there that
the evil and immortal Doctor Ivo Robotnik sat on his throne and ruled the
entire world with his steel fists.
	She shook her head to cast away these thoughts, then stepped into
the home of the Storyteller.

	The entire bottom floor of the building had no walls.  They had
been knocked out years ago, and replaced by a handful of makeshift pillars
that held the second floor up.
	Other than these pillars and almost a hundred other 'bots milling
about, there was nothing in the open space except a single item of
furniture:  a chair.
	No one touched the chair.  None of the assembled 'bots, no matter
how much their joints squeeked and no matter how low their power, dared to
sit in this chair, nor did they sit on the floor.  To sit before the
Storyteller entered would have been considered almost blashphemous in the
amount of disrespect it would show.  And to sit in the Storyteller's chair
. . . unthinkable!
	So, they stood or walked about, talking in hushed tones to each
other.  They did not use their radio communicators, in fear of disturbing 
the Storyteller's thoughts by transmitting so close by.
	Chassis walked among them quietly.  She scanned back and forth,
looking for the one 'bot that she could count on being there.  He, like
her, never missed a story.  For the past sixteen years, ever since her
assembly, Chassis had gone to hear the stories with-
	"Gyro!" she called quitely to one of the 'bots leaning up against
the wall.  The spindily 'bot looked up, readjusted his optical receptors,
then stood all the way upright when he saw Chassis walk up.  He quickly
put an arm around her framework body and lifted her up bodily.
	"Chassis!" he said joyfully as he spun her around.  "You were almost 
too late!  What kept you?"
	She felt the oil running through her start to warm up, and felt
that her faceplate would start to glow red.  "You set me down, right this
minute!" she scolded.  "We might get thrown out!"
	"I'm sorry," said Gyro as he set her down.  "I'm just happy to see
you!"
	Chassis smoothed out the simple rags she wore.  "Just see that it
doesn't happen again!" she said imperiously, then covered her faceplate
with a hand and giggled.
	Gyro chuckled, then asked, "Does your chronometer work?  Mine's on
the fritz again."
	"Sort of," she answered.  She tapped her head again, but the
display continued to flicker.  "Oh, well," she finally said.  "The
Storyteller should be out in just a minute, anyway.  Let's see if we can
get to the front!"
	She took his thin hand in hers, and they gently pushed their way
to the front.  The spot right around the Storyteller's chair was, of
course, reserved for the very small child 'bots so they could hear 
easier, but Chassis and Gyro were able to get within ten feet, an 
enviable position to some.  There they stood, until a slight creaking was 
heard from the ceiling.
	Immediately, everyone in the room was quiet.  Even the children
'bots had ceased their play.  A great feeling of reverence had filled the
room, reverence for the Storyteller.
	The creaking from the second floor had stopped at a trap door
just above the chair.  The door slowly opened into the first floor,
letting a rickety ladder slide down.  Taking the ladder step by step, each
movement looking to be filled with the most horrible pain on the entire
planet, the Storyteller climbed down.
	It wasn't much to look at.  It's face was always hidden, as was
its body, by a long brown cloak.  No one had ever seen what the Storyteller
looked like underneath that cloak, and none knew its real name or gender.
All anyone had ever seen of it was the hands, and the occaisional glimpse
of a foot.  As one 'bot had said, "The Storyteller is the Storyteller."
	Soon, it had traversed down the ladder, which sprang back up to
the second floor.  The trapdoor slid closed.  The only way to open it was
a small pull string that hung down into the room.
	The Storyteller made the short, but painful looking, journey to
its chair, and slowly sat down.  On its signal, everyone else in the room
sat on the the floor.  It looked around at the crowd from under its dark
hood before speaking.
	"So," it said in a voice as ancient as the oil oceans themselves.
"So, you have all come.  I recognize a few of your faces.  Others I do
not.  Newcomers are, as always, welcome.  For those of you who are new, do
not be afraid to ask questions throught the story.  It is both expected 
and encouraged."
	It settled back into the chair, whiched squeeked under the weight.
It placed its hands, the only part of it visible, in front of it with all
of the fingertips touching in the form of a steeple.
	"Well?" it asked.  "What is the first story to be?"
	Hands immediately shot up all around the room.  Chassis' and
Gyro's were among them.
	Under the hood, the Storyteller nodded its head.  "You, I think,"
it said, pointing its finger into the crowd.  "Yes, you will do.  What
story should I tell for this week?"
	After checking the angle of the Storytellers finger, there was no
mistake.  Chassis hesitated for a second, shocked that it had picked HER.
For sixteen years she had been coming here, and he had NEVER picked her
before.  She finally shook her head to clear it, then stuttered, "I-I-I-"
	Gyro nudged her in the side.  "Make it a good one," he whispered,
then winked one of his optical sensors at her.
	She nodded, then rapidly scanned through a list of the stories she
had heard.  After a few seconds of deliberation, she loudly declared, "I
would like to hear the story of the Last Mobian!"
	A sigh went through the majority of the regular story-goers.  The
story of the Last Mobian was a very popular one, one of the Storyteller's
best.  Many had even speculated that the Storyteller itself had been there
at the time it happened, because it related the tale with such detail.
	The Storyteller sighed as well, lowered its hand, and began its
story.

