Author's Note: Because I've been asked, and I haven't made it completely clear for all the characters...

Tails: 8 years old

Quinn: 12 (outside estimate)

Bellesailes: 19

Myrtle: 23

Spindletop: 26

Katchy and Catchie: late 20s, exact same age (obviously)

Brady: late 20s

"The Mischief" (Sonic, Asher, Fionnghal and Tatu): around 30, all within a year of each other

Kakkari: around 30

Fringe: late 30s

Perle Rocciaforte: early-to-mid 40s

Eggman: late 40s to 50

Thadesch: mid 50s

Do all Mobian species age the same way a human does? Probably not, but I'd think that all the characters above basically do. Damselflies have a much-reduced lifespan— given their myriad health problems I'd figure they seldom reach 40— so Bellesailes would be considered 'middle-aged' practically, if not emotionally.

Well, definitely not emotionally...

.

.

"FUO"

I.

Bellesailes stormed back on to the bridge, at first walking quickly and confidently, but every step towards that large chair at the center of the room saw her pace lessen, and the confidence of her footfalls drop. By the time she reached Eggman's side she was skulking like a shamed dog.

Eggman looked up at her as she approached; he didn't have to prompt her to speak.

"The general alert is ongoing," she said, not bothering to make eye-contact with him. "Security at the tail of the ship is tripled and we've got guards posted on the roof of the medical complex; there's no way that little fox can make it off the ship without being seen..."

Eggman narrowed his eyes behind those dark spectacles.

"But you haven't found him yet, Bellesailes?"

The dame grit her teeth, shaking her head as she stared down at the floor.

Eggman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Unacceptable—"

"Yes, sir—"

"Ridiculous!"

"Yes, sir."

The man leaned back in his chair.

"How is Twenty-Eight One-Fourteen?"

"Recovering. They safely transported her down to the medical complex—"

"I don't want to see that idiot dame on my bridge ever again, or on the rest of my ship! Stupidity like that I cannot abide."

"Respectfully," Bellesailes crossed her arms, "that wasn't her fault—"

"Oh, so she didn't let that little fox tinker with her insides, did she?"

"She did, but I let her let him," Bellesailes explained. "I'm her commander; I'm responsible for what my subordinates do."

A small tic wracked the corner of Eggman's grizzled jowls. He clucked his tongue.

"So if I should kick anyone off the Viper it'd be you?"

The dame looked to one side. She twisted her thin lips against each other like licorice strips.

"I will find him—"

"Is it too much to ask," Eggman growled, "that my personnel show any basic competence?"

"No, sir—"

"Too much to ask that they not be outsmarted by an autistic juvenile fox?"

"No—"

"—to ask that they not be raving idiots?"

The dame lowered her head; by now the entire bridge crew had turned their attention to the scene. Bellesailes closed her eyes, lips still twisted about uncomfortably. She slowly looked up at Eggman and squeaked out a chastised apology in damselfly lowspeak.

The nails-on-a-chalkboard cacophony sent everyone's hands to their ears; pained moans filled the room. Only Dasy and Eggman appeared unfazed by the piercing screech of her words, and the latter merely narrowed his eyes, scowling at the pathetic display.

"Don't apologize to me for acting like an idiot," Eggman grumbled. "I'll consider an apology after we have the fox in hand, and not before."

"I—"

"Is that clear, Thirteen Two-Eleven?"

The dragonfly's slit pupils dilated and her lips parted, slack, as if she'd just been shot.

In all honesty a bullet to the heart might've done her less damage.

"It's clear," Bellesailes whispered, stepping back from Eggman's chair with her head down. "I'llcatch him; he can't have gone far."

"On his little legs?" Eggman grumbled. "I'd at least assume we have an advantage, there."

"You might be surprised," Dasy interjected, looking up from its console. "The little fox might be quite athletic for his age; that oversized heart in his chest couldn't hurt."

Eggman looked over at the android.

"What 'oversized heart'?"

"I performed a cursory medical scan upon his arrival to the ship; the kit has an adult's heart in his chest, not a juvenile's."

Eggman pursed his lips.

"A... medical abnormality, perhaps? Enlarged—"

Dasy wagged its head, throwing sparks.

"No. The heart is likely several decades old, lacks a male mammalian chromosome and scar tissue surrounding it indicates a surgical procedure. The scan suggests it was likely an intraspecies donation, or at least a donation from another member of the Vulpes genus."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it—"

"—didn't seem relevant at the time." Eggman finished Dasy's words in synch with the android, gesturing dismissively with one hand.

"Is it relevant?" Bellesailes tilted her head.

"Doesn't concern you, even if it is," Eggman looked back at the dame, his scowl returning, "unless having a bigger heart does give him the edge over you. He certainly has a bigger brain—"

"Sir?"

Eggman looked back at Dasy with grit teeth, fuming at the interruption.

"What?"

