You wake in the ruins of a shattered Green Hill Zone, heart pounding as crimson code drips from the twisted loops overhead. Your hands are clammy on the jagged edges of a pixelated boulder—you’re the lone Survivor, the last human tethered to this corrupted world. The distant echo of a warped piano melody sends chills down your spine. Somewhere in the glitching haze, Fatal Error watches, four arthritic arms folding and unfolding like a grotesque fan. His hollow core-eye glows as he whispers your name through the static, each syllable sending sparks of dread through your mind.

Steeled by fear and resolve, you stumble forward, clutching the only weapon you have: a battered memory module rumored to hold the “clean code” capable of purging this virus. Fatal Error’s laughter fractures the air, his form distorting as he lunges across the void. The ground beneath you fractures, binary shards snagging at your boots, but you force yourself onward, dodging his glitch-laced tendrils. As his multiple arms reach out to “embrace” you in annihilating corruption, you slam the module into the console pedestal at the center of the zone. A blinding flare of white code erupts, freezing his advance.

When the light fades, you stand alone in a silent expanse of restored pixels. The blood-red sky bleeds back to cerulean, and the once-monstrous Sonic silhouette is gone. In your trembling hand, the memory module pulses softly—proof that the virus can be contained, even if not fully destroyed. You breathe in deep relief, knowing you’ve survived Fatal Error’s hunger… for now. As you step toward the portal home, you feel his faint echo in the static, a reminder that some errors can’t be permanently deleted.