	"Long ago," the Storyteller said, "long before we had
bio-mechanical bodies that aged, long before Robotropolis covered the
planet, long before Robotnik became the ruler he is today, there were a
race of truly orgainic beings called Mobians.
	"These Mobians crawled across the face of the planet like a
festering disease.  They had no care for our kind whatsoever, no care at
all.  Robotnik, our creator, tried to save us from the prejudices that the
Mobians had toward us.  This is what began the Robotnik Wars, which lasted
for nearly fifty years.
	"It was a constant battle, both sides striving for control of the
world.  They-"
	A voice from the crowd interrupted the story.  "What did the
Mobians look like?" the voice asked.
	The Storyteller held out a hand four feet above the floor.  "Most
Mobians were approximately this tall.  They were covered with course wires
that they called 'fur'.  The 'fur' was embedded in the soft, pink, spongy
material called 'flesh'.  For the most part, they looked like robotoid
shaped animal 'bots of various kinds.  They were soft to the touch and
easy to kill.
	"At least, MOST of them were easy to kill.  There was one group,
called the Knothole Freedom Fighters - nothing but rebellious scum - who
survived the Robotnik Wars over their stretch of fifty years.  They were,
in fact, the last to go.  One of their number was the Last Mobian."
	"Who were they?" another voice asked.
	"There was Antoine, the cowardly," the Storyteller replied.  "He
was a fox of sorts, always waving his sword about and making terrible
noises.
	"There was Rotor, a walrus who built machines.  He might have been
a good fighter for the creator's cause, but instead he built his machines
for the purpose of fighting Robotnik.
	"There was Bunnie, a half rabbit, half robot.  She, like the
walrus, used Robotnik's own to try and destroy him.
	"There was Sally, the Princess of the miserable little organic
flesh balls.  She was one of the worst of them, but none of them could
have held a candle to-
	"SONIC THE HEDGEHOG!"
	A chorus of murmurs ran through the crowd as the Storyteller stood
up creakily and banged a fist on the arm of the chair.  It died down as
the Storyteller continued the story from its standing position.
	"This foul ball of GREASE," the word sounded like an epiteth
coming from the Storyteller, "was the Last Mobian.  He had evaded death
and capture countless times.  He was, as I said, a hedgehog . . . but not
just ANY hedgehog.  No, he was the 'fastest thing alive'!"
	Chassis felt that, if the Storyteller had lips, they would be
curled upward in a sneer.  She took advantage of the situation to snuggled
closer to Gyro, who put his arm around her to comfort her.
	"He was a loathsome blue streak that was Robotnik's worst enemy,"
the Storyteller continued.  "He continually destroyed the creator's hopes
and dreams, time after time, for half a century!  The hatred between both
of them ran deep and defied all description.  It was the mutal hate that
could move mountains, destroy cities, dry oceans, and blot out the sun,
stars, and moons themselves.  The creator gave this hatred to all of his
creations.  Year after year after torturous year, Robotnik and his robots
fought the hedgehog.  They did everything they could to him.  After the
discovery and destruction of the secret Knothole Village in the Great
Forest, his most valued friends - Rotor, Bunnie, all of the others I
mentioned before - were either captured and roboticized, or killed
outright."
	Up until this time, everyone in the room had almost been afraid to
ask a question.  Now that the Storyteller had paused as it started to pace
painfully back and forth, someone mustered all the courage they had in
their metal body, and asked, "What it 'roboticized'?"
	The Storyteller's hood turned in the direction of the 'bot who
asked the question.  "Roboticization," it said, "was a process developed
by the great Robotnik.  A few have said that it was made earlier, but they
are nothing but blasphemous fools.  Robotnik alone created what was then
the most wonderful device known in the world.  A roboticizer could take
organic flesh and transform it into metal parts."
	A collective gasp ran through the room, even among those who had
heard the story before and knew about the device.
	"For some reason," the Storyteller said, "the Mobians considered
this to be awful, horrible even!  They could not see the creators divine
vision, obviously.  This is why they had to be destroyed.  But Sonic
refused to be destroyed.
	"The blue hedgehog had been roboticized himself, but he had
somehow reversed the effects, and he was able to do it repeatedly after 
that.  So, the only alternative was to kill him.  But first, he was worn 
down psychologically.  As I said before, his village was destroyed and 
