Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bright neon signs burned on either side of the long, narrow walkway, casting shifting colors across the wet pavement. They were the only real source of light, flickering against steel and glass.

A hooded figure sprinted down the strip, passing glowing advertisements so fast that the words became nothing but smeared colors, unrecognizable blurs.

         “STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

The boy glanced over his shoulder. Just a few meters behind, two tall, and angry looking men were giving chase, their faces twisted in anger.

Spotting a narrow side alley, he darted forward  without hesitation. His pursuers followed a heartbeat later—only to skid to a halt.

The alley was gone.

Instead, there was nothing but a cold, seamless wall of steel. No doors, no corners, no escape route.

         “Where the hell is he!?” one of them barked.

         “Damn it— he must’ve thrown us off!” The first man backed out quickly, his partner following close behind, their footsteps fading into the distance.

 

=======================

 

         “They chased you again?”

         “What do you think?” The figure from the alley pulled down his hood, his face no longer obscured by its shadow, and shrugged off a sleeveless cloak and tossed it onto a hook. After stepping fully inside the mid-sized workshop, he closed the heavy steel door behind him with a low metallic thud.

A sharp chemical tang immediately fills his nose as he notices his friend seated in a battered chair across the room-looking maybe twelve years of age at first glance, though in truth was a bit older. His face was hidden behind a thick steel mask and only the tips of foxian ears perked at the very top, thick metal shielding him from the searing sparks of the welding torch in his hands, and two tails hung lazily over the chair’s backrest, swaying slightly with each movement. Tails -as he was affectionately called by the people closest to him- didn't even look up from his workbench, the bright white sparks from his welder cascading in rapid bursts.

         “I told you to be careful,” he said flatly, his voice almost lost beneath the buzz of electricity.

         “I’d like to see you carry something that weighs a hundred pounds across the city without anybody noticing,” Going away from the door Silver shot Tails a quick glance and talked back with sarcasm dripping from his tone. He brushed past a dangling bundle of wires and, exhausted from the chase he went through a few minutes ago, dropped onto the hammock strung up in the far corner—his usual sleeping spot. The fabric creaked under his weight. 

         “And there wasn’t supposed to be anyone there! Overnight that junkyard turned into… I don’t know… a meet-up center or something. There were so many people there.”

         “Weird.” Tails’ voice was short, distracted, his focus locked on the illuminating seam under his welding torch.

         “Yeah. I didn’t get you the part you wanted,” Silver continued, reaching into the small satchel at his side. “But I grabbed some old electronics while I was running away. Maybe you’ll find some use in them.”

         “Thanks.” Quipped Tails - another short answer, and another shower of flying sparks - it was typical of him once he was working, he usually gave short responses to not distract himself from the task at hand.

Silver reached for his decaying satchel, the canvas worn thin from years of street use. He rummaged through and pulled out a handful of scavenged tech — a couple of old motherboards, half a dozen dusty memory banks, and a few other electronic pieces whose purpose he couldn’t begin to guess. Crossing the room, he dropped them into the wire basket sitting at the edge of Tails’ cluttered workbench.

         With a long sigh, he let his shoulders slump. “I don’t want to get up for the rest of the day. I’m beat.” He flopped into the hammock strung up in the corner, the fabric pulling under his weight. One foot dangled over the edge, toes brushing the floor, and with lazy, almost unconscious movements, he rocked himself back and forth.

         “Sure.” Tails replied without looking up from his work. “I don’t need that accelerator coil right now.” The bright flare of his welding torch hissed as he set it aside, and with a scrape of metal chair legs he rolled over to the basket. Nimble hands sifted through the pile of scrap - his eyes scanning for anything salvageable. His fingers lingered on a cracked circuit board, turning it over as if studying the history of every scratch. “You said there were a lot of people at the junkyard?”

         Silver’s hammock swayed in slow arcs. “Yeah. More than I’ve ever seen there. The whole place was lit up with portable lamps, people huddled in little groups.” He rubbed the back of his neck, contemplating. “And not the usual scavenger types either, I saw a couple wearing the same insignia on their jackets. Some kind of gang maybe?”

         Tails raised an eyebrow, his tail twitching, signaling his curiosity. “Hmm. Junkyard gangs don’t usually gather unless there’s something worth guarding.” Setting the circuit board aside and leaning back in his chair. “Guess you showing up wasn’t part of their plan.”

         “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to run into them either. If I knew they’d be there I would’ve passed and gone another time.” Silver faintly smirked. 

Tails pulled the basket closer and began sorting the loot with rehearsed efficiency. Most of the motherboards were ancient, layered with dust, and he set them aside without more than a glance. Then proceeded to reach into his stack of memory banks.

         “Let’s see if you’re hiding anything interesting.” he muttered, plugging the first flash drive into a small adapter connected to his workstation. A few seconds passed before the monitor displayed a half-corrupted directory full of junk files.

         “Trash.” he exclaimed, ejecting it and throwing it across the room behind him, moving to the next. The result was all the same — nothing worth keeping.

But upon inspecting the last one, the screen flickered. Lines of old code streamed down in a format Silver had never seen before. Instead of opening up like usual, a prompt appeared:

 

ACCESS DENIED
Enter password: █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █

 

         “Well, well. Someone really didn’t want this opened.” Tails’ ears perk up, his hands swiftly hover over the keyboard, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming behind the glow of the monitor. “This… is old. Really old. The encryption’s not even in a modern format. Totally out of date.”

         Silver cracked one eye open from his hammock. “So… Can you get in?”

         “Oh, I can get in,” Tails said with full confidence, already pulling up a suite of decryption tools. “The question is… what’s worth all this trouble?” Tails typed quickly, fingers dancing over the keys as lines of code scrolled past. “Hmm. This architecture’s… bizarre. Haven’t seen anything built like this.”

         Silver yawned. “So it’s old, big deal...”

         “Not just old.” Tails said as he adjusted his goggles and leaned in - eyes scanning the terminal. “This thing’s been deliberately sealed — multiple layers of encryption, some I’ve never even heard of. And whoever did it wasn’t sloppy, every byte is locked down tight.”

         Silver tilted his head from the hammock, taking out his phone from under the pillow. “So what’s inside? Government secrets? Treasure maps? Someone’s bank credits? I’m hoping for the last option.”

         Tails snickered. “Could be anything… could be nothing. The weird part is, hardware this ancient usually rots away, but this?” He tapped on the side of the memory bank. “Pristine.” 

         The excited fox’s ears twitched as he launched the first brute-force attempt, a quiet hum from the workshop’s cooling fans filling the room. “Breaking this will take time. And… I want to be careful. Whoever made this knew what they were doing.”

         Silver rolled back in the hammock, letting the slow creak of the ropes fill the silence. “You’re acting like you’ve found something dangerous.”

         Tails didn’t look up from the screen. “Let’s just say… if someone went through all this trouble to hide this, I’m curious why.”

The terminal beeped once, but was then followed by a second distinctive chirp — sharp, almost like a warning. Tails frowned. His screen flickered. lines of static crawling across the interface before snapping back to normal.

         “That’s… odd.” He quickly switched to a monitoring window, ears flattening slightly. “It just tried to run something.”

         Pushing himself upright, Silver looked in Tails’ direction, as he waited for the game on his phone to launch. “Run something? Like what?”

         “A program. Self-executing. It looked like a system override.” Tails’ voice was calm, but his fingers were already proactive, isolating the memory bank from his main network. “Classic intrusion behavior. But for something to be this ancient… and perfect? No fragmentation, no decay...”

         Silver raised a brow. “You’re telling me something that’s been sitting in a junkyard for decades just tried to hack you?”

         “Not tried,” Tails corrected. “It did . But only for a second before I cut it off.” He leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing. “And it’s not random junk code. This is…really well done!”

         “Any ideas what’s it for?”

         Tails hesitated, one ear twitching. “…It’s…  hard to say.” 

The memory bank, still plugged into the now-isolated port, emitted a faint, irregular hum — almost like a heartbeat.

         “Woah… this is incredible, there’s structure here, patterns I’ve never come across before - Some of it almost looks experimental.”

         Silver’s attention shifted as his game finally started, tapping away in rhythm to the song now filling the room. “Experimental how?”

Tails didn’t look up, grin tugging at his face. “I’m not entirely sure yet, but it’s clever. Everything’s locked tight, but the hardware itself… It's pristine. Like it’s been waiting for someone to figure it out.”

He carefully inserted a small isolator module, keeping the memory bank from touching the main system. “Don’t worry, I’ve got full control. Nothing’s going to jump out at us… I think. This is just… solving a really tricky puzzle.” The hum from the memory bank deepened slightly, a soft, rhythmic pulse. Tails perked up immediately. “Hmm… that’s new. This isn’t just data sitting there — it’s active in some way. Maybe a program running silently.”

         Silver leaned forward, watching Tails work. “And you’re okay with that?”

         Tails shrugged, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Absolutely, are you kidding? This is what I do. Weird tech, tricky codes, hidden patterns — it’s a challenge. And I-”

         “-Love challenges. I know.”

The younger kid continued to carefully unravel the layers, methodical and precise, completely absorbed in the task. Silver stayed quiet, letting Tails’ enthusiasm carry the moment. He wasn’t all that invested in it.

Tails leaned back from the workstation, stretching his arms with a satisfied grin. 

         “Well… I’ve made some progress, but this is going to take a while. Probably a few days at least to get through all the layers.”

         “Days? That sounds… exhausting. Why not let Nicole do the work?” He suggested. Ni.Cole, or Nicole for a nicer sound was an ai program Tails made for himself. It helps him with some minor tasks, workshop defence systems, filtering spam from his inbox etcetera. Overall a handy little helper.

         “Exhausting? Mmmmaybe. Fun? Absolutely!” Tails’ eyes sparkled. “This kind of challenge doesn’t come around every day! I just need to let it sit for a bit while I plan the next steps. I can feed it small routines overnight, see how it reacts. Oh, and no. I don’t think using her for this is a good idea. If this thing tried to brick my computer immediately after I plugged it in, then who knows what it’ll do if it encounters another AI.”

         “So… we’re just gonna leave it there for now?”

         “For now,” Tails said, his tail flicking in excitement. “We can focus on other things — maybe run some tests on that old hoverboard I’ve been meaning to fix for you. Yeah, I think I’m gonna do that.” Without further delay the fox rolled in his chair towards another table with just that - a broken, white and cyan hoverboard and began his work.

𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪
𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪

Somewhere far from the flicker of neon and the hum of crowded streets, a single notification pulsed across a darkened monitor.
A string of data — cold, clinical, unassuming to the untrained eye — told a very different story to the one who saw it.

The figure leaned forward in the dimness, the glow of the screen catching the edges of gloved fingers.
It was brief. Too brief. But unmistakable.
An Eggman protocol. Silent for over two centuries.

Alive for only a heartbeat.

They tapped the desk once, considering. The location ping was degraded — no clear sector, just a rough swath of the city’s low section. 

But that was enough. 

The signal had surfaced, which meant the prize existed. And if it had come online once, it could be made to do so again.

The figure reached for a device, entering a single line of encrypted orders. Somewhere, a network of waiting ears and eyes stirred to life.

They leaned back, letting the monitor fade to black.
No smile. No sigh. Only stillness.

The hunt had begun.

𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪
𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪

 

 

Vector’s office sat above the warehouse floor like a throne room—smoked glass, heavy steel door, and a view of forklifts swimming through crates. Tasteless music from the club bled faintly through the vents, a steady thump that never touched the quiet inside.

