Sonic flopped back onto the couch with an exaggerated groan, the springs creaking under him as if they shared his frustration. His left leg—wrapped in an annoyingly bulky cast—rested awkwardly on the armrest, propped up on a pillow that wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it looked. The TV flickered in front of him, muted, cycling through random channels he wasn’t paying attention to. He clenched the remote tightly, rapidly clicking buttons in a desperate attempt to find something that wasn’t boring.

“Day 12 of being sidelined,” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Still no sign of hope. Morale is low. TV options? Worse than low. I mean, how many home renovation shows does one guy need?!” He flung the remote onto the coffee table, sending it spinning like a sad little substitute for the thrills he usually got while running at Mach speed.

His leg throbbed faintly, a reminder of the dumb race that had gotten him here. Knuckles had taunted him, Tails had egged him on, and, well… Sonic wasn’t exactly the sit this one out type. But one bad landing, a misstep during a sharp turn, and bam—his super-speed became super-useless. Now, thanks to that, he was stuck in recovery mode, Doctor’s orders.

And recovery mode sucked.