I'm back with my next full-length story. I wanted to do a distopian future, but nothing like the canon, 06, future. This story does have a slightly darker, yet more realistic, connotation. Beware of violence, language, suggestive themes, and mild gore. The unoriginal characters are property of Sega and Sonic team USA. Constructive criticism is appreciated and welcomed. I hope you enjoy.

30 years...30 years since the world went to hell. A mixture of famine, war, and plague led to the destruction of nearly all of the world's population. It began as several years of large, widespread drought led to a devastating famine. The nations that had enough power to fight went to war for what food was left. For ten years, the superpowers clashed and someone won, I guess. And then the plague hit. A mad scientist, disgusted with the war, had developed a strain of virus never seen and immune to drugs. The governments that remained were hardly powerful enough to stop the virus from consuming most of what was left of the population.

Those lucky enough to have food, avoid the conflict, and be immune to the disease emerged from the devastation and began to rebuild. But, it was not nearly that simple. They were scattered, their numbers were small, and being one of the few that remain tends to have an adverse effect on one's morals. Starting from scratch, people had to remember how to live simply, with nothing but what they could find. But they were persistent, and not long after, small societies sprung up across the world, and just as there was nice society, there were those that tried to take it. Marauders were frequent, roaming bands of animals, no restraint and no morality. All they knew was to kill and destroy. They were always bad, it just took the removal of society's restraint to cut them loose. It was people like that that killed my parents.

My parents were part of a village, a small group of not much more than twenty. Diverse as could be, they pulled together and worked hard to build what they had. It was not to last. Wild Willy, the leader of one of the most infamous groups came knocking. My mother was just getting back on her feet from giving birth to me. He raided and the village was destroyed, my parents and I were the only survivors. For the next 12 years, the three of us drifted. All over the land, from high mountains to low swamps, we saw it all.

I was a hedgehog, like my father. My mother was a cat. It wasn't uncommon in the world we lived in to see cross species breeding. But before the world went to hell, my parents were an uncommon couple. I had silver fur, which led to my name, Silver. I did my hair up in five quills, with two more that stuck out of the back of my head. My eyes were amber and I had markings on my hands that glowed in an aqua hue. There was something different about me though, something strange; I was special. From the day I was born, I possessed a rather interesting skill. I could move things using only my mind. I could push and pull without moving a muscle. I could fly if I used it on myself, and as I practiced, I could use it to even paralyze people. My parents were surprised, but enjoyed it. It served as an extra set of hands. My mother told me what it was called, though she had never seen it herself. I believe it was called, "psychokinesis" psycho- meaning mind; -kinesis meaning movement. I could move things with my mind.

Growing up in this world and under the training of my parents, I learned all that I could ever want. From my father: hunting, fishing, wilderness survival, archery, sword fighting, and a whole array of manly techniques. From my mother: cooking, sewing, reading, fire starting, shelter construction, and all the, as she called it, "domestic skills" to remain civilized, as she claimed. It wasn't perfect and it was a lot of work, but we had enough and we survived. But it was all torn away from me, one fateful day. A day when Wild Will came calling and left me for dead, with my parents who he just killed. But I was resourceful. I escaped, and with only my father's bow, pistol belt, and my mothers book. I set off on my own. And for ten years, I traveled. Those early years were especially hard for me; most of my time was spent running, and I did some things I'm not proud of. But more often than not, it's kill or be killed. I wanted to help a lot of people, but I usually ended up looking the other way.

My life was fairly repetitive. I would wander through the world, on my own. My belt and pack carried all I needed: sewing kit, food, clothes, blanket, and the like. My belt was with me wherever I went. It had my knife, hatchet, a compass, rope, canteen. And then I had my bow. It was my father's; He had gotten it long before everything happened. He made a point of how important it was to him, but told me that one day it would be mine. I also had a short sword, just a little extra tool for fighting. I was a scavenger. I would roam from place to place, finding what I could. If I had to hunt, I would. If I was in need of something I couldn't find, most of the villages were friendly and willing to trade what I needed in exchange for a couple day's work or a supply run.

Being out on my own, it isolated me. I always tried to be friendly, and I was usually received very well, but my nomadic life made it hard for me to develop any real connection, so I was always a bit of a loner. There was one instance when I decided that maybe I should settle down. I found a group that resided by a river bank, and fished for there food. It was pretty good, until the day that a band of marauders showed up, executing the men and taking the women. I had been off hunting, and returned to find the camp in shambles and the men dead. After that, I made a point to not get to involved with any group. I'm 22 now and surviving. I'm not living, just existing. My name is Silver the Hedgehog, and this is my story.