Mohawk & Headphone Jack

Protean platform hero with attitude (well, with sunglasses) rocks out in this novel but forgotten would-be Sonic-killer, collecting CDs (this is pre-Napster, remember) and avoiding segmented slinkies and nasty robot bugs in disorienting mode 7 mazes with no constant "down".

The boneless wonder (er, and his Walkman) pours himself into cracks, splatters against walls, curls into a defensive porcupine-koosh hybrid, always lands on his feet (by growing feet where his hands were!) and blasts apart into little jelly gibs as a special offensive attack. Gross.