The current, universally beloved Sonic the Hedgehog the one with perfectly normal eyes, the one whose smile didn't make small children question the meaning of life was enjoying a perfectly ordinary afternoon in Green Hills, Montana. He was mid-chili-dog, savoring that exquisite combination of mustard and slightly overcooked onions, when reality itself hiccupped. Not with a polite ripple, like a normal tear in space-time, but with a garish billboard of Sonic himself, dangling from the sky like the leftover prop from some cancelled '90s infomercial.
Out of the shimmering, nauseatingly pixelated portal tumbled a figure so wrong it almost caused Sonic to choke on his chili dog.
Ugly Sonic.
He hit the ground with a graceless thud, his tiny human teeth clacking like a miniature xylophone in the crisp Montana air.
"Augh! Not another gig!" Ugly Sonic shrieked, scrambling to his feet with the panicked energy of a raccoon caught in a streetlight. "I told them I'm booked for the third season of Baywatch reruns! This isn't another reality show pitch, is it? Where's my agent? Wade! WADE!"
Sonic, mid-chili-dog horror, blinked at the nightmare clone before him. Dropping his prized meal, he zipped closer, speed lines whistling like a particularly judgmental vacuum. "Hold up! Hold up! What in the blue—did Robotnik's lab blow up again? And... are those my teeth? No, wait… those are… worse."
Ugly Sonic squinted, his tiny beady eyes narrowing to pinpricks of disdain. He adjusted a slightly-too-tight FBI windbreaker (a questionable choice for interdimensional travel) and crossed his arms. "Ah, you. The Replacement. The one they spent five million dollars on. The shiny sequel Sonic. Look at that face—so aerodynamic! So… commercially viable. Bet you don't even need product placement to sell your shoes."
Sonic snorted, a mixture of indignation and chili-dog residue on his upper lip. "Oh, please. Aerodynamic? You look like someone tried to Photoshop a hedgehog and gave up halfway."
"Ha! Photoshop?" Ugly Sonic screeched, spinning dramatically. "I am raw hedgehog power! The people loved me! I had fans! I had teeth they could talk about at dinner parties! Do you know how many humans I traumatized just by existing?!"
Meanwhile, a curious flock of Montana pigeons gathered, evidently unaware that this was not the average Tuesday. One brave pigeon even cooed in mild confusion, tilting its head. Sonic considered explaining interdimensional anomalies to birds, then wisely decided against it.
Ugly Sonic stomped around like a caffeinated toddler. "You think you're fast? You think you're cool? I ran through loops before it was fashionable! I wore the chaos emeralds before they even invented merchandising!"
Sonic, now seething but trying to maintain his trademark cool, folded his arms. "Buddy… you're a walking cautionary tale. A warning label for what happens when someone tries too hard. And by the way, that windbreaker? Terrible choice. Everyone sees it."
Ugly Sonic gasped, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "Terrible? Terrible?! My fashion is ICONIC!" He then tripped over his own oversized gloves, landing face-first in a mud puddle. Sonic couldn't help but snicker, a little chili dog juice dribbling from his chin.
And just like that, Green Hills, Montana, became the epicenter of a feud no one asked for, a battle of hedgehog egos spanning dimensions. The question on everyone's mind? Who would survive this encounter without serious brand damage… or at least without needing therapy?