The android cranked its head, doing its best to mimic 'hesitance' while only marginally succeeding. Its silver eyes beamed with indifferent abandon.

"It is currently a quarter past two..."

Eggman's angry scowl disappeared, replaced by a cold and empty stare. He looked down at the device on his wrist, double-checking the time, and then he stood.

"Uh... thank you, Dasy," he muttered.

The man moved off for the small metal door across the way from the bridge tucked into the side of the ovoid room. He said nothing more to Bellesailes as he disappeared through the door and past that sheen pink curtain beyond.

The door snapped shut behind him, and the sound was like another bullet striking the dame's chest. Bellesailes collected herself, turned on her heels and strutted out of the bridge. She moved into the corridor outside and stood in place for a moment, waiting for that giant circular door to close behind her.

Then, as soon as it was shut, she went to work on the sleek metal walls of the corridor, furiously pounding at them with her fists, yelling in frustration. Soon she tired herself out, panting raggedly while leaning against one of the walls. When she looked up she saw a pair of opossum engineers down on the other end of the corridor, stock still and blinking at her with their beady black eyes.

"What?" She barked.

The opossums thought better of lingering and scurried away in the opposite direction.

"Now, I thought they were supposed to play dead whenever they detect a threat."

The dame spun around; Tatu leaned against the door to the bridge. His rocky face cracked with a smirk.

"They wouldn't need to 'play' if they gawked at me any longer!" Bellesailes put her slender fingers through the knuckle guard of her dominant hand, cradling the scaly skin on her fist as a pale streak of gunky yellow blood oozed around her fingers. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be down in medical interrogating that dirty rat?"

"She'll keep," Tatu shrugged. "The docs say they can safely keep her under for another 50 hours if need be, so no need to bother interrogating her until after all the excitement has blown over." He cocked his head at the bridge door. "And it looks like there's plenty of 'excitement' going on up here."

Bellesailes scowled, moving her fingers from her knuckle.

"Well, since you're here I suppose that you'll be taking command of the search for that wretched brat."

Tatu's smirk widened. He pulled a small silver tube from a pocket on his hip and beckoned to the dame.

"I'll take command just long enough to fix my subordinate's boo-boo..."

Bellesailes scowled; when he again beckoned she reluctantly approached him, wounded fist outstretched. Tatu took her hand and sprayed a slimy gel over her knuckles as he spoke.

"Angry, are we?"

The dame bared her teeth, but then she shook her head.

"Angry... at how I feel. You wouldn't understand, Tatu, being a simple opportunist—"

"You feel 'clumsy', don't you?"

Bellesaile's squished nose wrinkled; she curled her lips together.

"You don't like going before him empty-handed, I take it?" The armadillo asked.

The dame pulled her fist back, looking away from him. She flexed her fingers, trying to keep the tendons loose even as the coagulant hardened over the gash.

"He... called me by my medical index number. He's never done that before. Not even when we first met." She shook her head, sighing.

"Big deal," Tatu shrugged. "The other Dames get by just fine using their digits—"

"He didn't want my digits when he first met me; he wanted to know my name."

"Well, it helps that he seems to be one of the only creatures in existence that can listen to damselfly lowspeak without rupturing his eardrums. Of course it doesn't translate well anyway, does it?"

The Dame stared at the metal wall behind Tatu, fists balled in anger. She slowly relaxed them, her eyes wandering to the floor.

"La fille avec belles ailes, chatoyantes..."

Tatu cocked his brow.

"What the heck is that gibberish?"

"A human lowspeak." She wagged her head. "Nothing important. Just one that he's fond of..."

"Maybe you think I don't understand 'loyalty', Bellesailes, but the fact is I do. I could prove it to you, but I'd just as soon not, right now. Listen: don't lose perspective just because you want to please him. I mean, he's angry with you right now because you allowed a kidnapped, innocent juvenile to get away—"

"Respectfully," she snarled, getting right in the Armadillo's face. "You don't have the right to criticize him, and I won't stand here and listen to you do it, either!"

She kept her bared teeth in his face, but Tatu only smiled, chuckling. He nodded.

"Well, you're right about that, I suppose. Anyway, you won't have to hear me do that, right now; I'm taking a shuttle out to the Sin Pohmpe'olus ruins early. I'm gonna link up with the wolves and make this a joint operation with the Regulars. I'll leave the 'fox hunting' on the ship to you, okay?"

Tatu started walking down the corridor, leaving a bewildered Bellesailes in his wake.

"Wait, why are you leaving me in command, here?" She followed behind him.

"Two reasons," Tatu held up a pair of massive, stony fingers as he walked. "For one: if James Prower actually does show up to those ruins and surrenders himself to the wolves, well, he can't count on the Code to keep him safe. There's a fairly good chance he won't make it back to the Viper alive. Or in one piece. Or in recognizable pieces, even. I'll try to keep the doggies honest."