his friends were captured and killed or roboticized.  Robotnik also 
started to play mind games with him.  Before long, Sonic was nothing more 
than a wandering lunatic, attacking anyone and anything that came near 
him.  He repeatedly blazed through the wonderful creations of 
Robotnik's.  So, a squadron of SWATbots, ComBots, QUANTUMbots, and
mecha-units were sent out.  Leading them was one of Robotnik's greatest
creations . . . Mecha-Sonic.
	"He was the penultimate in technology at the time.  He was, for
all intents and purposes, Sonic's twin . . . Soinc's DEADLY twin.  He and
his armies of robots swept the continents, destroying everything in their
path in order to find Sonic.  They searched for days and nights upon end."
	"Did they find him?" one of the small shild 'bots asked.
	The Storyteller stopped pacing, then sat back down into its
creaking chair.  "Yes," it said.  "They found him.  They found him
wandering in the North Plains, hunting down animals and eating them raw.
When they confronted him, he used that wretched ability of his, the most
wretched and destructive ability that any organic on the planet had . . . 
the ability of super speed, and he used it to destroy half of the
battilion."
	The arms of the chair squealed from the Storyteller's hands
clamping down on them.
	"He destroyed them . . . KILLED them, then ran off.  Mecha-Sonic
quickly regain control of what was left of his troops, and they chased the
Mobian, the Last Mobian on the face of the planet, all the way back to
what was left of the Great Forest.  They found him there, sitting at the
foot of the statue commemorating the final destruction of Knothole
Village."
	"What was he doing there?" asked Chassis.  She always loved this
part, and she knew that Gyro did too.
	"Crying," said the Storyteller, its voice nearly cracking.  "He
was sitting there, crying, because he knew he could not get away from the
righteousness of Robotnik, our creator!  He looked up with tear stained
eyes and said, 'If I'm going to die, I'm taking you with me, rust bucket!'
It had been the first rational thing he had said in nearly twenty years,
since the death of his beloved Sally.  Those being his last words, he
jumped up with a snarl and and attacked Mecha-Sonic.
	"Mecha-Sonic immediately ordered his troops not to fire.  He
planned to take Sonic down on his own.  Their hatred for each other ran as
deep as Sonic and Robotnik's hate did, but naturally.  Mecha-Sonic's hate
was not something implanted into him.  He understood the creator's vision,
and he believed in it feverently!  He hated the hedgehog with every wire
in its body, with the very titanium-steel alloy he was made of!
	"The fight dragged on and on.  Sonic was bleeding red, red blood
from various parts of his body.  One of his arms was broken, as were
several of his ribs."
	No one dared ask a question now.  They were all spellbound by the
Storyteller's narrative.
	"Mecha-Sonic was in no better condition.  He had several oil
leaks.  his chest was dented in, and several wires had been ripped from
his left leg.  But still they fought.  Time after time, both hit one
another, neither deigning to give up.
	"Mecha-Sonic had long expected the Mobian to tire, but the
fleshbag just kept coming and coming, relentless.  Just when it seemed
that all was lost for the mecha unit, just when it appeared that Sonic was
going to get the last blow, just when it looked like Mecha-Sonic had seen
his last days on this planet, . . . "
	Everyone in the building leaned forward.  No sounds could be
heard.  Even the 'bots and vehicles on the street outside had fallen
silent, it seemed.  Everyone was staring intenetly at the Storyteller,
waiting . . . waiting . . .
	"Just then," it said, "Sonic the Hedgehog, the Last Mobian on the
entire planet, grabbed his chest and sank to his knees and leaned over the
ground.  As Mecha-Sonic watched, the hedgehog's body convulsed with the 
pain, and Mecha-Sonic raised his fists and eyes to the sky and yelled a 
glorious victory cry for his creator - OUR creator - Robotnik!
	The Storyteller sighed.
	"The cry was interrupted by the sound of a laser shot.  Mecha-Sonic
looked down and saw that Sonic was dead.  The laser had pierced the 
hedgehog's filibrating heart.  The blue mecha-'bot turned to his troops to 
find that a SWATbot - SWATbot 21876B, Designate Gamma-Gamma 21B - had 
fired the shot.  He walked up to the SWATbot and, without hesitation, 
broke the 'bot's neck ring.
	"The 'bots left both of the bodies at the spot to rust and rot,
except for Mecha-Sonic, who went back later and took something.  No one 
knows what it was, exactly, that he took, but they do know that from 
that day . . .
	" . . . from that day, there were no more Mobians on this planet."