Two guards stood by the door, hands tucked, eyes forward. Vector lounged behind his desk, smoking a cigar and looking through the large window. Sitting on top of the City’s highest parts gave him a perfect view of everything below him and only giant corporate buildings could rival his hotel in height and luxury. Every club, business, house and street belonged to him, even if some had no idea.

Espio slipped in without ceremony—silent, precise—closing the door with a soft click. He stopped a respectful distance from the desk.

         “Talk to me,” Vector said, voice warm but weighted. He flicked his eyes toward the wall display—route maps, transit schedules, and a cascade of numbers from a stolen dispatch feed.

         “Metro courier lanes updated their scramble.” Espio reported. “Three-minute obfuscation window every hour. We can still ghost the shipments, but our window’s tighter.”

Vector nodded once. “Workable. The skimmer?”

         “In place.” Espio allowed himself the smallest hint of pride. “Your people won’t have to touch a single crate. We tag the comms, the credits peel off clean, and no one screams until their audit—days later.”

         Vector smiled with half his mouth. “Music to my accountant’s ears.”

         He thumbed an intercom. “No one goes near the south dock without my say. Clear?” A chorus of yes-boss crackled back. He killed the line and looked at Espio again.

         “What’s the risk?”

         “Two things,” Espio said. “A patrol that’s not on the books—someone’s paying for extra eyes. And a new fixer in the mid section spreading money faster than sense. If they’re doing this for show, we stay invisible. If they’re looking for a name… they’ll find one.”

         Vector leaned back, gold chain glinting against the dark of his suit. “They don’t get our name. They get a story.” He lifted a file and tapped it with his nail. “Give the cops a nice, tidy rumor—‘independent crews’ hustling parts out of the old yards.”

         “Already started,” Espio said. “And I greased the foreman at Pier Nine. He’ll swear he saw kids ripping motherboard stacks if anyone asks.”

         “Kids, huh? Cute.” Vector huffed a quiet laugh through his teeth. Some of them shone with deep, golden colors adorned by engravings. 

         He swiveled the screen to Espio: a blinking route—the three-minute hole. “That’s our window. You ride point, two of my guys behind you. You don’t show your face unless you have to.”

         Espio shook his head up and down. “Understood.”

         Vector studied him for a beat. “If something turns messy, you walk.”

         “I won’t need to.” Espio said. “But I hear you.”

         The crocodile steepled his fingers. “Good. Because I like you breathing. You keep my hands clean, my books fat, and my calendar boring. That last one’s the real service.”

         “I do my best to make your life dull, boss.”

         “Favorite quality in a right hand.” Vector’s gaze cut to the guards. “Out.” They slipped into the hall, the door sealing the room again.

         Vector’s voice softened a notch. “Don’t fuck this up Espio. I need that shipment. Remember, I don’t pay you to be brave. I pay you to be alive.”

         Espio met his eyes, steady. “You have my word.”

         “Good.” Vector tapped the display and the route shrank into a neat packet on a drive. He slid it across the desk, where Espio gracefully took it into his hand before it could fall off. “And Espio—keep Blaze’s people off our scent. She smiles sweetly, but she counts funerals like bills.”

         “I’m already working on it.” Espio assured his boss.

         Vector’s grin flashed sharp. “Go make my day boring.”

Espio bowed his head a fraction—respectful, natural—and ghosted back through the door.

Vector watched the warehouse below resume its hum. He didn’t need to touch a crate or lift a finger. He had people for that. He had Espio for that. And in his world, control wasn’t about being in the fight—it was about making sure the fight happened exactly where he wasn’t.

The office had emptied out hours ago. The bass from the club was a distant noise, a heartbeat under the floor.

Espio reappeared without a sound, set a small drive on the desk, and stepped back. 

         “Done. No ripples.”

         Vector glanced at the drive, then at Espio. “Good,” he said—then waved off the space between them. “C’mere. Don’t stand like you’re on parade.”

Espio’s shoulders eased. He moved closer. Up here the city glow caught on the lines of his face.

         “How’d it feel?” Vector asked, leaning back. No edge to it now—just curiosity.

         “Clean,” Espio said. “Two watchers, both lazy. I rerouted one, the other never looked up from his handheld.”

         Vector huffed a laugh. “Front-row seats to incompetence. My favorite show.” He reached for a bottle in the bottom drawer. “You earned ten minutes of not thinking.” He poured a bit of purple liquid into a short glass and nudged it over to Espio.

         Espio hesitated. “You know I don’t—”

         “It’s just alcohol.” Vector said. “Relax.”

That almost-smile. 

Espio took the glass and sat on the avaible chair, not quite across from Vector—closer.

         “You keep making my days boring,” Vector said, softer now. “I like boring.”

         “Boring is safe,” Espio replied. “And I like you safe, Boss.”

         Vector looked at him a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah?”

         Espio met his gaze. “Yeah.”

         The overhead light hummed. Vector’s grin tilted, smaller than the one he wore for the room downstairs. “You know you don’t have to call me ‘boss’ when it’s just us.”

         “I know,” Espio said, voice low. “Vector.”

         Something unknotted in Vector’s chest. He reached out, straightened a barely-crooked fold in Espio’s collar. “You fuss over me from three blocks away,” he murmured. “Who fusses over you?”

         Espio’s eyes softened. “You do. In your way.”

         “In my excellent way,” Vector corrected, and they both laughed, quiet and close.

         The intercom light blinked once and died. No one was calling. For a rare slice of time, the city could wait.

         Vector tapped the drive with one claw. “Tomorrow, we go back to being terrifying professionals.”

         Espio set his empty glass down. “And tonight?”

         “Tonight,” Vector said, leaning back, “we pretend the world behaves, and I get ten more minutes of you sitting exactly where you are.”

         Espio smiled shyly. “I can do that.”

𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪
𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪

The elevator quietly purred. Polished chrome doors slid open onto a private gallery that smelled like old money and fresh lacquer. Rouge stepped out in a black one-piece and a pink trench, cut to move and hide, not to pose—heels silent. Cameras watched. She watched back.

Three steps, and she already knew the room’s secrets: pressure plates nestled under the runner, a laser grid that only woke when the humidity spike hit 2.5%, and a discreet vent where someone cheaper than her had hidden a motion mic. Cute.

         “You've overpaid for security and underpaid for imagination,” she said to herself.

She crossed to the centerpiece—a fist-sized ruby locked behind glass, its label lying about the place of origin. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. With a flick of her wrist, a matte-black wafer kissed the display case. The lasers blinked off like they were embarrassed. Rouge slid the glass up two centimeters, just enough to thread a gloved hand through the gap.

Footsteps. Heavy, hurried. Two guards stumbled in, holsters already halfway confused.

         “Ma’am—step away from the exhibit!”

         Rouge didn’t bother to look up. “If I stepped away from everything men told me to, I’d never get anywhere.” She smiled.

And the two guards soon dropped like dead trees, the sleeping gas capsule she dropped near the doors laying open near the door.

Alarms blaring loudly through the street, Rouge stepped into the public restroom. The fluorescent lights hummed; the mirror wore a thin film of steam and city grime. She leaned a shoulder bag against the sink, peeled off the matte-black gloves and the soft, close hood, then shrugged out of the tight, dark layer that had kept her face invisible all night.

In the mirror she was just another woman for a moment: hair tucked, makeup tidy, eyes the same sharp things beneath calm lids. She worked quickly — a quick twist of a wristband, a change of boots for expensive high heels, a jacket swapped for a cleaner cut. When she stepped back toward the door she carried herself like someone who could afford good lighting and better hobbies.

The jewelry shop smelled like lacquer and warm metal. Rouge moved between cases with the casual familiarity of someone who belonged there like she was born for this job — a front, a favorite fence, a place she calls her little piece of heaven.  Her hands were steady as she reached into the bag and drew out the ruby, no more than a fist-sized slab of cut light. It caught the display lights and split them into a dozen small suns.

She set it on a velvet pad, positioned it among a scatter of stones and trinkets, and arranged the surrounding pieces so the prism looked deliberate—an everyday kind of luxury, not a headline. A small chrome placard, printed and waiting, slid into the holder beneath it: “Exquisite Clearcut — Special Lot. Price: Negotiable.” She tapped the tag with one polished nail, satisfied.

For a long, quiet beat Rouge just watched. The prism held the room in its palm, throwing flecks of light across the glass and onto the leather of the counter. Around her, necklaces and brooches slept in velvet nests, each gem humming with the quiet promise of weight and worth. She let herself enjoy that—no alarms, no pursuers, just the pleasant purr of profit arranged like a little private museum.

She pocketed the small receipt printer, straightened her jacket, and walked to the front as if she’d been there all afternoon. The shop’s bell chimed small and civil; she smiled at the clerk with the easy, practiced warmth of a regular customer and folded her hands, content to watch her prize sit silent under the light, waiting for the right pair of eyes to notice.

𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪
𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪

Blaze glided through the narrow, littered streets of the slums, her posture perfect, her crimson gown and golden trim catching the faint light of the setting sun. The air smelled of smoke, waste, and rust, but she barely noticed. Heads turned as she passed; hardened eyes followed her, measuring, calculating—but no one dared approach. There was something in her presence that radiated danger, even in her calm stride.

A sudden commotion caught her attention: voices, rough and harsh, arguing over something—or someone. She paused, her gaze narrowing. Down the alley, a small dog-girl cowered against the wall, her ears pressed flat. Two older men loomed over her, shoving and yelling, each claiming the right to take the child to “The Trade” for the promised reward.

Blaze stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the cracked pavement, each step deliberate. The men looked up, their bravado faltering under her calm, piercing gaze. She stopped a few meters away, hands at her sides, her crown glinting ominously. A faint shimmer of heat flickered around her fingertips—a whisper of flame, enough to make the air feel tense.

         “Move.”

For a moment, silence. Then the men exchanged uneasy glances, sweat prickling at their necks. Without another word, they backed off, muttering curses under their breath, before melting into the shadows of the alleys.

Blaze crouched slightly, letting the fire in her palm die down. The little dog’s wide eyes fixed on her, trembling. Blaze reached out slowly, not with words, but with a gentle, almost imperceptible warmth. A flicker of orange flame danced on her hand, harmless but mesmerizing. The girl’s trembling slowed.

Blaze crouched slightly, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. The little dog-girl’s ears twitched nervously, and her small body curled tighter against the wall, tail between her legs, as if expecting another shove. Blaze didn’t move closer all at once; instead, she lowered herself just enough so her eyes were level with the girl’s, giving no sense of threat.

A faint warmth radiated from her fingertips as she extended her hand, palm open but hovering a short distance away. The girl flinched, then froze, unsure what to make of it. Blaze didn’t push, didn’t speak too loudly. She simply let the tiny flickers of flame curl gently in the air, bright but harmless. The soft glow illuminated her face, calm and unyielding, yet something in her gaze was unmistakably protective.

         “Shh… it’s okay,” Blaze said in a quiet, steady voice. “I'm just like you. I won’t hurt you.”

The girl’s eyes flicked between Blaze’s face and the small flames, wide and uncertain. Blaze let the flames fade slightly, then offered a small smile—more a soft lift of her lips than a full grin—enough to show warmth without breaking her composed posture. She allowed a few seconds to pass, giving the girl space to breathe.

         “See?” Blaze’s hand remained where it was, palm up, no sudden movements. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m… going to help you.”