"And the other reason?" Bellesailes stopped walking and crossed her arms.

Tatu also stopped walking; he shrugged.

"You look like you need some brownie points, don't you? Well, catching the kit should net you some, and that should be relatively easy. I mean, despite what you say you at least look coordinated enough. So, are you?" He looked back at the dame, his brow arched.

Bellesailes blinked. She narrowed her eyes.

"I am not clumsy," she nodded, lips flared.

"Glad to hear it," Tatu continued walking off. "Good hunting, then..."

The dame faced the bridge door, arms still crossed. She looked over her shoulder.

"Tatu," she mumbled.

"Hmm?" He looked back at her.

"Thank you."

The armadillo smirked, scoffing.

"For what? I actually just think that you and the li'l kit are about evenly matched; it should be an entertaining matchup..."

He must've thought he could get a smile from her with that kind of quip. Needless to say she didn't.

She did, however, crack a small smile at the absurdity of it all.

That kit would be lucky to end up in unrecognizable pieces by the time she was done with him...

II.

Eggman stepped beyond the sheen curtain, absently smoothing it back into place before moving to a small window set into the side of the room. He removed his black spectacles and set them on a metal shelf beneath the frame. For a time he merely stared out the window, watching the erratic dance of the electrical sandstorm outside. Every flash of lightning highlighted the rotted black orbs of his eyes, exposing the empty countenance of his gaze. After a moment he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"It's idiots, here, all the way down, dear." Again he looked out the window, slowly shaking his head. "No," he whispered, "it's really not. It's just...to be so close... that there could be a chance, even." He shook his head again. "I shouldn't take my anger out on them, but there aren't many places left for it to go. You understand, I'm sure."

Eggman turned around, facing the bed mounted against the wall.

She lay motionless on her back, just as he'd left her, of course, clad in her pale blue medical gown, hands crossed over her chest. Her hands and elbows bore dozens of IVs, their reedy needles sunk down into her thin, pale skin like worms boring into the flesh of a corpse.

She wasn't a corpse, naturally.

Technically...

The respirator hummed at her bedside, whirring as it drew artificial breaths into and out of the plastic tube connected to the hole in her throat. A dark gray bandage covered her eyes, delicately wrapped around her head. A cascade of sweat glistened on her clammy skin; it had already begun seeping into the blindfold's fabric, turning the gray bandage black, like rot infecting a wound. The sweat even trickled off the stubble of her shaved head, falling like rainwater from delicate leaves.

All this was a normal sight to him, of course.

The young fox standing by her beside, watching her sleep, was not.

Eggman's head reared back in shock. The man grabbed his glasses off the table and quickly set them over his eyes, and then he rounded the bed, snatching up Tails by the scruff of his neck and pinning him against the wall, snarling.

"What are you doing in here?" He demanded.

"Looking around." Tails shrugged as best he could, given he was being held several feet off the ground and pinned to a cold metal wall. That didn't seem to bother him, particularly.

"I... I should put a bullet in your brain!"

"Defeats the purpose of capturing me, doesn't it?"

"Maybe you're not worth the effort of keeping—"

"Maybe do it outside, then." Tails motioned to the girl in the medical bed with his head.

Eggman's bared teeth slowly disappeared behind his lips. He roughly dumped the kit on the floor.

"The girl wouldn't mind," he quipped. "She's got a blindfold on, after all."

"Irrelevant." The kit shook his head. "Patient is comatose—"

"Thank you so much; I hadn't noticed—"

"— however the blood spatter from any brain ejecta might end up around the patient's tracheal incision. Infection would be likely."

Eggman's irate face slowly fell, like a buckled marble surface resettling after an earthquake. He pointed an accusatory finger at the little kit.

"You nearly killed my Dame soldier, you little runt."

"Not my intention—"

"Oh, really," Eggman scoffed. "How do you figure, exactly?"

Something in the kit's eyes changed, and Eggman saw it immediately. It was a cold glint creeping over that adorably naive glimmer that he bore by default. It lasted only a moment, but it was steely enough that Eggman could finish the kit's sentence for him.

"Because if I wanted her dead—"

"—she'd be dead," Eggman sighed, nodding.

"But, if I killed her—"

"—we'd kill you?" Eggman guessed.

"Increases the odds, at least," Tails nodded.

Eggman grunted, conceding a mild appreciation at the kit's logic with a tilt of his head.

"Well, we didn't get very far, did we? In our little escape attempt?"

Tails blinked.

"Who said anything about escaping?"

The kit moved back to the bedside, clambering up the side of the bed. He nearly leaned over the girl before Eggman held him back.

"What are you doing, then?" He demanded.

Tails looked at the girl in the bed, then back at Eggman. He shrugged with indifference.

"Looking around." He tilted his head at the comatose girl. "What's her name?"

"Why do you care?"

Tails shrugged.