	A contented sigh ran through the crowd as the Storyteller stood up
out of its chair and reached up for the pull string on the trap door.  As
the ladder slid down, there was one more question to be asked of the
Storyteller.
	This question was always asked, every week, after the story was
finished.  It was always an honor for the person who was able to ask the
question before anyone else.
	"Who are you, really, Storyteller?" Gyro asked.
	Chassis' eyes lit up, and she pulled herself closer to him.  Lucky
male 'bot! she thought.  MY lucky male 'bot, she amended with a silent
giggle.
	The traditional answer to the question was, "I am the Storyteller.
I always have been, and always will be, the Storyteller."
	This time, however, the old 'bot simply stared at Gyro, which
started to make many of the 'bots in the room nervous.  When was it going
to answer?  Why was it just standing there?
	Finally, slowly, the Storyteller reached up and grabbed the hood
of its cloak, and slowly drew it back.  With the other hand, it
unclasped the hook at its neck.  The cloak, freed of its bonds, fell to
the floor.
	Everyone gasped.
	The Storyteller's head was partially melted away, but the crowd
could still see the spiny projections in the back, covered with a few
remenants of blue paint and what looked to be an inch of rust.  One red,
glowing eye looked out at them all.  Its chest was slightly caved in.  Its
left leg had wires of all colors, but mostly faded, hanging out of a huge
tear in the metal.  Its body was pockmarked, dented, and ancient looking.
It turned the good side of its head to the crowd, where they could see,
proudly engraved in the side, the 'bots registery number - MS-032.
	"For the past two hundred years," the Storyteller said, "I have
been the Storyteller.  And I shall continue to be the Storyteller for the
next two hundred."
	With these last words, it shuffled up the ladder to the second
floor of the building, then shut the trap door with a bang.

	Chassis and Gyro stood in the middle of the room long after
everyone else had left.  No one else in the room had seen it, they were
sure, but just after the Storyteller had taken off its cloak, it had
turned towards them in just the right way that they had seen inside the
melted part of its head.
	Laying in that recess was two ball shaped objects.  The first had
read MS-032, just like on the side of the Storyteller's head.  The other,
however, had read 21876B : GAMMA-GAMMA-21B.  They couldn't have been sure,
but the two young 'bots thought that they had heard a faint screaming
filter over their radio commlinks at the at the moment the second ball had
come into view.
	"C'mon," Gyro said, finally.  "I'll walk you home."
	Chassis nodded slowly.  "Are we going to be up here again next
week?"
	Gyro looked around the room.  "Sure.  We'll make it a date."


	THE END

		Roland Lowery (a.k.a. Jim Doe)
			

    Source: geocities.com/timessquare/dungeon/5221

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