Diary of an Orphan
By, The Mouse of Anon

Disclaimer: I do not own anybody created by Sega, Archie, DiC, or Fleetway. Thank you. I do however own the character ideas for them in this fic. So in short, don't use this version of the characters without permission and we'll get along fine. (Besides, I like to know when my characters are being used in other fics so I can read them.) Anybody who shows up here who does not belong to one of the aforementioned companies, belongs to me. Yada, yada, yada, etc.

Author's Note: Wow! I'm churning out another fic so soon! It's a miracle! (Angelic choir starts singing in the back ground.) I can guarantee you though, that I will update this fic more quickly than my others. (I've got a lot written.) If this first chapter's a little dull, don't worry about it. The interest will pick up soon. There's no massive warning for this fic. Well, other than implied non-con. Heavily implied I might add. And mention of pedophilia (EEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!! O. *twitch, twitch*). And cursing here and there. And. Well, you'll just have to read the fic to find out. C&C is welcome and MUCHLY appreciated. Plllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeeeee review. Thank you! ^-^V

June 2, 3224 A.W.

I am True Blue. I am a hedgehog. I'm also blue with one green eye and one blue one. I know that much. I've always known that much. Once my name was Sonic, but that was years ago. It seems longer. I don't remember my family. I'm one of the unlucky orphans of Moebius. Yes, that's right, Moebius. Not Mobius, not Mobus, not any of the other numerous possibilities in different realities. In this reality, in mine, orphans are hunted down, wiped out. The yiffing auts of this world call it 'getting rid of vermin'. If I'm one of the vermin, then that makes the auts, the authorities, are soldiers of Chaos himself. On this world, everybody could care less if your parents are alive or dead, except that the second your parents die, you're on your own. They have an age limit you see. Anybody whose parents die before they reach the age of 13, is officially an orphan, and thus, vermin. Anybody who's parents die after that mark. Well, they're taken in as highly coveted members of society, aren't they? Like we have a choice either way.
Then of course there's the ones that got lost in crowds, or were just dumped on the streets by their screwed up families. Those ones are usually the quietest. Not surprising, then again, if I had the slightest memory of my family, I'd maybe be a little happier, which would make me a little quieter. As if that'd be a reality. Among normal society bi-color eyes are considered unlucky. Thing is, people in my world are superstitious. So I'm doubly cursed. Among the orphans on the street, we believe that anybody who can remember any of their family, regardless of whether they dropped them or died, is good fortune. You see, I'm exceptionally unlucky. I never knew my family. Ever. Most orphans can claim that they knew their families at one point. I couldn't tell you whether I had a mom and dad living together, a brother, a sister, and aunt, an uncle, anything. I. Don't. Know. Hell, one of my earliest memories was me on the street in the middle of the night, trying to sleep in an old crate in an alleyway and having to listen to the squalling of non-sentient cats because it was mating season!
One hell of a hard thing to fall asleep to, I can tell you that. Though, just so we have this straight, I didn't always have my friends, my group. I didn't always have my substitute family. I spent the first ten years or so that I can remember on my own, scrounging for scraps and dodging getting kicked in the face by one of the wandering auts. Hell, more than half the time I was starving and I had no weapons but my speed, which was greatly deficient because of my lack of food, and I had my wit. There was even one time where if I had moved right you could count all my ribs through my fur just by looking. I can tell ya, that wasn't fun. Because of the fact that I was starved I was constantly cold, even in summer, so I always aimed to steal a quilt or something. My problem was, I kept on being spotted before I could get anything. One of the rich peeps had enough mercy to give me a big fuzzy towel and not expect me to return. I kept the towel. I also ended up stealing sunglasses at that point, that way nobody would be able to see my weird eyes. Not that it did me much good, seeing as how I lost that pair by the next week. Life sucks, I'm used to it by now.