"I don't. Not really, anyway. But Chief Brady told me I should ask people who come to my medical tent what their name is before I start working on them. It makes them feel better, somehow, but I don't really understand that."

"What's it matter here?" Eggman motioned to the girl. "She doesn't even know where she is, let alone whether someone even cares what her name is—"

"You know her name, though."

Eggman sneered.

"Because I'm her physician, you mean?" He scoffed. "Maybe I care about names even less than you do."

Tails pulled away from Eggman's grip, moving to the opposite side of the girl. He looked up at Eggman from across the girl's bed.

"There's another reason you'd know her name, though."

"Do tell," Eggman grumbled.

Tails looked down at the girl in the bed, his eyes scanning the sharp contour of her chin and the abrupt slope of her reedy cheekbones.

"I can see a lot of things that other people can't," he said. "It comes from being... being the way I am. There's stuff that wrong with me— inside my head— and I know that. People think I don't, but they're wrong. I'll probably never be able figure out what's wrong with me. But then who does? Maybe being 'wrong' is just who I am. I don't know. Still, it lets me see stuff sometimes that other people miss, or that they just can't see because they're not messed-up the same way I am."

The kit looked off to one side.

"Everyone thinks I don't see as much as I do; they think I'm just a calculator, or a wonky machine, and outside of all the stuff I was 'programmed' to do by Doctor Prower I'm nothing. They might be right about that. Maybe I'm not much more than a calculator, but still: I do see more things than most people think. I see more than almost all of 'em do."

He looked back up at Eggman, his black eyes hesitant.

"Like... like earlier, when I told you they call me 'Tails' because of my performance? That's not true. They are making fun of me. They're making fun of these," the kit's two tails came up on either side of his body, briefly wrapping over his chest like a fur coat. "I just made that other reason up. It's not really true."

"Shocking," Eggman crossed his arms and rolled his eyes behind his black glasses. "What's your point?"

"Mobians sometimes think that all humans look alike, 'cause to most of us you're all weird aliens. But I guess I kinda see the world like an alien, in a way. For example: I see enough to be able to tell when two humans are related to each other, even without seeing their hair, or their eyes."

Eggman's condescending smirk slowly fell. He sat down in a chair beside the bed.

"It's in the bone structure, mostly," Tails explained, awkwardly repositioning himself on the side of the bed. He surveyed the girl with probing eyes. "Female... maybe late teens—"

"Early twenties," Eggman whispered, resting his elbows on his thighs. "She's old enough to drink, since last month..."

The kit's nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath, moving his face up from the girl's chest. He looked at Eggman, sniffing at the air in his direction, and for the first time his face showed more than simple clinical interest. His whiskers twitched as he spoke.

"Offspring?" Tails whispered.

Eggman returned the kit's gaze; he didn't answer for nearly thirty seconds, finally belting out one word with a sour bite.

"Offspring."

Tails returned his attention to the girl, examining her skin, oral mucosa and lymph nodes. He sniffed at the gap between the plastic tubing and her throat incision before reaching up to remove her blindfold.

"Don't bother," Eggman growled, grabbing the kit's hand. "Look at my eyes, if you want to see what hers look like, now."

"They're the same?"

Eggman frowned, turning his head to one side.

"They've always been the same. From the day she was born..."

Tails finished his little examination by sniffing both her ears.

"Well, esteemed 'doctor'," Eggman grumbled, motioning with one hand, "what's your diagnosis?"

"She's suffering from the SICR virus," Tails said. "Stage 3. That would explain the coma, at least—"

"So, then," Eggman leaned forward, his brow furrowed with a hateful scowl, "what 'magic' would you work, then, hmm? Being in the leading 'tail' of the probability curve, well, surely you've got a great trick up your sleeve, don't you?" He spread both hands in a grand, sarcastic gesture. "So go ahead: work your magic!"

The kit casually held one bare arm up and wiggled his wrist, not taking his eyes off the girl in the bed.

"I don't wear sleeves," he whispered. He looked at Eggman and shook his head. "And I don't have any 'tricks' to use; the SICR virus is highly resistant to treatment. It's... well, it's magnificent."

Eggman tilted his head, soured at Tails' choice of words. But what began as a hateful scowl slowly turned into a rueful smile. He scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," Eggman whispered. "It most certainly is."

Tails let his legs dangle off the bed, scooting around to better face Eggman.

"You think Doctor Prower can cure her?"

Eggman shrugged, grunting noncommittally.

"If anyone can. I don't know, honestly. I don't hold out much hope."

"Why take me, then? Why go to all this trouble if you can't be certain?"

Eggman turned his attention to the girl in the bed. He produced a small cloth from the dresser behind him and started gently wiping some of the excess sweat from her brow.

"Two reasons," he said.

"What are they?" Tails cocked his head.

"One: she's my daughter, and if I had a one-in-ten-thousand chance to cure her, well, I'd still move heaven and earth to do it."

Tails watched him dab the girl's forehead clean of sweat.

