(NOTE: This story is a sequel to Sonic the Hedgehog: Defender of America. I highly recommend that you read it first!)

"Freedom ain't free. The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." - Tupac Shakur

The year is 2010. The United States of America as we know it has been destroyed.

Long ago, we looked upon a foreboding sky. The fifty-million year conflict between the Americans and Communists raged, destroying all life in its path. The forces of America lost the war and were annihilated in an apocalyptic bloodbath, a cataclysmic event that would later come to be known as "Americageddon." The final war may have ended, but for some, the real battle has only just begun.

In an age where the wicked forces of Marxism reign, there is one righteous patriot still alive and able to fight for American justice and freedom. His name is Sonic the Hedgehog, a man known by his enemies only as the Communist-Hunter.

Armed to the teeth and ready to avenge his fallen kinsmen, Sonic sets out alone on his Harley Davidson™ motorcycle to fight the cruel fate that his people have been dealt. This hedgehog will let nothing stop him, not even death itself, until he frees his enslaved country from the diabolical clutches of Communism and restores the Americaverse to its former glory.

This is the chronicle of this man's life, death, and the legacy he left behind. This is his story...

The blinding neon lights of Neo-Detroit's capital city flooded Sonic's senses as he approached on the back of his motorcycle. Deafening horrorcore rap spewed from the speakers of this righteous American's Harley, reflecting Sonic's intense love for the Insane Clown Posse. Sonic the Hedgehog was a man of the lord.

Seeking to refuel after a long day of navigating through this Communist-occupied, hyper-industrialized wasteland, Sonic stopped at a nearby bar and dismounted from his metallic steed. As he opened the door, the distinct aroma of dank beer and spilt blood quickly assaulted his nose. Inside, Sonic was greeted by a crowd of drunken Communist soldiers harassing the patrons of the bar for their own twisted amusement.

The sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the room and was almost immediately drowned out by the raucous laughter that followed. "That'll show those American bastards for fucking with us! Take this one outside and leave him with the rest, he's starting to smell like shit," The leader of the Marxist thugs lowered his shotgun, waving for his men to remove the American corpse splayed out on the floor that he had just slain.

Sonic's spastic colon churned with disgust at the sight. This brutish hedgehog muscled his way through the crowd and took a seat near the counter. He then turned to the mortified bartender, emptied all of the shekels from his wallet, and pushed them in his direction.

"I'm probably gonna fuck this place up in a few minutes, so I guess I should buy something. Make yourself useful and get me a plate of chicken tendies, alright? The white meat kind. I don't want none of that other peasant shit," Sonic grumbled in a low voice. He kept his head forwards, trying to avoid making eye contact with the Communist soldiers he heard approaching from behind.

The leader of the thugs pulled up a stool and took a seat parallel to Sonic. He cocked his head to the side, gazing upon the hedgehog's impossibly statuesque muscles that were heavily scarred from decades of battle.

"That thing tattooed on your arm… it's an American flag, right? That's interesting, because I thought that those kinds of symbols were outlawed after the Ameripocalypse under the penalty of death. You wouldn't happen to be some kind of filthy American, would you?" The man asked, pointing his knurled fingers towards the tattoo of a bald eagle shining in glorious hues of red, white, and blue upon Sonic's left bicep.

The hedgehog ignored his charged words. Instead, he turned his gaze towards the waitress of the bar. "Hey, bitch! Where the hell are those goddamn chicken tendies I ordered?" He asked with a snarl, raising his guttural voice well above the din of the bar's patrons.

"Clearly, you must not have heard me the first time," The inbred, freedom-hating socialist placed his hand upon the hedgehog's shoulder and stared him right in the face. In a show of force, he removed his pocket knife and held it against Sonic's throat as he spoke, "This is Communist territory, ya hear? So will you play nice and leave quietly, or will my boys and I have to teach you to learn some respect?"

Sonic casually removed the joint from between his lips and blew a ring of smoke into the face of his assailant. "Sorry, I was too blazed out of my mind to pay any attention to what you just said. Did you want something from me?" He asked with a cool, composed smile.

