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.
There was no alley. Only a concrete wall.
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[a]-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[c][d] 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.
-------------------------
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.
--------------------------------
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.”
“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 muffled music from from the club downstairs was a distant noise - 'Środa Czwartek' by Video echoed from under the floor like a heartbeat.
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's neon 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 avaiable seat, 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.”
-----------------------------------
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.
------------------------------------
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 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.
---------------------------
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!”
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, answering... something. He was too excited to really pay attention.
“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.”