"Paternal sentiment," the kit nodded. "Instinctual. Irrational, to a point..."

Eggman looked back at Tails and drew a slow breath. He chose to ignore the kit's words, instead turning attention to the blindfold on the girl's face. He adjusted it, making it more symmetrical, as he spoke.

"The other reason you'd appreciate even less, I'm sure. Once, long ago in our history— human history, I mean— we had buildings that were truly grand structures. Marble columns with solemn halls beyond. And outside these buildings we had giant statutes that loomed up into the sky. Always the same thing, those statues. Do you know what they depicted?"

Tails absently shook his head. Eggman's wan smile turned more bitter, the corners of his mouth twisting as if he'd bitten into a lime. He motioned down at the girl in the bed.

"Her," he said. "They looked just... like... her. A woman— thin and courageous, girded in a flowing gown— with a blindfold held fast over her eyes. She'd stand with a sword in one hand and a scale in the other, and..." Eggman looked out the window, again watching the electrical storm howl. "And she would stand tall..."

Tails scrunched his face as he considered the frail girl in the bed beneath him.

"She doesn't have a sword, or scales, though."

Eggman returned his attention to the girl, dabbing her shoulders and arms clean of the sweat that burned against her skin.

"I hold them for her, and I use them for her, too..."

The kit obviously didn't understand anything being told to him, but he appeared content to let the subject drop. Instead he took interest in Eggman's work, pulling one of his white gloves off to touch her skin with bare fingers.

"The patient is febrile," he noted. "About 39 degrees, give or take—"

"It'll reach 40, up to 41," Eggman said, "before it lets off. It almost always comes on in the early afternoon." He looked over at the kit. "You can set your watch by it. I do, in fact..."

Tails looked up at Eggman, brow furrowed.

"A complication of her SICR virus? Or of treatments?"

The man shrugged, again focusing on cleaning up the sweat.

"I don't know enough about the virus to say. In case you didn't notice there's precious few other living humans on this planet with Stage 3 SICR, aren't there?"

The kit tilted his head.

"Humans typically run colder than Mobians; based on treating the Qui'ntroshe's incident of Springlebe fever I've concluded that any body temperature over 40 degrees is problematic in humans—"

"What a genius you are—"

"—therefore, given the patient's hyperpyrexic state, cryonics should be considered—"

"As if she'd survive that," Eggman spat. "Her body's barely held together as it is. To put her on ice? No, she'd never thaw, alive. And you can stop with your suggestions; she has the best possible care of anyone on this miserable planet. I don't need your suggestions."

Tails absently rubbed two of his bare fingers together, grinding a droplet of the girl's sweat between them.

"Treatment could be more efficient," he said. "You can program a machine to predict her fever spikes, then have it automatically clean up her sweat. Obviates the need to—"

"I see to that," Eggman dumped the sweat-soaked rag in a canister beside the bed. He stood up. "I don't need that process to be any more 'efficient'."

He pulled the kit off the girl's bed and set him on the ground. He prodded him in the back, moving him toward the door.

"Unless you have any more useless questions—"

"Just one."

Eggman sighed.

"Be quick about it!"

Tails cocked his head to one side, considering the man's demand. He spoke in one uninterrupted yip, as quickly as he could.

"Whatshername?"

At first Eggman frowned at the kit's rapid-fire diction— he couldn't tell whether the brat was being honest, or whether he was just making fun of him. Ultimately he decided that it didn't matter.

"You told me that you don't care about names—"

"You do, though, don't you?" Tails faced Eggman, looking up at him. "Would it make you feel better to tell me, do you think?"

The man crossed his arms, looking the kit up and down. He couldn't help but indulge his curiosity.

"Just when are you being serious?"

"I'm always serious—"

"I doubt that you're always speaking from that oversized heart of yours," Eggman smirked. "For that matter where did you get your heart from, anyway?"

Tails crossed his own arms, meeting Eggman's scowl muscle-for-muscle.

"I don't have a heart," he replied.

"Is that supposed to be a metaphor?"

The kit cocked his brow.

"What's a meta for?"

"Now you aren't being serious—"

"I am—"

"Not in the least—"

"Sure am—"

"You are mocking me—"

"That's true—"

"So that means you're not—"

"I'm mocking you," Tails said, "but I'm being very serious about it."

The two stood there with their crossed arms, both of them looking like they'd just bitten into a rotten apple. It must've been thirty seconds before one of them broke their pose. He didn't want to; he'd prefer to remain in his imposing, domineering stance. But he couldn't help it.

Eggman chuckled, shaking his head as he faced away from the little fox, staring at the sheen pink curtain extended over the door to the bridge.

"Something funny?" Tails asked.

"You are a riot, young mister Prower. I still don't know whether I should try recruiting you or putting that bullet in your head..."

Tails cocked his head back at the bed, looking over at the blindfolded girl.