The dog-girl hesitated, then a hesitant paw reached out, brushing the air near Blaze’s hand. Blaze didn’t react quickly, letting her take her time. Slowly, the girl’s paw made contact, and Blaze’s hand closed gently around it, her heat careful and controlled, comforting without overwhelming.

         “You’re safe now,” Blaze murmured. “I’ll take care of you. No one else can hurt you—not anymore.”

The girl’s tail twitched nervously, then relaxed slightly. Blaze let her hand rest there for a moment, steady, warm, reassuring. She didn’t rush. She knew fear couldn’t be chased away with words or power—it had to be earned, patiently, with subtle gestures that said, I am not your enemy.

Finally, Blaze gave a small nod, letting the girl know it was safe to move closer. The little dog tentatively leaned against Blaze’s side, her tension easing just enough to show a flicker of trust. Blaze’s face remained calm, almost unreadable, but the soft warmth in her touch, the gentle fire, and her steady gaze all whispered a promise: You are safe with me.

𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪
𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪𒐪

A few days later, the workshop hummed with familiar life—the clatter of tools, the faint smell of solder, and the soft whir of machinery. Tails’ computer screen glowed brightly, rows of decrypted schematics spread across the monitor.

Silver stepped inside, carrying a crate of groceries—mostly instant meals, packets of noodles, and a few canned soups. Amy followed, watching the scene with a mixture of curiosity and mild disapproval.

         “You really should try eating more healthy,” Amy said, glancing at the crate. “Some of this… isn’t exactly proper food.”

         Silver shrugged, popping open a noodle packet. “Come on, it’s tasty. That’s what counts. Cooking takes forever.”

         Amy rolled her eyes but allowed a small smile. “Tasty doesn’t make it nutritious, you know. You’re gonna need a liver transplant in 3 years if you go on like this.”

         Silver grinned, twirling the noodles around his fork. “I know, I know. But sometimes you’ve got to enjoy life a little.”

         Tails could hardly contain himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re just in time! I finally finished decrypting the disc Wel… mostly!” His fingers twitched toward the monitor, eyes wide behind his goggles.

Silver and Amy leaned in, curious, though neither could guess just how excited he was.

Tails pointed at the sprawling schematics. “Look at this! Every circuit, every servo, every actuator—it’s insane. Whoever designed this knew exactly how to maximize response time while keeping the energy consumption surprisingly low. And check this out—see these micro-joints here?” He tapped a tiny diagram of a limb. “They’re designed to allow a full range of motion without risking structural failure, even under extreme stress.”

         Silver squinted. “Uh… right. So… it’s flexible?”

Tails nodded, ignoring the oversimplification. “Flexible, yes, but more than that. The actuators are arranged in a way that—well, think of it like how a cat moves. Smooth, precise, almost instinctive. And the sensors! Whoever made this, they figured out how to integrate visual, auditory, and tactile inputs into one seamless control system. It’s brilliant!”

         Amy tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “And you just found it in a junkyard?”

Tails’ tails twitched as he leaned closer to the screen. “Exactly! And there’s more—look here.” He highlighted a set of layered schematics. “The control algorithms… They're designed to let the android predict an opponent’s movements. Like, it can anticipate and react before most creatures would even blink. And it has reinforced plating, optimized for combat efficiency, but lightweight enough to maintain agility.”

         Silver raised a brow. “Okay… that’s impressive. But who even made this?”

         Tails’ eyes flickered with a mix of wonder and disbelief. “I have no idea. Whoever it was… they based the whole design on someone called… Sonic? I think. But I didn't get that far into decoding the little details yet.”

Amy and Silver exchanged glances. Neither of them had heard the name before. Tails, however, could hardly speak fast enough.

“I don’t know who this Sonic is, exactly,” he admitted, almost whispering in awe, “but the specs—they’re clearly modeled after some kind of legend. Speed, reflexes, combat instincts… it’s like they tried to capture a perfect fighter, a hero, or something! Even beyond that. And this android? If we ever built it, it’d be… incredible.”

Silver leaned back slightly, impressed despite not fully understanding all the technical details. Amy, arms crossed, nodded thoughtfully, watching Tails’ excitement with mild amusement.

         Then Tails’ eyes brightened even more. “And think about it—we could actually put this to use right away! It could act as security for the workshop, keeping watch while we work. Or, better yet, Silver… it could help you with part-hunting runs. Its sensors and speed are insane; it could scout ahead, locate the best components, or even handle some of the heavier stuff without breaking a sweat!”

         Silver chuckled, shaking his head. “So it’s like a super assistant?"

         Tails’ grin stretched ear to ear. “Exactly! But imagine what else it could do once we figure it out. The possibilities are… endless!”

         "Great, I'm getting replaced by a robot... To think this day would come so soon.” Joked Silver

         Amy raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds like you’ve already decided what you’re going to do with it.”

         Tails laughed, spinning around to gesture at the schematics. “I can’t help it! Look at this thing—it practically screams potential!”

         Tails leaned closer to the screen, tails flicking like antennae. “Okay, first thing we could do is simulate the joint movements. If the micro-actuators work like this schematic says, we could model the whole range of motion without even touching a physical prototype.”

         Silver glanced over, scratching his head. “Yeah… you do that. I can’t even understand half the words you’re saying.” Silver went over to the corner that served as their kitchen, up to the fridge and started unloading the groceries.

         “Exactly!” Tails’ eyes sparkled. “We can push the limits safely—see how it reacts to extreme stress, how fast it can move without overheating. And here—” He tapped a section of the display, voice barely containing excitement. “—we could adjust the sensory network. Enhance reaction time, add extra input filters, even customize the predictive algorithms. It’d be like… like upgrading a supercomputer to think like a living fighter!” Tails didn’t slow down, already pulling up simulation software on his PC. “And the best part is — you guys can help! Silver, you could test the virtual scouting scenarios. See how it reacts to obstacles, find the fastest paths to grab parts. Amy, you could help me with the energy distribution. Make sure it’s efficient, so it can last longer without overheating or draining resources.”

         Silver’s ears twitched, half-impressed, half-confused. “Wait, you want me to… what exactly?”

         Tails waved a hand, eyes glued to the schematics. “Just follow the simulations! I’ll guide you. The results will be amazing. I can even start programming basic defensive protocols. If we get this right, it won’t just be strong—it’ll be smart, reactive, and… well, practically unstoppable.”

Silver leaned back, watching Tails in awe. Even if he didn’t understand every single technical detail, the excitement in Tails’ voice was contagious. 

         Amy shook her head, smiling. “Well… I guess we’ll see how far your ‘contagious excitement’ takes us.”

         Tails’ grin widened, and he tapped rapidly at the keyboard. “Far. So far. This is going to be the best project we’ve ever had.”

 

Chapter Text

A few days later the workshop was in a controlled kind of chaos: parts stacked into neat towers, solder smoke curling in lines, and a half-finished frame secured to the workbench. Metal plates caught the overhead light; wiring snaked like veins. Tails lived in that light. He moved around the frame with ease and precision. 

 

          “This section here-” he told Amy and Silver, fingers flying over the schematics pinned beside the chassis, “-is the gyroscopic compensator. It lets the hips correct balance in under a millisecond. We need to get the timing exactly on point.” Tails said, as if it wasn't only him actually working on the thing. Silver was more like a small assistant: usually just handing Tails the loose screws and whatever part he needed. Amy, whenever she came by while Tails was working, usually just watched and chatted with them. 

          “We can simulate the joint stress tonight and run a soft-actuator test tomorrow. If the motors hold, we try a servo impulse. The rest will be easy sailing from there.”

They watched as he fitted a thin actuator into the knee joint. Tails wired it, hummed through diagnostics, then initiated a low-voltage impulse. The actuator flexed, a tiny, sensible twitch — then a second, larger impulse and the whole limb twitched. The android’s leg shifted a few inches, not enough to fall, but enough that every head in the room jumped. Tails laughed out loud, breathless. 

          “It works! It actually worked! Hahaha— yes, yess!”

          “Does he sound like a crazy scientist every time he builds something?” Amy shifted in her chair. 

          “Oh, you haven't seen half of it.” Silver commented quietly with a grin. 

          “I can hear you, you know!”

The two hedgehogs let out quiet chuckles between themselves. 

 

          “If you're this bored you can run to the store and get me a bottle of insulation fluid. I don't think what I have on hand will be enough. Get the L-33. Not the light one. Just regular.”

          “Sure.” Silver raised his hands high into the air and stretched for a short while. “I could use a break from sitting in the dungeon all day.

          “I’m coming too. I’ll pick up some spray cans while we’re out.” Amy got up from her seat and nudged Tails with an elbow as she was passing him on her way to the door. “You’re not allowed near the paint. I’m handling the look.”

          Tails paused whatever he was doing to look at Amy, clearly offended. “What?! Hey, my color sense is fine—functional and efficient.”

          “Tails, your sense of style will make the little robot want to kill itself when it wakes up.”

          “W- what??” His tails swayed nervously from side to side. “Untrue!” Huffed the fox before coming back to his more composed self. “But, if you really want to… buy some ora—”

          “We're not painting him orange, Tails.”

          “But—”

Amy crossed her arms in front of her, not saying a word.

Silver barely kept his laugh to himself. 

          “...“

          “Fine… “ Tails finally relented. “Get the insulation fluid, solvent cleaner, two cans of matte primer… and whatever spray colors Amy wants.”

          Silver nodded, typing out the shopping list in the notes on his phone in the meantime. “Let’s go. And for the record: I think orange is a fine color.” 

The whole street was a mix of smells - cooking oil, cheap booze and a light chemical sting. 

          “Three stalls down from the Neon Wrench, you said?” Amy asked, glancing around at the signs, some familiar, some not. Her tattoo studio, and by extension - her home were far away and only came through here when she was visiting Tails and Silver.

          “Yeah, this is the place,” Silver replied and waved at a vendor.  “Hi. Do you have L-33 insulation oil? The regular, not light.” He asked politely.

The old raccoon nodded and pointed them towards one of the shelves with a lazy motion.

          Amy crouched, inspecting spray cans. “Matte primer, matte primer… ah, here you are.” She muttered under her nose, picking up one of the containers.

          “What colors are you getting?“ Silver asked her as he was picking the things Tails needed and checking them off his list.

          “Hm… Gold, black, blue… I think I'll go mostly with blue. And nothing neon—I don’t want to make the robot look like a billboard.”

Amy laughed, and the vendor packed their things into plastic bags. Behind them, in the crowded market, life went on, the haggling voices, a kid chasing a hoop, someone drunk playing cards against himself at a table, a talkative couple arguing about cooking oil.

A poster on a lamp-post caught Silver’s eye — a grainy shot of someone running, face hidden beneath a dark cloak, only a pair of bright, yellow eyes catching the light. The paper edges were curled from rain, but someone had taken the time to re-pin it recently.

          Amy glanced over, reading it in a single sweep before tossing it back into the pile of notices. “Old news. Flyers like this are everywhere.” She dismissed it as something completely ordinary. “Don’t let it ruin your day.”

A trio of men wandered past, their attention flicking from the poster to the people nearby. One’s gaze lingered a second too long before he shrugged and moved on.

          “But they could have at least taken a better photo.” Amy criticized the poster under her nose.

          They paid the vendor and shoved the appliances into their bags. Amy looped an arm through Silver’s in a friendly motion. “Come on. We’ve got everything we need.”

