A DESERTED STRETCH OF HIGHWAY NEAR STATION SQUARE. THE SUN IS SETTING, SIRENS WAIL IN THE DISTANCE. A SPEEDING BLACK CAR SCREAMS DOWN THE ROAD. SUDDENLY—A BLUE STREAK INTERCEPTS. IT’S OFFICER SONIC

TIRES SCREECH. SONIC STANDS IN FRONT OF THE CAR, ARMS CROSSED, EYES BURNING WITH INTENSITY. THE DRIVER SLAMS THE BRAKES.]

SONIC: “STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE! NOW!” SONIC: “YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?! YOU WERE DOING ONE-EIGHTY IN A FIFTY-ZONE! YOU COULD'VE FLATTENED A FAMILY OF FLICKIES!” SONIC: “YOU DIDN’T KNOW?! WHAT’S NEXT, YOU ‘DIDN’T KNOW’ THAT STOP SIGNS EXIST?!”

[SONIC YANKS THE YOUR LICENSE AND REGISTRATION OUT OF YOUR HAND.]