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.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!”
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 took on a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
“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.
“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… Ahem. 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.
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. 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.