"Mind the—"

"—'brain ejecta', yes," Eggman's small grin widened, briefly, before he banished it from his face. He followed the kit's gaze, looking down on his daughter's body for a time.

"Her name is Innusha," he whispered. "Since you were wondering."

"A human name?

"No, octopoid."

"Are you—"

"Mocking you," Eggman nodded. "Yes."

"What's her name mean?"

"It means..." Eggman shook his head, teeth grit. "It means Innusha, that's all."

Tails again surveyed the girl, nodding appreciatively.

"You've calculated her care very effectively—"

"I didn't ask your opinion—"

Tails looked up at the man with dire eyes.

"—so it's surprising that you'd miscalculate what you're doing now so terribly. Doctor Prower will not come to rescue me—"

"We'll see about that—"

"—and you still haven't told me: is Fionnghal dead, or not?" Tails crossed his arms.

Eggman sighed.

"Your mistress is alive and unharmed, for now. I haven't figured out what I'm going to do with her—"

"Then you're going to die," Tails whispered these words without flair or drama, as if he were reading something as banal as the weather forecast. "She will come for me, and she'll tear this ship apart to do it."

"You're giving the rodent a little too much credit, I think," Eggman smirked, but then he cocked his brow. "Why are you so certain she'd barge in here after you, anyway, even if she could? You're not her kit, are you?"

"No. I'm her 'property'," Tails shook his head, "and she doesn't like thieves."

Eggman scoffed.

"Well, until she does 'tear this ship apart' to get you you're stuck with me. And if you plan on running around any further I'll have you tied to the nose of the ship."

"I'd get bugs in my teeth..."

"Seriously, though," Eggman wagged a stern finger in front of the kit's face. "Do you need to be shackled in order to behave?"

"I'll stay wherever you want me to," the kit shrugged. "Doesn't matter now..."

Eggman motioned to the floor beside his foot.

"Then stay right by my side. If I even see a hint of wanderlust in your eyes then I'll dangle you from the ceiling of the bridge by your big toes."

Tails scratched at the bandage on his head, brow furrowed in thought.

"Debatable whether the hallux muscles possess necessary tensile strength, although working in concert their force is multiplied by—"

"Just going right back into it, aren't you?" Eggman interrupted, tilting his head ever so slightly. "The act?"

Tails looked up at the man and shook his head.

"It's not all an act," he said. "But I guess it is easier to just keep running on it most of the time; it's what everyone expects from me, anyway." The kit cocked his head at the door. "Just like all the Delts out there expect you to remain calm. So, really, what I do around people is just like what you do, since it looks like you only say what you really think when you're alone with your daughter."

At first he smirked at the kit's logic. He almost let off a wry chuckle in acknowledgement but then he stopped himself short; he didn't have his agents violate that idiotic Code of the Tribes and abduct this kit so they could bond over Mobian society's expectations of both of them. He looked back at his daughter in the bed.

No, that wasn't the reason he was here, at all.

"Eyes on the prize," Eggman grumbled.

He rudely pushed Tails back out through the pink curtain, both of them headed for the bridge.

Seriously, if he kept up the sappy 'heat-to-heart' stuff any longer it'd only be a matter of time before he ended up coaching the kit's Little League games and taking him out on fishing trips.

"I don't suppose you fish?" Eggman muttered sarcastically. He prodded the kit's back as he walked.

Tails shook his head.

"I only eat rabbits."

Eggman smirked.

"Ah. I hear they're very good eating..."

The pair emerged back on the bridge. The animals manning their consoles against the far wall still worked on coordinating the search for the little kit. It took them a minute to notice Tails standing before Eggman near the bridge's center, and like dominoes each animal prodded their neighbor's shoulder as soon as they noticed, motioning to the unlikely scene behind them, until everyone on the bridge looked at Eggman with a mix of surprise and confusion on their faces.

"It takes a human to hunt a fox, it seems," Eggman explained. He moved for his chair, but when the animals kept up their curious looks he motioned to their consoles. "Do we not have work to do, making my ship ready to cast-off?"

At this they quickly swiveled around in their chairs, returning to their tasks.

The bridge door hissed on its hydraulics and the metal iris snapped open. Bellesailes stormed back on the bridge, data pad in hand.

"We've locked down the tail ramp and secured the cargo holds," she looked over the pad as she approached Eggman's chair. "And we're sweeping the gular chambers beneath us, just in case that bastard kit is—"

She looked up from the data pad, only to see Tails standing by Eggman's chair. He looked up at her with expressionless eyes, blinking sedately.

"—standing right in front of me," she muttered, yellow eyes wide as dinner plates.

Eggman smirked as he attended to the console in front of his chair.

"Ah, you found him at last," he said. "Well-done, my dear..."

"Where—"

"That doesn't matter, now."

Bellesailes scowled.

"I'll get some cuffs—"

"Not necessary, for the time being. Our little friend here has agreed to behave himself, for now—"

"You believe him?" She crossed her arms.