The wicked Cultural Marxist and his men snarled at the sight of Sonic's unbridled patriotism, shunning the holy light of America like a slag shuns the poor. The Communist grabbed Sonic by the back of the head and forced his face to the table. He snarled, "I'm the one asking the questions right now, fuckface! We're Che Guevara's soldiers, we rule this city! Do you even realize the situation you're in right now, you bourgeois piece of shit?"

Sonic raised his chin and laughed, unfazed by his enemies. "So, let me get this straight. You're all Communists, right? That's good to hear. Otherwise, I might have felt bad about doing this!"

Without a moment of hesitation, Sonic withdrew his Linoleum knife and stabbed it right through the opened palm of his aggressor and into the table. He drug his knife across the counter, splitting the Communist lieutenant's hand open right down the middle before placing the blade back in his pocket.

"Y-You goddamned capitalist baka! You're going to pay for that with your life, you shitty bastard!" The victim of this American's divine fuckrage howled with pain. He stumbled backwards and signaled for his comrades to step in with his uninjured hand. But before they could strike, Sonic reached into his trench coat and withdrew his dual machine guns, the preferred weapons of choice for any upright man of the cloth.

He opened fire without mercy, filling these depraved socialists with bullets and propelling them across the bar. This righteous, god-fearing patriot then threw back his entire shot glass of Jägermeister and chuckled, "Pssht, nothin' personal… kid."

Sonic tilted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding a bottle of beer hurled at him from the growing crowd of Communist soldiers pooling in from the streets of Neo-Detroit. "I'm gonna let you all in on a little secret. Do you know why I enjoy killing Commie bastards like you so much?" The fearless hedgehog spoke as he took a step towards his challengers, clutching his hard-earned tendies tightly between his fists.

Sonic reached into the guitar case he wore strapped on his back and removed an electric guitar of great power forged from polished obsidian and the menstrual blood of feudal archdaemons. Exploding in a visceral fuckrage of patriotic indignation, Sonic gracefully swung this mighty instrument of American ingenuity and sliced a great throng of his foes to ribbons. He chuckled, "It's because killing Communists really turns me on! It's time to rock the fuck out!"

Sonic rocked out to the black metal of the gods on his guitar as he charged ahead, viciously hacking apart every member of the Communist party foolish enough to stand in his way. "USA! USA! USA!" His wispy chest hair fluttered in the wind as his blood-soaked guitar came crashing down, shattering the skulls of the Marxist soldiers splayed out before him.

"Adam and Steve? Meet Smith and Wesson!" Sonic laughed. He mounted atop his Harley and drove in circles around the bar, opening fire with his machine guns and mowing down his fleeing opponents with ease. This righteous hedgehog violently thrashed his head to the beat, relishing this swath of genocidal violence with a fervor most patriotic.

Just as Sonic's saintly onslaught and furious pelvic thrusting ceased and all of his enemies had fallen, a new contingent of heavily-armed socialist forces surrounded the building. These wicked philistines raised their weapons and trained them towards the hedgehog's forehead, stopping him before he could charge back into the bloodbath.

Sonic spat cartilage upon the floor to convey his disgust as he gazed upon the twisted, misshapen face of the Marxist nobleman leading this wretched task force. The name of this amortal chieftain was Che Guevara, a man known for his excessive cruelty on the battlefield and one of the ten Communist Underlords fighting to fill the power vacuum left behind after the death of the dark wizard, Karl Marx.

This unearthly Communist lord swung his signature weapon — a rusted saw blade attached to a chain that was stained red with the blood of Americans — and leapt in pursuit of his prey. Without any time to dodge, Sonic decided to use one of the brutalized Commie soldiers at his feet as a shield. The blade instantly severed the corpse in two, slicing a deep gash across Sonic's stomach in the process.

Before this gentlemanly patriotic warlord had any opportunity to dodge, Che unleashed a furious barrage of punches and kicks upon him. Sonic rolled across the ground in a puddle of his own blood and other unspeakable bodily fluids, badly beaten and barely able to stand.