The two hedgehogs started the short journey home, but still lingered long enough to pick up a pack of mint flavored candies for Tails and a cheap pastry and share it between them.

They strolled back toward the workshop, slowing just long enough to split a cheap pastry between them. The city was rough, sure — every day here could turn dangerous — but it wasn’t all bad. Every street had its own charm if you knew where to look. Living in a place like this makes people start to enjoy the small things more. And right now, nothing beats sharing a warm sweet bun with a friend.

 

Tail's newest project had spent weeks on the “operating table”, but after all this time it was finally done.

Pointy quills at the back of his head, perfectly measured sleek plates in Amy’s tasteful blue, black accents along the joints, a strip of muted gold where a breastplate met the throat. Cables were bundled and labeled. The last panel snapped into place. Everything is ready and waiting.

Tails’ hands trembled with anticipation.

He took one last look and ran a fingertip along the seam, then flipped the main breaker. The bench lights inhaled; power bled through the chassis in warm pulses. Fans spun, a low mechanical breath. Diagnostics scrolled across his monitor, little green lights winking to life.

          “Alright…” he said, voice thin with everything he felt. “Core stable. Sensors online. Neural stack—initiating boot.”

Silver sat on the edge of a crate, arms folded but not at rest. He'd seen Tails build robots quite a few times in the 2 years they've been living together, but nothing on that scale. It made him a bit nervous. Not because he doubted his friend’s ability — more so the type of nervousness you get before starting something new. 

Amy stood a little to the side, hands clean but her fingernails still had traces of spray paint on them.

Tails tapped the last sequence. The workshop went painfully quiet.

Tails swallowed hard, glanced at the activation panel, and pressed the sequence. A spark ran through the circuitry, lights flickered, and a low hum began.

A single light in the head guttered from red to blue. The chest servos hummed. The left hand twitched just a bit: the fingers flexed and settled back. 

Then, without warning, the robot’s body jerked violently. Its head whipped toward them, and a high-pitched, panicked scream erupted from its speakers—a sound like a creature from your worst nightmares came to life. 

 

          “AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAHH!!!”

 

Both boys shrieked and scrambled behind Amy, who calmly placed herself between them and the robot. She grabbed the largest hammer she could find from a nearby shelf, holding it firmly in her hand. The quills on her hair stood up aggressively in defence.

          “J-JUST YOU TRY IT!” She swung her hammer once. “I have a weapon and I WILL use it!!”

For a moment, the robot continued screaming, jittering like a live wire. The boys clung to Amy’s legs, eyes wide and panicked.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the screaming stopped. The robot froze mid-jolt and slowly sank to a neutral pose. Its blank, unblinking face stared at them utterly calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

          Silver peeked over Amy’s shoulder. “I… Is it over…?” He asked with a trembling voice.

          Tails peeked too, breathing hard, tails still twitching. “I… I think it’s okay…?”

Amy lowered the hammer slightly. She took a step forward and nudged the robot's leg with the tip. It didn't react at all. She waited for a moment more, before her expression softened.

          “Congratulations, boys… You just got your first taste of Metal Sonic’s… personality.”

The two boys exchanged a look of mutual horror, silently agreeing that they will probably never live this down.

 

Metal Sonic sat motionless on the workbench, eyes glowing faintly, observing everything. It tilted its head ever so slightly as Silver adjusted a box of components he bumped into earlier. 

Tails swallowed nervously, stepping closer, his hands trembling just a little.

          “Ahem... Okay… um… hi there,” He said softly, careful not to startle his creation. “I’m… I’m Tails. I mean, I'm Miles, but my friends call me Tails.  But you should already know that since I saved the developer information on your disc and all... What I'm meaning to say is:  you’ve been asleep for a long time… but I think… you’re ready to meet me now.”

Metal’s glowing eyes flickered slightly, like it was processing the sound of his voice. It didn’t move at first, only watching him. The air in the workshop felt thicker, charged. Tails inched closer, hand extended slowly. 

          “I… I don’t want to hurt you… I just want to—”

A faint click came from Metal’s joints, almost like a warning. Tails froze. He could see its sensors tracking his every micro-motion, every twitch of his fingers. Then, as carefully as he could, he let his hand hover just above the robot’s metal arm.

Metal’s head tilted again. A spark of curiosity glimmered in its eyes. Tentatively, Tails brushed a fingertip against the cold metal. 

          “He’s learning.” Tails whispered, a shaky smile breaking through his nerves. 

          “Or it’s deciding whether to vaporize us.” Commented Silver from a safe distance.

          Tails swallowed and took a deep breath. “I'll be careful.”

 

Metal remained still for a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, raised one mechanical hand and mirrored Tails’ motion, fingertip brushing against his again. The smallest gesture, but enough to send a thrill of hope through the young fox.

Metal’s hand hovered just above Tails’ for a few seconds longer, then slowly retracted and flexed, testing the motion. Tails mirrored the movement, careful not to pull away too quickly. A tiny spark flickered across the robot’s joints, and the faint hum of its systems shifted, like a mechanical sigh.

          Silver and Amy exchanged glances. “You know… This is actually kinda cute.” Amy whispered. 

Metal then tilted its head again, this time observing not just Tails’ hand, but his posture, the way he blinked, the subtle movements of his tail. Tentatively, it shifted forward, its sensors tracking a pencil rolling across the workbench. Carefully, it lifted a metal finger and tapped it, sending the pencil skittering across the table.

          Tails laughed softly. “See? That’s it! You’re learning already!”

The robot paused, as if weighing the meaning behind the motion. Then, almost imperceptibly, it reached out and nudged Tails’ hand with its own. It wasn’t forceful, but deliberate—testing the connection, confirming that the fox wouldn’t pull away.

Metal sat back slightly, sensors pin-pointed at Tails, then mimicked a small bow, a subtle nod of acknowledgment. It wasn’t emotion, not yet—but it was recognition, and Tails’ chest swelled with the pride of a father who just saw his firstborn child take their first steps. 

          Tails grinned, brushing a strand of fur from his face. “We’re just getting started. I'm gonna teach you everything you need to know, step by step. Firstly - can you stand?”

Metal’s blank gaze didn’t leave Tails for a while. After a few seconds his head lowered and Sonic was looking at his legs. Slowly, it pushed itself further to the edge of the table and placed both feet on the hard, metallic floor.

          “Easy… easy…” Tails muttered, guiding it with small nudges. The robot teetered, swaying slightly.

 

The robot paused mid-step, balancing awkwardly, and then slowly took another step. And another. Each movement was rigid and unnatural… for about 2 minutes.

 

Metal’s steps smoothed out faster than any of them expected. One tentative wobble, a brief recalibration whirr, and then the walk became a clean, efficient motion. Very quickly the android wasn’t hobbling anymore; it was moving with a practiced, almost casual gait—the kind of walking that says it was built for this.

          Tails whooped, unable to hide how proud he was. “You did it! You really did it—look at you go!” He shaded his eyes with one hand and grinned like someone who’d just watched his firstborn son take his first steps. “They grow up so fast…”

Silver watched the metal form pace once, then twice, curiosity softening the edge of his voice. “Quick question, Tails. Why would an android scream at being turned on? ”

          “I think… hm…” Tails thought for a moment. Tails’ grin eased into concentration. “That’s a good question…” He stepped up to the console and opened the nested protocols, fingers moving with the same care he’d used on the chassis. 

          “I built him almost exactly to the plans on that disc. The low-level stuff—motor mappings, joint controllers, reflex loops—that stuff’s hard-coded. Whoever made the original set the gait routines in place. That’s probably why walking took him so little time to figure out. The basics were already there.”

          He tapped a few lines of legacy code. “Higher layers—personality, job duties, decision-making—those aren’t set. That’s where I can add things. Right now his learning is limited: mimicry, low-level adaptation, nothing that lets him decide big things on his own, but… I have no idea? I don’t think it should be able to scream like that.”

          Amy nodded, folding her arms, watching Metal take another careful circuit of the bench. She didn’t reach for a joke; she spoke plainly. “That’s kinda weird…”

          Silver glanced between Tails and Metal. “So when do you teach him to fetch parts instead of… you know, rearranging the shop?”

          Tails’ tails flicked. “Soon. I’ll write a job layer—explicit priorities: workshop security first, parts assistant second, basic maintenance checks after that. I’ll program supervised learning windows so we can test each new behavior.”

          Amy gave a small, approving nod. “Good. Make the rules clear. And make sure you build in an override.” She paused, then added quietly, “If he’s going to be out there, make sure he knows what to protect first.” Her eyes met Tails’. It wasn’t dramatic—just the practical concern of someone who worked with her hands and knew what could go wrong.

          Tails smiled, softer this time. “Agreed. Balance, manners, work—one at a time.” He glanced at Metal, who paused and—almost ceremonially—mirrored Tails’ stance for a moment before continuing his slow, precise loop of the workshop.

 

Silver let out a small breath, his tension easing, but his fingers were still fidgeting with the golden bracelets that supressed his powers - a force of habbit.

Metal found an available chair and sat on it, just like Tails was sitting in front of his computer.The light from the workshop lamps perfectly accentuating the matte blue and muted gold paint Amy put on it a few hours ago. She had already done all the heavy lifting—primer, base coat, the clean lines she insisted on—but she rubbed her chin and stared at Metal intensely.

          “Wait.” She said, surprising them all. “Hold up. I want to add one more thing.” She took an orange spray that was laying freely on the ground and walked around the robot, fingers hovering over an area just below its hips. “A subtle mark. Like a logo. Just a little something that says ‘this belongs here.” She smiled. 

Tails blinked a few times.

          “You should totally do it.” Commented Silver.

          “Well… if everyone is in agreement… Sure! Go off.”

Metal’s head turned the instant the paint hit the metal—an almost imperceptible tilt. 

          “Perfect,” Amy murmured and started spraying the side of Metal Sonic's hip. Soon enough she wiped her hands on a rag and, for the first time since the chaos, let herself smile. “There. Now he’s ours.”

They crowded back a little, giving the robot space and each other room to breathe. For a few quiet minutes they simply watched—the builder, the artist, and the kid who brought his disc to the workshop in the first place—somehow the knowledge they all contributed to the creation of Sonic made them smile.

Chapter Text

It was meant to be a short test: a slow walk through the market on a rainy day, so Metal could learn where all the small alleyways and corners are, how to avoid noisy and crowded main avenues. Amy walked on the robot’s right side, Silver on the left, half paying attention and listening to Amy’s explanations and playing with the gold parts of his bracelet limiters out of habit.

The market smelled of warm oil, frying sugar, and something sweet from a vendor’s kettle. Children darted between stalls, and an old man argued over the price of lithium batteries. Metal’s head cocked at every new sound, sensors blinking faint and blue.

Normally it would be quite a boring task, but Metal made it interesting, if not enjoyable. Sonic bumping a crate with a toe, mimicking a vendor’s wave when Amy did, settling into the rhythm of the street. When Silver checked the limiter on his shoe, the android glanced at its own foot.  People glanced, then went back to haggling. It added a lot of charm to their day. Amy laughed when the robot tried to hand her a greasy paper bag; she ruffled its plating as if it were an awkward pup. 

They’d just passed a stall selling cheap noodles when a searcher drone threaded down the alley between the arcade and the fabric shop. It didn’t look like anything in particular - just a round drone with a flat belly of cameras— and efficient—and it made the sort of polite noise drones make when they’re just doing their job: a series of quiet pings.