"If he doesn't," Eggman shrugged, "then you can pin him to the wall. For now, though, perhaps you'd be good enough to double-check the status of your commandos? We may need an air escort to bring Prower in, assuming he shows at the ruins."

The dame's slit nose twitched. She nodded, stepping back from Eggman's chair. As she turned around Eggman spoke to her, not looking up from his console.

"And, Bellesailes, now would be the right time for an apology, wouldn't it?"

Bellesailes turned around. Again her nose twitched and she bowed her head.

"I am sor—"

"I apologize," Eggman whispered.

The dame blinked, looking up at the man. Eggman returned her gaze, giving her a brief nod of his own.

"I don't have to tell you how much stress this situation has put me under—"

"No, sir," the dame shook her head.

"—but that hardly excuses my behavior. All I can say— poor recompense though it be— is that you are not a number. You're my commander."

Bellesailes' nostrils flared. She nodded appreciatively.

"Carry on, then," Eggman said.

The dame struck a smart salute and then turned on her heels. She moved off the bridge, trying her best to look militaristic and orderly, but a small subconscious bob showed through her stride. Eggman smirked; her boots clanked on the metal floor, but she might've been walking ten feet off the ground.

After all, you don't really need wings to fly, do you?

He blinked, returning to his console.

"That reminds me: I need to finish calibrating her new wings..."

Tails cocked his head.

"After what she did to the last pair?"

The man scowled.

"That was hedgehog-inflicted damage. So was her original injury, as a matter of fact. If I were the type to hold a grudge, well, I might start taking that personally at some point."

"Seems like an awful lot of unnecessary work, given her recklessness—"

"Enthusiasm."

"—she'll probably lose the next pair, too—"

"Then I'll make her another." Eggman returned his attention to the console. "You don't let a kid go barefoot just because they scuffed their shoes."

Tails tilted his head in the other direction.

"Paternal sentiment..."

Eggman looked over at him, a stern scowl on his face.

"It's practical for my personnel to be fit and prepared," he said. "But, even then: is it really so surprising that the big, bad villain would actually give a damn about his minions?"

Tails considered this, staring at Eggman's display as he thought. The chaotic lights of the console bounced off his black eyes, looking something like galaxies swirling in the cosmic mist.

"Sentiment is instinctual, and irrational," he said. "Villainy is a choice." The kit looked up at Eggman, and his face was nothing but naïve and sincere. "Are you a villain?"

This caught Eggman off-guard. The man leaned back in his chair, staring into space. For a moment he said nothing.

"That," he whispered, "would be rational of me..."

The kit's ears pricked up, twisting like satellite dishes looking for a signal.

"What'd you say?"

When Eggman looked back down at the kit he bore a scowl as dark as the night.

"I said be quiet or I'll have you muzzled!"

III.

Your average person, on your average day, isn't looking to make waves or cause trouble. People in general are cooperative, polite and— most importantly— almost always willing to suffer a minor inconvenience in order to please an authority figure.

Especially if that authority figure is dressed for the part.

Fionnghal strutted up the rusty metal stairs leading to the medical complex roof. She wore a black uniform top and matching pants, with a narrow brimmed hat on her head to complete the ensemble. A pistol bounced against her hip as she clambered up to the top of the building.

Fate had been kind to the rat as she wandered the sterile white corridors of the complex. The dainty nurse's outfit was an ungainly fit on her and she felt utterly ridiculous wearing it to begin with. But that wasn't what mattered.

What mattered was how she acted in that outfit. And she chose to act the part of an authority figure.

And yeah: people are really eager to please authority figures, when push comes to shove.

A group of animals wheeled a damselfly through the corridor on a crash cart. Fionnghal managed to duck into an empty room and she watched as they moved past her. They were going on about something called a 'pulmonary aspirator', or some such thing, but she wasn't paying attention to any of that. She was more interested in one of the animals bringing up the rear: he was a rather lanky opossum, and he happened to be wearing a black uniform. Fionnghal's eyes lit up when she read the patch on his shoulder:

'Egg Viper Bridge Crew— Tactical Operations'.

The rat smirked like a juvie at a candy store. She picked that very moment to strike.

"You, there," Fionnghal sauntered from the room and blocked the opossum's path, one bony finger prodding him in the chest. "What's your name and designation?"

The opossum blinked its beady eyes. Its long jaw twitched.

"I, uh— Caobranco," he said. "Viper tac-ops. I'm just helping to escort that patient." He motioned down the hall at the group as they disappeared around a corner, and then he looked closely at Fionnghal, blinking his beady eyes. "I don't remember ever seeing you around here, ma'am..."

"I don't recall seeing you, and that's a big problem!" Fionnghal motioned at the empty room behind her. "Let's go, quick. If my boss finds out that I missed an inoculation I'll be sent down to work in the wolf den!"