El Che threw back his head and guffawed at the pitiable sight before him. This hater of all things good and American cracked a smug grin, "So, this is the legendary Communist-Hunter? The butcher of a thousand Marxist loins, the only man worthy enough to wield the holy electric guitar forged by George Washington millennia ago? How pathetic! You shall burn in the flames of capitalism just like the Biker Brethren before you. Prostrate yourself before the heavenly might of Communism or die now and curse in vain!"

Before the Communist warlord could claim Sonic's blameless life, he was interrupted by the sound of an explosion coming from the distance. A hulking figure of star-spangled fuckferocity swaggered out from the inferno of the blast, standing still and unflinching as a downpour of Communist ichor and afterbirth rained down upon him from above.

His finely toned skin and flaxen hair shone bright in the light of the fire with an otherworldly beauty. In that instant, he tipped his velour fedora towards his niggardly foes and smiled. Blood began to erupt from his mouth, and he laughed. He laughed forever.

The star-spangled aura emanating from his bare chest and abs sent the Communist host into a frenzy of terror, denoting that this mysterious warrior was no mere child of mortal men. He beamed wide, revealing the golden grill emblazoned upon his teeth that had the phrase "Can't Stump the Trump" chiseled into its surface.

"You're late, dicksleeve. Y'know, I could've slayed the fuck out of these guys without your help, Trump!" Sonic groused at his aloof partner, unwilling to admit that he had just saved him from certain doom.

Donald J. Trump tossed his designer scarf over his shoulder and shrugged, "I'm glad to see that you're still the same whack-ass motherfucker as ever, Sonic-kun. Now, how about we show these goddamn Commies how America rolls?" Sonic's comrade removed the latex glove from his pimp hand and set his entire arm ablaze with his mind, demonstrating his latent pyrokinetic skills.

Trump burned all of the Communist soldiers in the vicinity alive with a flick of his fingers, roasting them to a crisp at a temperature of 1488 degrees. Sonic rose to his feet and flicked the blood away from his chin, "Don't think I'm about to let you keep all this genocide to yourself, Trump. I came here to kill Communists and eat shit, and I'm all outta shit!"

Overcome with righteous indignation, Sonic hurled himself upon Che Guevara and sliced his throat open with a stroke of his guitar. El Che quivered with true, primal terror as he came face to face with his own mortality in the form of this avenger of American justice. "Are… are you an angel, or a demon?" He asked, far too paralyzed with fear to do anything else but speak.

"Nigga, does it even matter at this point? If you have to know n' shit, I guess you could say that I'm… both!" Sonic tore his belt asunder, freeing his raging demon erection from its prison of denim. His pants dropped to his ankles and revealed his throbbing cyborg member that doubled as a shotgun, a killing machine of flaming fuckdeath that he christened "The Judgement Dick." The hedgehog cocked his cock and released his salvo of cleansing hellfire from his artificial genitals, utterly annihilating the Marxist lord and bringing an end to his reign of terror.

The streets are still and the final battle has ended. Over the streets, the white man's emblem is waving triumphant standards of a race reborn. The wrath of the Communist-Hunter has struck again.

Sonic and Trump watched from a safe distance as their flames of destruction spread. The bar collapsed in on itself, leaving behind only a monument to the cruel judgement of the Communist-Hunter and a message of warning to his enemies. Sonic seemed unconcerned, spending his time by scribbling swastikas on his arm and shoving another fistful of chicken tendies down his throat.

"Same time next week, right? You bring the Communists, I'll bring the genocide," Donald Trump chuckled as he rose to his feet to stare up at the smog-filled sky. Sonic beat his fist against Trump's own as he walked off in the direction of the rising sun. "Hell yeah, motherfucker."

Lost in thought, Sonic took his guitar out of its case and began to pour his feelings into song. "Abe Lincoln, Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, Guy Fieri, Harambe… I'm fighting this war in your memory. This is what you'd want me to do, right? I'm going to give you the justice you deserve. Since no one else can, I'll be the one to judge Communism for its crimes. I'm going to keep fighting as the Communist-Hunter until every last one of those red bastards drops dead. Even if it kills me, I'm going to make America great again!"