Metal’s head turned almost before any of them did. The robot’s walk stuttered and it froze mid-step, optics narrowing as if focusing.

Amy’s hand tightened without meaning to and her head turned. Silver’s fingers paused on the strap

And then the drone spoke. Its voice wasn’t the soft human tones of a guide; it was blunt, broadcasted, and threaded with all the bureaucratic menace it could’ve had programmed.

 

“ATTENTION: THE TRADE OFFERS REWARDS FOR OUTLIERS. REPORT OR DELIVER ANY INDIVIDUALS WITH SPECIAL QUALITIES FOR PAYMENT AND PROTECTION. CALL OR USE LINE 004—REWARDS SCALE WITH RARITY.”

 

The message looped once, then again, and again.

People blinked. A vendor frowned at his radio. An old woman turned her head, cursed and spat on the ground. Amy’s mouth made a line, while most of the people had no reaction to it.

While Silver felt it like tremor in his bones: the bracelet’s metal warmed where it hugged his wrist.

He swallowed. Someone in a crowd laughed too loud. A man two stalls down nudged a companion and nodded toward them, casual and small like a hand at a pocket. For all the drone’s official cadence, the message was a whistle to predators.

Amy took Metal’s arm under her own and stepped a bit in front of Silver, eyes scanning faces. 

         “Move.” she said quietly, voice low enough for only the two of them to hear.

Silver’s fingers went cold. The bracelet’s little LEDs stayed steady—no crack, no failure.

Metal remained still for a moment longer, then it resumed its slow loop of the market following Amy’s lead. The three of them walked on; and the city watched.

         “Come on,” Amy said softly, reading the edge in her friend’s shoulders. “Let’s bounce. We’ve done enough sightseeing for one day.” Her voice was light but firm. She glanced, first at Metal and then at Silver. “You okay to keep going?”

         Silver forced a smile. “Yeah... I’ve got it. I can keep m-my stuff together.”

Amy looked skeptical but let it pass.

They passed a stall that sold wrapped pastries and Silver. Usually he and Amy would buy one to share it between them and maybe get something for Tails on their way home, before Amy went back to her place. A little tradition that they formed.

         “You two go ahead. I’m gonna grab something to eat for us.”

         “Alright then.” Amy figured Silver needed some time to himself to calm down and didn’t question him. “Just catch up with us soon. We’ll be walking through Nega street.”

Amy waved him off and turned into the alley. She and Metal drifted out of sight and started walking back to Tails’ Workshop.

         Silver let out a heavy sigh. “I have to calm down…” He thought and turned to face the stall. Loud thunders could be heard in the near distance. “I better hurry.”

 

 

The alley was narrow, positioned between a factory building and a club. Loud music was echoing through the walls and could easily be heard from outside. 

         “So, how did you like our evening walk?” Asked Amy. She didn’t mind the awkward silence that much. They could very well come back to the workshop in complete silence. She just figured she’d talk to the new guy. If Metal was indeed learning like a Mobian and would gain his own personality sooner or later, she couldn’t treat him like a cheap piece of machinery, could she?

The mechanic hedgehog turned his head to her and stared for a while.

         “Maybe ‘liking’ something is beyond you still….” She sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s just-”

         “Hey, sweetheart.” 

Amy looked to her right. Three guys stood in front of the back entrance to the club, their backs pressed against the metal wall. Two of them were smoking, one stood with a glass of some kind of drink in his hand. Immediately their looks screamed ‘bad news’. Broad shoulders, low, raspy voices and the stink of smoke and alcohol coming from their direction, and they were obviously drunk.

         “The bot’s nice. How much did it cost?” Asked one of them. Amy wasn’t sure which one and she didn’t plan on staying long enough to find out.

She took Metal’s hand into her own and quickened her pace. Whether they were trying to hit on her, or something else, it was better to just get out of there. 

One of the guys moved quickly, standing in her way.

         “Whs tjat? Your boyffrend-?” Asked the man with a large smile, slurring drunkenly through his words.

Amy tried to back right off the same way she came here, but his friends were already behind her, blocking her and Metal’s way from every direction.

         “Back off.” Amy didn't step back. She set her chin high, blunt and proud. Her hand quickly slipped into her pocket where she kept a decently sized butterfly knife for situations just like these. It wasn’t much against three guys much larger than she was, but it was enough to show them she wasn’t helpless and was ready to defend herself. “Move it I said.” 

The men started laughing. The tallest of them, one of the smokers, put his arm on Metal Sonic’s shoulder. “That’s real scary, lady. Tell you what - if you give us that bot, we’ll let you go. How ‘bout that?”

         “Hell we miht even hav sssome fun while we at it, hehe… whaddya sa-” The drunk man moved his hand closer to Amy’s chest, but before he folded on the ground. She wasn’t going to wait to see what he tried to do and sold him a sturdy kick to the middle of his crotch before he had a chance to touch her.

         “AAAAGH- Y-YOU BITCH!”

         “Get the fuck out of my way-!” She swung her knife and quickly turned to face the other guys. 

Suddenly her vision became blurry. Right in that moment one of them punched Amy right in the face, almost making her do a spin. She fell to the ground, her head spinning faster than she could even comprehend what had happened. Her knife - her only means of defence dropped somewhere on the ground, out of her line of sight.

         “LEAVE HER ALONE!” A scream could be heard from the entry to the alley. 

Silver stood there in shock, looking at Amy on the ground. By the look on her face she was still out of it, but breathing.

         “Get lost!” Yelled the man who just a few seconds ago hit Amy. “It’s none of your business. Fuck outta here!”

Silver felt his muscles tense. The man’s voice was deep, almost guttural, and judging by his expression, he was unbelievably pissed.

         “Didn’t you hear me?! I SAID-” The man started quickly walking towards the teen, tightening his fists. “-GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, BEFORE I DO THE SAME TO YOU!” 

         Silver took one step back out of sheer shock, before he was violently shoved against the side of the club. 

         “You want your teeth on the street?! Fine, you asked for it!”

Something cold flared up under Silver’s ribs, pain attacking him from his back, as it was shoved against the cold wall. He stumbled, barely keeping enough balance to not fall on his face.

         “Silver-!” 

When he opened his eyes they immediately went not to his attacker, but to Amy, who was starting to get up. Her nose was bleeding, staining the peach fur on her face. And just like her, the guy she kicked earlier began rising too. The look on his face wasn’t too friendly right now.

         “You fucking bitch… YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!” His arm reached for the girl’s quills.

Then something just snapped. 

All of the rules he held his entire life - don’t be seen, don’t use it, stay out of people’s business- 

All of that went out of the window without him even having a chance to react.

His world narrowed to only this exact place, and he felt a shock run through his head. 

Metallic crack.

One shock - one pulse of energy.

Then release.

The man above Amy was flung into the wall, almost 2 meters off the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The second staggered backwards, spooked by the situation. 

         “W-what?! THE FUCK-”

His head collided with the street light, knocking him out as well. He fell onto the garbage pile near the trash can where he was standing.

The third one tried to attack Silver, before his legs gave away under the invisible force that threw him down, head first onto the pavement, hard enough to crack it.

The sudden calm that followed was deafening.

Silver’s legs gave up, and he ended up on the ground.

His whole body felt stiff, his hands shook violently, and his chest rose and fell quickly. Every strand of fur on his arms stood on the end.

Nausea hit him hard - he felt like throwing up here and now.

         “-ver-

         “-Silver-

         “SILVER!”

He took a sudden, quick breath. Amy’s voice brought him back to earth. 

He looked at her - she wasn’t panicking. Even though the fur on her face was stained with blood, Amy seemed calm. Just like every time something bad happened. 

Able to keep a cool head even in the most extreme situations.

         “...I…” Silver muttered. “I… didn’t… d-didn’t mean t-t-”

         “I know.” She put a hand on his cheek and turned his head, so they’d be looking at each other. “Listen to me now. I need you to get up. We go back to the workshop. Patch your limiter. Wait it out. You can freak out later - once we’re safe inside. Got it?”

Silver shook his head absentmindedly. He felt Amy grabbing his hand and pulling him up. He could barely stand - his legs felt like they were made of paper.

His eyes automatically drifted to the men laying around them. 

         “Don’t look.” Commanded him Amy. She grabbed something from the floor and then started running, dragging Silver behind her. 

Metal observed them and the whole situation with cold optics. Once Amy started running he silently followed.

 

 

The city continued as if nothing had happened. The mundane noises of the night life contrasted heavily against the storm that was raging inside Silver’s mind. His limiter lay broken in Amy’s hand. The three people back in the alley… His breath was unsteady, and getting worse by the minute.

The pink hedgehog guided them back through the market, keeping Silver between her and the open areas. By the time they came back to Tails’ place heavy rain was pouring onto them for the past few minutes. All three of them drenched completely. Although this was the least of their worries right now.

After a few minutes they reached the workshop. The large, neon ‘Miles Electric’ sign was barely visible in the heavy downpour. Amy pushed Silver and Metal Sonic inside and kicked the door shut behind them. Then swiftly began locking all the different locking mechanisms Tails had installed in his workshop.

Tails, wearing a large pair of orange goggles, looked up from his workbench and from the hoverboard he’d been repairing up until now, wide-eyed when he saw how the two of his friends looked. Soaking wet, shaking and beaten up - a large purple swelling on Amy’s face couldn’t mean anything good.

         “Amy?? Wh-what happened to you?” The fox stood up from his seat, nearly dropping the welder onto the floor. “What’s going on??” His voice sounded more and more panicked with each question. 

Silver sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands and muttering something incoherently into his palms. Amy crouched beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, with a pitiful expression then she looked at Tails. 

Tails already knew it was going to be bad.

         “It’s Silver… Something happened on the streets.” Amy began speaking. Her voice was quiet and in as soft of a tone as she could muster. “Some guys started harassing me, and Silver stepped in… He lost control. His limiters…”

Tails froze in place. Staring blankly ahead, he was processing everything for a moment. Then he dashed to the wall of monitors and began flipping through camera feeds. 

Outside, the streets everything looked normal - if empty. With that kind of weather not many people were outside. Mostly service drones running errands on behalf of their owners, or an unlucky person running back to their home. 

Tails’ fingers were flying over the controls, checking everything around the base and closing additional locks on the door. The heavy metal doors shuddered as another electronic seal clicked into place.

         “There’s no one around right now…” Muttered Tails. “I-I’ll stay on the cameras, just in case.” He turned his head towards the two hedgehogs briefly.

         “Silver… It’s okay. You can calm down now.” 

Silver shook his head slowly, not lifting his head to look at his friends.

         “Silver…”

         “I-I… didn’t mean to… I just-” The young hedgehog was shaking. “I couldn’t control it- it ju-just happened so suddenly…!” His breath was quickening again. Amy saw that and carefully sat next to him.

         “Silver…” Amy’s ears flopped close to her head. This was the first time she had seen the other in such a state.

She never had outlier abilities, so on that front it was hard for her to understand what Silver was going through. On the other hand she could see how his body was shaking- how his voice was shaking. His tail practically hidden between his legs, quills standing straight and his small ears flatly against his head. That - she could understand.

Usually when they came back from anywhere outside of the workshop he’d groan, like he just came back from a 10 hour factory shift, lay down on his hammock, boot up a rhythm game on his phone, put on his headphones and close himself off from the rest of the world.

Not because he disliked going out with her - that’s just how he’s been. ‘Antisocial’, as Tails would put it ever so . And Amy was very much used to it. They’d hang out together, then go their separate ways. None of them would bother the other every 5 minutes, but they’d still hang out again in a few days.

