This story revolves around one of my more interesting fan characters, Tihocan (Teh-ho-can). There are a lot of references to Heaven and Hell. So, if you're religious, don't bitch at me because I offend you. I'm not trying to. I'd never stoop to a level that low.

Anyway, if you want to see a horribly outdated picture of him, check under his profile on my page. He's been going through heavy development so he looks different, but it'll at least give you a basic idea till I can get a scanner.

Sonic and Shadow are going to be way out of character, but bits and pieces of their personality still remain untouched.

I'm going to say this right now: there is no yaoi involved in this. Tihocan is not Shadow and Silver's son.

So, this is the prologue. It's short and... Ew, I don't like it. At all.

HELL
Corridor 35
3:07 am
05.14.19

It was never ending. A never ending nightmare. The walls around him seemed to glow a dark red color. There was a light at the end of it. His destination? The closer he walked, the further it seemed to get. Where was he? His paced picked up into a run. He ran. He ran toward the light, but it eluded him. It was teasing him. Faster. Run faster! It wasn't working. Nothing he did could bring it closer. He was stuck in a never ending state of panic. He suddenly stopped, collapsing to his knees in exhaustion. Why did he feel this way? His breathing became short and uneven. He looked up, vision beginning to leave him. In this final stage, he watched the light creep up on him, swallowing him whole.

No…

It's so hot…

Open a window…

Do something…

His eyes gently eased open. He was staring at a turning fan, caged behind metal bars. It cast uneven shadows on him as it spun. He was on his left side. His right hand held a crowbar. He tried to move, but his body didn't respond to him. He tried to call out. Nothing but a soundless breath escaped him. What was he doing last? He couldn't remember. He couldn't think with all this heat. It's so hot. Why is it so hot? He attempted to move a second time. His fingers tightened around the bar. He rolled onto his back.

Darkness. Endless, taunting darkness was his ceiling. It brought a familiar feeling with it. Had he seen this somewhere before?

The floor he lay on began to vibrate softly. It seemed to be in tune with something. His ears perked upright, and his sensitive hearing picked up the faint scraping of metal.

SCRAPE…

SCRAPE…

SCRAPE...

CREAK…

SCRAPE…

The memories suddenly hit him like an oncoming truck. He scrambled to his feet, his back hurting him as he did. Groaning out in pain, he fell to his knees. No, not now. He had to ignore it. Standing, he rammed his shoulder against the door closest to him. The hinges gave way with a loud bang. Large fans lined either side of the hall. He ran down it, turning the handle of the door at the end. It wouldn't open. Something was jammed. No, not now. He didn't have time for this! He took a few steps back and charged at it full speed. It flew open. And, suddenly, all the sounds stopped.

It's still hot.

But, for now, he was safe.

He sighed and held his lower back. It hurt so much. His breathing soon calmed. He relaxed, leaning his forehead against the wall. He placed his hands on it. Was the wall…moving? That's impossible. He's just still worked up from before. It's making his head spin. He pushed himself off of it and took a glance around.

The door he had came through locked shut on its own. Nothing to worry about. All doors here tend to do that. The ceiling was nothing but a large fan, spinning slowly. The floor was made of steel. Holes were in it, allowing him to see through. Lava thrashed wildly beneath him. Nothing interesting was in the room. A few toppled gasoline barrels sat in the corner. Beside them was a second door. He was curious, but he seemed to enjoy the seclusion more. No, he wouldn't move. He'd stay here. Besides…it's too hot to think.

He slid to the floor, leaning against the wall. Right now, he just wanted to relax. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his mind. Just a little time to relax. That would make everything better.

No.

No, it wouldn't.

He knows what he did.

He knows it was wrong.

Why did he do it?

Why did you do it, Sonic?

When you held them so dear to you?

The metal scraping returned. His relaxation time was over. He scrambled to his feet. This wouldn't happen. Not again. He tried the door, jiggling the handle when he found it was locked. This can't be happening. He rammed his shoulder against it. Nothing. He shoved the crowbar into the small opening beside the wall. He pushed his entire body weight onto it. Open. Open, damnit! He tried again. But, it was too late.

The sound of the opposite door swinging open startled him. He didn't turn around. He couldn't look at it. Open! The crowbar snapped in two. He fell flat on his face. The ache in his back kept him from standing. The scraping of metal brought pain to his ears. He was scared. It came closer to him. And, by now, he could feel its cold gaze on his fallen form.

Don't look at it, Sonic.

Don't look at what you've become.

He stood slowly, ignoring the pain in his back. It didn't matter to him right now. Nothing did. He faced the wall, carefully inching his way to the door. Ripping out the other end of the crowbar, he backed up. He could feel its breath on his neck. It was cold, icy to a certain point. He held out the bar, the sharpest end pointed toward him, and buried it into the devil's abdomen. It cried out in pain, tightly grabbing his shoulder. Instinctively, he spun around.

Green met red.

Crimson met emerald.

A cold, rusted blade was driven into his chest.

I told you, Sonic.

Don't look at it.

All references to the Silent Hill Series belong to Konami
Sonic and Friends belong to SEGA/Sonic Team
Tihocan and Machu belong to The Lotus Black