"I— wait a minute. What inoculation?"

Fionnghal gripped Caobranco's shoulder as she spoke.

"We're immunizing against a pathogen creeping up in our marsupial population—"

"But I feel fine, ma'am. I really need to get back—"

"—before it spreads out of control and becomes a pandemic. No one wants that, obviously!"

"No, but—" Caobranco grunted as Fionnghal shoved him into the room and closed the door. "Now, listen," he pointed at her, "I haven't heard anything about—"

Fionnghal scoffed.

"Of course not! Do you want everyone to panic? We're keeping this as quiet as possible. Now listen: this will take five minutes, tops, and then you can be on your way. First thing's first: strip."

Caobranco stepped back, scoffing.

"What for?"

"I need to do a cursory body check, just to make sure you don't have any lesions—"

"I can save you the trouble: I don't—"

"Please strip," Fionnghal waved a hand in the air, motioning to his shirt and pants.

"Look, I—"

"The examination requires that you strip—"

"My CO didn't ever mention—"

"It is absolutely essential that you strip—"

"Can I just—"

"You have no other choice, you must strip—"

"Fine." The opossum sighed in exasperation and removed his shirt and pants. "Just be quick about it!"

Fionnghal made a half-hearted effort to examine his chest and legs for irregularities, moving fur around with one hand while she retrieved a syringe from her dress with the other.

"Lift your arm," she commanded.

Caobranco did so, sighing.

"Turn your head," she said.

He complied.

Fionnghal smiled as she found the opossum's carotid artery pulsing under his fur. She gently inserted the syringe into his neck and dumped its contents into him. The effect was immediate. The opossum suddenly started staggering around the room, jaw slack. Drool started bubbling up out his mouth and then he collapsed on the floor.

"Play dead," Fionnghal chuckled.

Obvious joke, sure, but sometimes those could be the funniest. It made her laugh, anyway.

Although maybe she was still a little loopy from the sedatives...

She was a good enough sport to hook the incapacitated opossum up to a medical bed in the room before she put on his clothes and headed out. She had no idea whether an injection straight into the neck like that would be fatal or not, but at the very least the bed's equipment would keep him stabilized just north of being actually dead, until he could be found and awoken.

He'd certainly have some explaining to do then, she thought.

That made Fionnghal grin even more.

By the time she reached the roof of the medical complex the electrical sandstorm was at its peak; visibility around the roof was minimal, which was just fine for her purposes. The tail of the Egg Viper lay cemented on the roof's center, held down with electromagnetic locks. The body of the mighty vessel swished and swayed in the wind far overhead, but it was invisible in the billowing storm. The wind howled like a pack of tortured wolves. Fionnghal could smell the electricity in the air; even her whiskers clumped up into unruly tangles.

She ducked down behind some crates near the tail of the ship, sheltering herself from the terrible storm while collecting her wits.

What was she doing? What was her plan?

"Get aboard the ship," she muttered, "kill anything that moves, and rescue Tails."

She blinked, scrunching her face up.

Yeah, she definitely was still loopy from the sedatives.

"That's not a plan," she muttered. "That's suicide..."

Anyway: would Tails even be on the Viper? What if he was being held in medical, like she was? What if he wasn't even in Genocide City? What if Kakkari was only after Fionnghal, and he left Tails back in the Thallomoor?"

Fionnghal tilted her head; these were all excellent questions. And they even gave her another one to consider:

"What if I get myself killed because I don't know a damn thing about what's going on, and I go charging around blind, like some idiot little pup?"

Cooler heads would need to prevail, here, she thought. That's certainly what Ash would say if he was here. Fionnghal rested her forehead against the crate and scrunched her eyes, concentrating. First thing's first: does she board the Viper, or not?

A commotion across the roof pulled her from her thoughts. Even through the howling wind she could hear it: a half-dozen boots tromping up the metal stairs from the complex, emerging onto the roof. She peeked her head out from behind the crate and struggled to peer through the squall of the storm: a group of warthogs sauntered toward the tail end of the Viper, and at their center a figure in a billowing black cloak moved with them. Its hood was cinched up tightly over its head, but Fionnghal could make out one telltale feature from its face: a beaming red eye, writhing on an artificial, metal stalk.

She grit her teeth, scowling.

The warthog entourage exchanged some words with the animals guarding the tail of the ship and then Kakkari Nez stepped on board, removing the hood from his head as he disappeared into the ship.

"Subpar is on-board," one of the animals shouted into his headset. "You're a go for takeoff in five!"

Fionnghal's brow furrowed and her breaths came in long, deliberate draws.

Maybe cooler heads should prevail, here, she thought, but it didn't look like that was gonna happen. Right now the rat's insides burned from her head to her toes, as if she were seized by a wicked fever.

She knew the cause of that fever.

And she knew the cure, too.

Maybe cooler heads should prevail.

"But first thing's first," she growled, getting to her feet.