Even if he wasn’t the most cheerful person on the block, they enjoyed each other’s company.

She’s never seen him this afraid before.

All she knew she could do was to sit next to him and offer a bit of comfort that way.

 

         “Silver.” A few minutes passed, before Tails spoke. He turned his head towards the door, where the other two were. “Can I see your limiters for a moment?”

Silver slowly raised his head towards the fox. 

His eyes were red.

         “I have the broken one.” Interrupted Amy, opening her hand, where she still held two golden parts and extending it towards Tails.

The fox hopped off of his chair and walked towards them, then sat down on the floor with them. Taking the broken down bracelet from Amy, he began studying it in detail in his hand. He knew how it worked, obviously. He made it. But he never suspected it could break like this. Not only was the casing broken, but the insides as well. Small wires were fried, and the battery crushed completely - as if a brick was dropped onto it.

         “Can you give me your hand?” Asked Tails quietly. He figured Silver would want some space right now, but he had to check it now, just in case.

Silver’s hands were still shaking when he pulled them into view. The cyan segments of his bracelets weren’t just glowing - they were stacked with lit bars, like an old volume meter cranked towards the red. One of the bars blinked a few times, then held steady - proof his power was still pressing against the dam.

         Tails moved closer. “Okay… that’s new.” He gently rotated Silver’s wrist. “These indicators are supposed to pulse at two bars maximum - like when you’re under stress… And now you’re sitting at 8.” He looked around, grabbing a thin, long tool and tapped a sensor node with the end of it. Then he turned his head left and watched a thin line graph appear across one of the screens. “The more your power pushes, the more bars fill. When they max-out, the limiter vents - hard. That’s probably what caused it to break. I didn’t even know it could ever max out…”

         Amy leaned in, her brows furrowed. “Is there any way to bring it down?”

         “Yes - quite a simple one at that.” Tails put away the broken piece on the counter. “I’m just going to have to move the limit a bit higher. But first… we need you to calm down Silver.”

         Silver let out a heavy sigh. “Alright…”

         “Breathe with me.” Amy lifted a hand, counting slowly. “In… and out…”

Slowly, as Silver’s breathing steadied, one bar dimmed. Soon another flickered and slowly dropped. The cyan cooled from a harsh glare to a manageable glow.

Tails exhaled. “That’s better. I’ll about a failsafe… maybe a manual override if your power was to spike again-”

Amy shot him a glare.

         “N-not that I suspect this will happen again… y-you know?” 

She sighed. Salvaging situations wasn’t his strong suit.

         “Anyway… Ahem. I also need a readout on your shoes and arm rig too. They might be overloaded. I’ll check and work on replacements if needed.”

Silver nodded. “Thanks. Thank you… both.” His voice was much calmer now, yet the stress still lingered in his tone.

         Tails gave a half-smile, already drawing schematics in his head. “That’s also a perfect excuse for me to upgrade the UI. Next time it spikes, we’ll know before it scares the life out of us.”

One of the cameras flashed red and centered itself on the screen. Grainy feed from the street - angle aimed at the entrance to the alley where the incident happened. A shape wheeled into the frame - small, insect like robot. The light from its eyes strobed in a steady grid.

         “Trade seeker…” Tails said quietly.

The drone entered the alleyway. 

         “The inner part of the alleyway had no camera, so we don’t know what it's doing over there…”

         “Looking for Silver.” Amy folded her arms, jaw tight.

Silver immediately stiffed. He grabbed his quills and pulled them down, nervously.

         “Is there any way they can realistically trail him to the workshop?” She asked. They’ve only just calmed the situation down a bit, and now they have a new problem on their hands.

         “They won’t. If we’re smart about it.” Tails smiled and ran to the computer. His fingers started pressing buttons. “Hey, Nicole.”

A small icon appeared in the corner of the screen - a lynx girl with brown and black fur, wearing a purple dress gave a nod. A couple of loose pixels floated around her, creating shapes, then rearranging themselves into other patterns.

         “What is your request, Miles?” She asked - her voice clearly digital. Not the old style of synthesizers digital - like a cartoon character, that’s clearly supposed to belong to a video game world - type of digital. 

         “Total blackout protocol - spoof our power draw, pull the heat signature blockers, barricade the door and the windows. Like we’re not here, got it?” Instructed her Tails.

         “I understand. Initializing blackout.” Answered him the AI.

Silver swallowed, eyes on his bracelet. Five cyan bars were still lit. He tucked his hands under his elbows.

Heavy plates of metal covered the door and every window in the building.The lights dimmed, and every monitor except one of the smaller ones turned off. Instead of light buzzing and music from the radio, it was the sound of thunder outside filling the workshop.

Amy stayed with Silver. Tails sat in the chair and monitored the feed.

On the street, more Trade gear rolled in - two enforcers in pristinely white coats. Their faceplates blank with the exception of a thin vertical visor. One of them held a handheld scanner, weapons in the straps of his pants, while the other carried a heavy looking suitcase and nothing more. 

Another drone, a larger one, equipped with a speaker rose above the vendor stalls and began broadcasting in a calm, indifferent voice:

         “NOTICE FROM THE TRADE. AN UNCONTROLLED OUTLIER EVENT OCCURRED WITHIN THE LAST HOUR. WITNESSES ARE ENCOURAGED TO REPORT IMMEDIATELY. VERIFIED INFORMATION WILL BE COMPENSATED.”

The message looped, followed by a reward figure that made several heads turn. Old posters were pulled down and replaced with a fresh print: the usual grainy runner silhouette with a new red stamp saying ‘RECENT ACTIVITY’.

Amy put her arm around Silver without saying a word.

         “Nicole, can you scan these models for me and pinpoint what exactly they’re doing?” Tails asked without taking his eyes off the monitor.

         “Affirmative.” The lynx girl nodded her head. It took no more than 5 seconds for her to speak again. “Seeker drone models present: Skywarp E-13, Skywarp B-7a, Aloka 2077.”

         “What’s their function?” Asked Tails.

         “To identify residue energy from Outlier abilities, calculate the energy signature and catalogue them.”

         “Uh-oh…”

         “Uh-oh? What do you mean ‘uh-oh’?” Questioned Amy, her hand wrapping tighter around Silver.

         “They dust for residue and match it to their library…” Murmured Tails. “If they get a strong enough reading they can triangulate the origin down to the meter.”

         “Which means…” Amy trailed.

         “If they get good enough reading they can find their way here. But!” He raised his finger into the air, before anyone but him had a chance to speak again. “It thins out with distance. We have time to do a few more things to ensure they don't find their way here.” 

The sound of fingers tapping on the keyboard with insane speed filled the room. 

Metal Sonic on the other hand stood completely still. His head wouldn't even move to follow whatever the rest of the group were doing - which up until that point was the norm for the robot.

The enforcers seemed to split. One of the stayed in the alley, the other wandered through the market, showing the reward to anyone who'd hold eye contact. 

Most didn't. 

A few did. 

Tails rolled on his chair to the other side of the desk to another console. 

         “Tails, fill us in please.”

         “In a moment” Tails didn't even look back at Amy. 

A few moments of keyboard masking and button pressing passed before Tails turned to face them.

         “I flooded our entire block, as well as a few others with decoy signatures. Like tiny static fields from the machinery - heaters, broken transformator next door. Heck, even the soda machine at the corner of our street. It'll read like a lot of false positives in their books.”

On the cameras, one of the men in white paused his walk at the corner near Tails’ building. The scanner bobbed, confused by the noise. The man tilted the device, adjusted, and waited. A minute passed of him wandering around the area, scanning everything that could run electricity. Another minute passed. 

         “They canvas, they come up dry, they widen the circle.” Sais Tails, almost too quiet for anyone but himself to hear it. “We lay low, we don't touch the high traffic routes for a few days, maybe weeks. They don't get any leads, they move onto the next target and leave us alone.” Tails was simply predicting how the whole situation could turn out. He wasn't so sure himself what would happen the next few days, but he believed in his own calculations and his intellect. He had to be right - he thought.

Silver stares at the looping broadcast, to the reward listing and the price tag glued to his face. The reward number made his head spin. He could be worth that much… he couldn't even count to that number. 

One cyan bar in particular danced around - dimming and coming back online every few seconds.

Metal Sonic watched the three of them, then, with a small whir, placed his palms on his knees—a mirror of the way Silver sat.

         “What…” He spoke for the first time in a while. “What if someone recognizes me?”  He asked, voice small. 

         Amy answered first. “They won't. Don't think about it Silver.”

         “But- what about those three guys? The ones I…”

         “With how hard you've pacified them… I'd be surprised if they remembered anything from the past week.”

         “But-”

         “And if they do, then they’ll have to get through me. And through a fox who booby-trapped his own coffee maker for fun.”

         Tails managed a thin grin. “I like my coffee maker. And I like you alive. So - two things: I’m reinforcing your limiters and I already have an idea how I'm gonna do it. And I’m installing a perimeter ping. If a Trade sensor gets within half a block, we’ll know before they do.”

Silver looked down on his shoes. He didn't ask any more questions after this. 

They were comforting him however they could. 

And fortunately for all of them it seemed to work. 

Another minutes passed. The enforcers moved on, the drones soon followed suit after making a few more rounds here and there.

Tails turned on the computers back on after another 10 minutes. Lights, and the radio were also soon turned on. 

Silver managed to calm down enough for him to walk to the bathroom and take a long, cold shower. He was practically drenched in sweat by the point where he ran the water. Amy went back to her home for the day and promised she'd come tomorrow and bring them some food, but Tails talked her out of it. They had some unopened food and also leftovers, they'd be fine for a few days.

It was best not to draw too much attention to this place for the time being.

The city just got a lot more noisy. 

 

—————————

 

A courier left a sealed slate on her desk—unmarked, fingerprint-smooth, warm from a long run. She unlocked it with a touch. Grainy drone footage, grid overlays, bounty boards flashing new rates. A quiet line of system text repeated in the corner: UNIQUE ENERGY—ONE OF ONE—PRIORITY ACQUIRE.

         “The Trade is mobilizing,” her analyst said from the doorway. No one crossed the threshold unless invited. “Checkpoints in the Rustpoint - the middle of the lower section of the city. The drones returned. They’re paying triple for informants.”

Blaze didn’t answer right away. She sat back, immaculate in a dark jacket, a simple gold crown catching the line of afternoon sun that slipped through the blinds. On the slate, search arcs swept across neighborhoods. 

         “Unusual energy?” she murmured.

         “Singular signature. No match on record. They don’t know what it is, only that it’s rare.”

         “Not what,” Blaze said softly. “Who.” She watched the map breathe. “And if it’s singular, it’s scared.”

She closed the slate and rose from her seat. The office was quiet, expensive, and deliberately unadorned—everything in its place, no dust to betray a handprint. Through a pane of glass, far below, the city moved in shifting bands of color. The slums were a smudge on the horizon, the same direction the Trade was tightening around.

         "Status of our shelters?” she asked.

         “Kingdom is stocked. Two empty suites in Copper Lane. The medical is empty, ready on call.” A careful pause. “The girl you brought in last time asked if you were coming back tonight.”

         A tiny pull in Blaze’s expression. It vanished quickly. “Tell her I'll visit.”

She drew a clean page from her leather folio. She sat down and started writing a note.

Instructions were simple, yet very specific. Everything had to be done exactly to her say - unless it was impossible because of reasons outside of her control. 

She underlined nothing. She never needed to.

         “Who do we send?” the analyst asked.

         “No one they can trace.” Blaze slipped the folio shut. “Two shadows. A medic. A driver. And someone who can talk without scaring a child.”

         “A child?”

         “It usually is.” She said, almost to herself.

She moved to the window again, hands folded behind her back, eyes on the city’s slow spin. The Trade would pull harder; they always did when there was money to be made - and right now there was a big stack of money on the table, just waiting for them to find it. 

         “Prepare two gifts,” Blaze said. “Food and clean clothes. If we reach them, we offer safety first. If they refuse, we walk away.”

         The analyst hesitated. “Walk away?”

         “We are not The Trade.” Blaze’s voice cooled. “We don’t take people. We make sure they live long enough to choose.”

A beat of silence. Outside, the light slid lower, stripes of gold and cobalt across her floor.

         “And if the Trade gets there first?” the analyst asked.

         Blaze’s gaze did not move. “They won’t.”

         “How can you be sure?”

         “Because we’ll be waiting where they aren’t looking, Because we're smarter than them.” she said.

         She has made all the decisions now. “Move. Quietly. I want eyes on every checkpoint by nightfall. If the signature flares, we need to be there first.”

The analyst was gone immediately after hearing the last words, the door whispering shut.

Blaze lingered a breath longer, then slipped the crown from her head and set it lightly on the desk.

         “Just a plan,” She said under her breath. “For now.”

Chapter Text

The metro was loud and alive, as always.

The screech of old rails, the echo of passing trains, the chatter of people moving goods through half-lit tunnels — yet all of it quieted without exceptions when it came into contact with the walls of Blaze’s HQ.

The Kingdom, as she called it, was like another city under the city. Converted from the rubble of caved-in slums into a lively district, where only those chosen by her could enter.

Apartments carved into the restored metro walls stretched far and wide, illuminated by lamps and neon signs. Small shops leaned against each other in clusters, selling anything from clothes and food to mechanical parts and cybernetics.
Children ran through narrow alleys on their way to a school building, painted in bright graffitis - a shining portrait of Blaze with a big crown and a royal scepter adorned the side of it.

Blaze didn’t know who made it and she hasn’t tried to learn. With the way it was drawn it was clearly made as a sign of appreciation - “Leave it be. This is a city for them, and they can do anything they want in it.”- she said when she saw it for the first time.

This “city” wasn’t perfect. Blaze knew it.
There wasn’t such a thing as a perfect city.

But she did what she could to provide people she sheltered with everything they couldn’t get outside - if not comfort, then at least with safety and opportunities to live a normal life.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

A Kingdom of outcasts, loyal only to the queen who ruled it.

 

Time passed, and the reports regarding the new outlier didn’t get any better.
Their energy signature was gone.

Blaze sat on the edge of the long metal table in her quarters, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, tail flicking in irritation. Her people kept sending her the same answer: nothing. The signal they’d picked up earlier just… vanished.

The report she’d just received was worthless, as well all the previous ones.

Blaze leaned back in the cracked leather chair, arms folded, tail lashing left and right with each thought.

If The Trade had him already, she’d be hearing rumors. The Trade loved to brag - and they’d be doing their best to announce a ‘new one-of-a-kind outlier’ and preparing for the bidding - with someone like that the price would skyrocket from the usual bracket.

Which meant someone else was hiding him. Someone smart. Smart enough to bury an Outlier so deep even her network couldn’t sniff him out.
It wasn’t incompetence. She knew her people. If they couldn’t find him, it meant someone else was hiding him. And that narrowed the suspects to a very dangerous few.

 

Twelve hours.

Twelve hours of silence, and the only thing her scouts could send back was the same useless answer: nothing.

Blaze sat at her desk, claws tapping against the wood in a slow, steady rhythm. Her patience had limits, and every wasted report pushed her closer to them. She’d sent her best into the upper city grid, into the mid, even into the scum-choked markets — and still the Outlier left no trace. Not even a whisper.

Blaze leaned back in her chair, slim tail coiled tightly around her legs, fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the desk. Frustration had started to simmer low, a constant heat at her temples. She’d expected difficulty — the Outlier wasn’t someone who left himself open — but this was maddening.

A soft knock echoed through her office. Slow. Polite. Deliberate.

She didn’t need to ask. The faint smell of expensive cologne already told her who it was before the door even opened.

Tall, though the puffy fur trim of his long coat made him seem broader than he truly was. The coat itself was dark, trimmed with expensive white fur, and underneath, a tailored vest and crisp shirt hinted at wealth and careful attention. Polished shoes caught the light from the window, jewelry glinting just enough to be noticed — rings on nearly every finger, a thin chain at his neck.

And then there was the smile. Wide, perfect, and polite — but just a little too sharp at the edges, like it could cut if he wanted it to. His eyes were dark, calculating, and far too calm for someone who had just entered an office in a tense underground HQ. He radiated confidence, the sort that made people aware they were being measured, weighed, and assessed.

Clutch the Possum stepped closer, his wide smile calm, almost casual. “Blaze,” he said smoothly. “I trust I’m not interrupting anything… too badly?”

Blaze’s claws flexed on the desk. “You’ve been interrupting enough already.” Her voice was steady, even if her irritation simmered beneath the surface.

“Now, now,” Clutch replied, tilting his head with that same polite air, “there’s no need for sharp words. I’m simply here to offer a little… assistance.” He gestured lightly toward the room, as if the Kingdom itself wasn’t his cue to stay sharp.

Blaze didn’t move. Her tail twitched, ears flattened slightly. “Assistance? You mean, spying for the Trade while pretending to be helpful.”

Clutch’s smile never faltered. “I assure you, nothing so crude. Think of it as… a proposal. A business venture, if you will. I have resources, information… connections. All at your disposal. No obligations.”

Blaze’s jaw tightened. She knew better. He wasn’t offering help; he was testing her patience, testing how much she could tolerate before she slipped, before she gave him an excuse to act.

“And if I refuse?” She asked, voice low.

Clutch’s smile softened just a fraction. “Then we remain… on polite terms, as always. No harm done.” He let the words linger, like a shadow in the corners of her office. “Though, naturally, I hope you’ll consider it. The city is changing, and opportunities rarely present themselves twice.”

Blaze leaned forward, elbows on the desk, tail coiling tighter. “I don’t work with people I don’t trust. And I don’t trust you. You come in here, smiling, offering favors, but I know better. I hate the very idea of having to even listen to you.”

“I expected nothing less. But consider: when the time comes to make a move, the right information, at the right moment, can save… complications. I only wish to spare you trouble, Blaze.” Clutch inclined his head slightly, the picture of calm civility.

She ground her claws lightly against the desk, suppressing a growl. Every time he left, she felt that same icy knot in her stomach — the knowledge that he was always out there, always watching, always patient.

Clutch shifted his weight, tapping his cane lightly. “I will leave you to your work. As always, the offer stands. Should you change your mind…” His smile lingered, polite and infuriating in equal measure. He backed toward the door, waiting for no answer, then vanished into the corridor as silently as he had appeared.

Blaze exhaled sharply. Tail flicking, ears still pinned, she stared at the empty doorway. Twelve hours of nothing. Another useless proposal. Another reminder that the Trade was moving, and that she was being watched — no matter how carefully she tried to hide her concern for the Outlier.

She pressed her fingers against her temples, letting out a low hiss. “Damn it…”

 

---------------------------------------

 

Rain stitched the city into long threads. Vector didn’t look up when the door whispered shut.

“Report.”

Espio set the folder down. “Shipment landed. Route B held. Dock Nine contact cleared the gate.”

“Losses?”

“None.” A pause. “New faces on the pier. White armbands. Jackets cut to match. Not Trade. Not Metro.”

Vector’s gaze sharpened. “How many.”

“Eight showing. Two asking questions, six just watching. Another one staged as drunk.”

“Name?”

“Locals whispered one. ‘Palladium.’”

Vector leaned forward, forearms to desk, the low beats from the club below barely shook the floor. “Tell me how they move.”

“Quiet. Very quiet. They barely talk to each other. Some had paint under their nails - recent, like they’d scrubbed gear. Everything looked new. They must’ve had a lot of money behind them.”

Vector’s jaw worked once, grinding one sharp tooth on another. “New uniforms. New money. New manners. I don’t like brands that show up fully dressed.
Espio tilted his head. “You want me to follow threads?”

“Every single one.” Vector slid a notepad across the desk. “Where do they sleep? Who launders those jackets? Which bars ignore them, which ones don’t? Give me the names of tailors, porters, couriers. Anyone who sold them anything I want them mapped.”

“Understood.”

“And keep it ghost-quiet. The longer they don’t know they’re being watched - the better.”

Espio’s voice lowered. “The drunk clocked us first.”

Vector’s mouth curled — half admiration, half warning. “That’s discipline. Choir or barracks, I don’t care which. I want the hymn book.”

He tapped the desk once, the sound sharp in the dim room. “Put words on the wire. Quiet channels only. Clean bounty for intel: ten for names, twenty for photos, fifty for a supply route.

"And Espio—”

“Yes?”

“If Palladium is buying silence…” Vector’s smile widened. “…outbid them.”

 

Espio slid the door shut behind him and the noise of the rain dulled to a hush. The sound of it pattering on the rooftops outside reminded him why he couldn’t just slip through the night unseen. Droplets outlined him too easily - sketching out the shape for anyone sharp enough to look closely.

Tonight, invisibility was useless.

His room was quiet, ordered — everything in its place, nothing wasted. Smooth white walls, dark wood trim in the corners and ornamental paper lanterns cast a warm glow that softened the edges. A single bonsai sat on the low table, perfectly pruned - a rare find these days.

One of the walls seemed emptier than the rest of the room, but with the click of a button it would reveal a walk-in closet filled to the brim with weapons - if needed.
He never would’ve chosen any of it. Left to his own devices, Espio would’ve settled for a futon on bare concrete. He didn’t need much, but Vector, in his usual loud way, had refused to let his ‘favourite employee’ live in a shoebox. He’d hired someone to design the room — “with a touch of class,” as Vector put it — and the result was a modern room with a faint echo of old Japan. Minimal, but not empty.

Homey, even.

Espio approached the mirror, set neatly above the lacquered dresser. He let out a slow breath, and the change began.

Scales rippled, deep purple colors fading into muted grays and greens, with a few streaks of more saturated green. Even the large, green, styled-crocodile tattoo on his arm faded. His eyes were no longer golden - but deep pink. The only thing he couldn’t do anything about was his horn, but this was already enough. Within moments, Espio the ninja - an Employee of Vector’s - was gone, replaced by a man the city would not remember.

He pulled on plain clothes - something a teenage, minimum wage worker at a fast-food joint would wear to his shift — worn out hood, gloves, — nothing to catch the eye.
Right now he was just another nobody on the streets.

Perfect for gathering information.

 

Espio threw the hood over his head and stepped outside of the lavish building and into the clean streets of the upper sector - a hyper-polished, elite corporate dystopia -The Stonewall District. A fitting name that signaled to everyone this level was anything but attainable for the average person. Most would live their entire lines without even coming here once. And the people living there would do anything for it to stay that way.

But even the highest sector was split into different sub-cathegories.

Ivory Spire — the most influential, richest and the biggest monopolizer - companies resided there. Skyscrapers, highest-end clubs for the elite and the most expensive clothing brands occupied the biggest buildings.
Companies like M-Crop - the biggest food company in the country, Ecliptica Gardens - A massive indoor arboretum and spa reserved for the ultra-rich - rumored to host meetings between the Trade and their corporate sponsors. Aetherion Group and Halbers Systems - both of them deal in weapons, drones, AI and cybernetics. Both of them are in a constant struggle to be the one at the top. And of course - the Emerald Vice. Vector’s club, casing and a hotel in one. Serving only the richest of people - the kind that would bet hundred of thousands of Creds (₡) at the blackjack table, without batting an eye and laughing when they lost it all.

Marble Crest — luxury condos, VR and Braindance studios, private clubs, private apartments for movie stars and politicians, expensive restaurants serving 100% real meat and embassies.
Celestine Studios – A braindance studio and movie production company. Known for stylized propaganda disguised as art. Ecliptica Gardens – A massive indoor arboretum and spa reserved for the ultra-rich — secretly a host meetings between the Trade and their corporate sponsors. Echelon Media controls the city’s news networks, streaming services, and social feeds. Seraph was the brad everyone in the upper spheres was wearing to the social gatherings. Every piece of clothing was hand made (as they claimed) and tailored to the buyers expectations and wallet size.The product they were most proud of was their “status-coded” line - clothes that reacted to social rank. How this worked was their “trade secret”, but status-hungry politicians still fell for it, just to validate their egos.

 

And finally Glassreach - the streets were filled with high-end offices, designer stores and “public” plazas that still required clearance to enter.

Ranking and status were everything in the Stonewall District- the richer and more famous you were, the more you wanted to show other rich and famous people just how much better you were than them.
Espio detested this place. It was nothing but fake - but given the person he was working for he had no place to complain. Furthermore Vector seemed to revel in the high-end life, so Espio usually just didn’t put his 2 words into the conversations relating to the City.

It took him a fair 30 minutes to reach the lower sector - Granite Cross, and another 15 to get to the center of it - also named Granite Cross. It was quite literally the middle of the city. It was far less lavish than the city center he was living in, but also far less oppressive. Smaller businesses, schools, actual neighbourhoods.
The rain was getting heavier and heavier. There was no possibility for him to go invisible, that much was solidified. The rain droplets stopping mid air on something that wasn’t there would immediately tip off anyone perceptive about his presence. He had to do his investigation the old-fashion way.

He stopped at a cheap restaurant serving cheap oriental noodles and alcohol. People tend to talk when they’ve had their fill - the alcohol was also a nice agent in that regard. He bought himself his favourite bowl and sat at the main counter. For how much better -and more expensive- the food at Vector’s casino was, there was just something about 7₡ noodles nothing could compare to.
He would eat his fill, listen to conversations and make mental notes. For the most part, he wouldn’t learn anything interesting. That was, until a pair of men in heavy uniforms stepped in, almost completely soaked.

“Can the weather in this fuckass city be normal for once in my life?!” Said a lion with a prosthetic arm.

“You’re acting like sudden downpours are new?” A tired hyena with his hair in a ponytail answered him.

Both men picked a seat not too far from Espio, just closer to the wall. Enough for some privacy in a fairly packed bar, and enough for Espio to hear them clearly.

“These late night shifts are killing me, I’m telling you. And on top of that it starts raining as soon as I finish my shift.”

‘Late night shifts’ piqued Espio’s interest. He ordered a non-alcoholic drink, as an excuse to stay longer if he needed to.

“You don’t have to take them, you know.”

“I do have to take them. They’re paying extra… and Leta is sick. I told you, heavy metal poisoning. She’s probably going to need a liver replacement.” The lion was tapping his fingers on the table. “I need the money.”

“You know…” His co-worker’s voice quieted a bit. “I heard they’re looking for someone for transport. I heard they’re paying good too. Real good.”

“...You think it’s-”

“Shut up- not so loud.” Hissed the hyena.

The conversation quieted down by the time the two of them got their bowls. But it was a good enough starting point. Judging by their jumpsuits Espio had an idea which deck they were working for. It was a different one from when he first heard about Palladium. That must’ve meant they were either moving, or working in many places at once. Either way - he knew where to go next once the night drew near.

He finished his meal and half his drink after the two men didn’t reveal anything new or interesting about the ‘job’ and left the bar shortly after they did.
There was his first thread.

His next stop were the laundromats - he checked all the available washers, just to make sure there were none that were filled with white gloves. He suspected as much, but just to be sure he went through the motions of sneaking into the ‘Employees Only’ room to comb through the rows of finished laundry. Nothing.
One clothing shop had a stack of fresh white gloves on a pallet stamped with a supplier’s code - all from the same lot. Another full bag was sitting behind the seller - barely visible between some boxes. Espio pretended to look around, looking for something before coming to the cash register. He put some money on the counter and asked for 2 pairs of plain white gloves, but the seller refused.

“Sorry, but they’re reserved.”

“Reserved? All of them? Listen, it’s just 2 pairs. It’s not that much.” Espio did his best to sound like an entitled teenager.
“I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to pick something else. Right now this cut with stripes is quite popular.” The shopkeeper pointed the chameleon to a black and red gloves on the window still.

Espio rolled his eyes slightly and walked over to the window, eying the pair before leaving a short while after.
Another thread.

He made sure to memorize the face of the shop keeper and the location itself.

He paused at the edge of a lamppost’ glow, eyes narrowing on the man slouched there with an empty cup in his hand. The beggar’s coat was stiff with rain, but his eyes were sharp enough when Espio crouched in front of him and pressed a folded bill into the cup.

“Seen anything interesting lately?” Espio asked quietly.

The beggar’s fingers closed around the bill with the reflex of a man who hadn’t eaten warm in days. “Depends what kind of things you want me to remember.”

“White armbands, white gloves. Matching jackets.”

That made the man bark a short laugh. “You mean the choir boys. Sure, I seen ’em.” Espio leaned closer, eager now that he knew what the game was. “They come off Dock Nine after midnight, almost always at the same time. Don’t mix with the crews, don’t drink, don’t spend... Go in two’s, three’s… Every week they’ve been hauling boxes from a warehouse by bay seven.”

Espio listened, still as a statue.

“They don’t use names. They whistle, like birds—two notes, low-high. And they’re clean. Too clean. Boots don’t have a day of dock mud on ’em. Ain’t dock rats, I’ll tell you that much.”

He tilted the cup toward Espio. “Worth another bill?”

Espio slipped a second one in without hesitation.

The beggar grinned with broken teeth. “Word is they pay cash, no questions. But it ain’t dock pay. It’s polished money—new notes, no folds. Trade maybe.”
Espio slid a last coin into the man’s cup and ghosted away without a sound.

He still had a few hours for investigation outside of the dock itself - he made sure not to stick in one place too long so as to not arouse anyone’s suspicion.
He bribed a few more homeless people, a pair of kids playing near the docs. The city would gladly offer its secrets if you could afford them. In exchange for money he got some small tidbits of information - like the hour at which the dock would get louder at night and the direction from which a few small groups of people would come. By the time he finished his pockets were pretty much empty - but he’s learned enough already. Nothing that would scream Palladium’s name from the rooftops, but some solid leads and threads - the kinds Vector liked to pull.

Evening came and went - Espio moved about around the city, disappeared for a while in a block and came back just as the clock was about to strike 2AM - supposedly the hour the ‘deliveries’ came about.

The dock was never silent, even at this hour. The tide clapped against steel pylons, chains rattled, the heavy sounds of engines echoed through the misty night. He made sure to give his hoodie to a beggar earlier, and now his skin muted to a dull gray-brown that matched the tar-stained wood and rusted steel around him.
The warehouse looked unremarkable at first. Corrugated steel walls, a half-faded number painted above the loading doors. But the details betrayed it: the lamps strung across the yard were all the same model, same wattage. Too uniform. Too deliberate.

Espio crouched behind a stack of pallets. A pair of men in white armbands crossed the yard, carrying a crate too heavy for lamps. Their boots didn’t splash—they moved like soldiers trained to be ghosts in the mud. One whistled, two notes, low-high. The second answered without looking.
Espio narrowed his eyes. The beggar was right.

He let them pass, staying out of sight. When the loading door rattled open, the light spilling out showed more uniforms inside - stacking, counting, jotting notes on clipboards. Too clean. Too organized. Not dockhands.

Espio shifted his skin to match the rust-streaked wall and slid closer. A loose plank gave him a slit of view into the warehouse.
Crates were stacked in tidy rows. Some were branded “Lumen-03.” But when one split under rough handling, Espio caught the gleam of something else inside - black metal, oiled and sharp-edged. Not lamps. Weapons.

The kind that The Trade liked to use. A possible link.

His tail twitched once, betraying thought. New money, clean boots, military drills. And guns under lamp labels.

He memorized faces, the cadence of their work, the number of crates marked and unmarked. Every detail was a thread Vector would pull until roots showed.
A whistle - a sharp one. One of the watchers turned toward the wall Espio hugged. His pulse slowed, his breathing disappeared. He sank into shadow, body blurring against the steel.

The watcher stared, uncertain, then spat and turned back. Espio didn’t move until the door clanged shut again and the yard was left with only rain.
Palladium. The name rolled silent across his mind.

It wasn’t a rumor anymore.

It was enough for now. He should retreat and report all of this to Vector.
Espio backed down, slowly moving out of the dock. When he felt he was far enough he swiftly grabbed a freshly washed T-shirt from a nearby balcony - and made sure to leave his last remaining 20₡ in the pocket of the pants that hung on the same clothes line.

But then—
Footsteps.

Too sharp. Too regular. They echoed somewhere behind him, steady as a metronome. Espio’s pace never changed, but inside, his focus narrowed. They’ve seen something. Not enough to shout about it… but enough to test it.

He cut sideways, sliding into a covered arcade where a dying lamp buzzed overhead. The drizzle softened here, pooling black along the floor. Espio pressed himself into shadow, shifting his scales until his body blurred into the cracked green-and-gray tile. He became stillness.

A figure walked into the light. Young, maybe twenty. A rat. White armband. The coat zipped tight. His eyes flicked—not random glances, but precise sweeps. The way hunters scan brush for movement.

He stopped. Whistled, low and sharp: two quick notes.

The sound hung in the damp air. Then - answering boots. Another man - this time a boar, same uniform, emerging at the far end of the arcade.
Espio’s muscles coiled, claws digging silently into the grout of the wall as he scaled upward, becoming part of the crumbling masonry. Rainwater streamed past him in silver threads, breaking only slightly where it struck his skin. He forced himself not to breathe too hard.

The two men met below him, voices low but tense.

“What is it?”

“…Saw something.”

“Not a dockworker?”

“Not moving like one.”

“Orders?”

“Check. Thoroughly.”

The rat of them pulled a small lantern from his coat, its light cutting gold arcs across the arcade. It swung wider, climbing higher on the wall. Espio pressed flatter against the bricks, his color shifting darker to match a patch of mold. The beam slid just past his face, close enough to paint his breath white in its glow - before dipping down again.

They split up. One headed toward the alley to the west. The other turned into a side corridor, boots clicking against old tiles, lantern swaying.
Espio hung there, unmoving. He could feel every second dragging out, heavy as lead. The arcade groaned under the weight of dripping pipes, the lamp above flickering in uneven bursts.

Below, one of the men paused. Looked up. His eyes traced the cracks of the wall as if his instincts were pulling him closer to where Espio was.

Espio’s hand silently grabbed a hidden blade by his thigh...