"Well, I can tell you this much. We're gonna need aluminum. We've got enough to cover the skin of the wing but not the spars or ribs," Rotor says, flipping through the schematics Tails drew up. "You're gonna have to make a trip to the scrap yard."

"I can leave before sunrise."

"The sooner the better. You might ought to ask Ari or Sonic to go with you."

"You know Sonic won't."

"Has he even emerged since last month?"

"Not really," Tails sighs, sliding the strap of an appropriate bag over his shoulder.

"That's a shame. I understand grieving, but... We got shit to do, you know?"

"Oh, I know. I think we both do. It's a matter of giving a shit."

"What about Ari?"

Tails looks up at him as he places a few tools in his bag. He looks back down. "I can handle it alone."

Fancy

Tails carefully skates down the hill of what ultimately amounts to garbage, creating a bit of an avalanche with him as he descends. He brushes the dust off himself as he takes a glance around the junkyard, the piles glowing with the rising sun.

He scans the horizon for an abandoned vehicle and spots a car in the distance. Readjusting his strap to better comfort his shoulder he trudges for it, slowly and steadily.
As he reaches the destroyed vehicle, he counts all four wheels still attached. One with bits of tire barely hanging on. He'll take care of that one first, the back right. He removes the scissor jack from his bag and places it under what's left of the car. He attaches the crank and turns it, looking on either side of him. He tries to keep his back to the vehicle while he cranks it, but it's awkward. Eventually fingers wrap around the tire iron in his bag and pull it out, steadying on the nut. One at a time they drop into the bag until he's prying what's left of the tire off the wheel and stuffing it into the bag. He takes a sparing sip from his canteen.

Slow and steady.

Forearm dragging against his soaked forehead. All four tires are eventually removed. He tucks them into the bag and slings it over his shoulder. He follows the irregular path a ways until coming to a stop, his eyes widening, readjusting. Taking a good look at the pile of discarded robots in front of him. He tries not to think of how many Mobians died inside them. He touches the head of a duck model.

Used to be there was just swatbots, they all looked the same. Big lumbering things with funny shaped heads. They looked more like humans than they did mobians. It wasn't long after the coup on Mobotropolis that the doctor started turning their kind into his. Didn't take the doctor long to figure out they didn't like to hurt their own kind. His own designs became more mobian and it was impossible to tell which ones had mobians inside them and which didn't. Eventually they had to let go of their roboticized comrades. There wasn't a cure. And if there was a cure, they didn't have the resources to wait around and find one, try and capture and identify their kind and keep them prisoner long enough to find one. They knew one thing about the robots made from their kind - turn it off long enough, and it doesn't come back on.
Ask Uncle Chuck or Aunt Bunnie about that, Tails would tell you with a grimace. Anyone would. Still, some lost more than others. Two of the only people Tails felt comfortable calling family. Two of them.

The sun crawls slowly up the sky like a weakened mercenary towards the last desperate hopes for refuge.
He reckons he has enough to melt down and he decides to head on back when he hears something. Mechanical whirring, the heavy footsteps of roboticals. They're patrolling the junkyard now. They didn't have much time. Tails checks the passenger door's handle right next to him and it offers no resistance. Locked. He scoots to the back seat, running his hand along the side of the car to check without looking. The back seat handle hits a snag and pulls the door open. He's quick to sidestep the door before opening it.

Backing into the open car and quietly pulling the rusted door closed behind him, he scoots down. He can't see, but he assumes he can't be seen. He tries not to think of the conditions.
It reeks in there. There's definitely a wasp nest inside of the car. They buzzed around when he got inside the car, now they've taken root on several places near him. Headrest, dashboard, back of the seat in front of him. He lay still and quiet.

He heard the usual playback; robotic voices saying things like ALL CLEAR, CHECK OVER HERE, LET'S TAKE A BREAK, and ALL DONE.
The robots were programmed to look dumber than they were. A trick the freedom fighters picked up on, but not soon enough.
But there was something Tails heard after that which made his blood curdle.

"SONIC! I LOVE YOU!"

Aunt Sally. He moves more quickly than he should to look out the window in the direction of the recording. Sally's dying words, coming from a robot that looks suspiciously like the princess herself. But was that the only one.

"Fuck," Tails mutters to himself as he collapses back into his seat. An angry red wasp races towards him, stinger on the offensive.
Snoot filling with poison, Tails angrily swats the insect, smacking it down to the seat next to him, extinguishing its life but filling his hand with poison as well.

"FFFFFFFFFFfffffffffffffffff-" Tails stops himself. He covers his muzzle and begins sneezing uncontrollably.
Desperately covering his snoot he quiets his sneezing to that of a mouse as he awkwardly tries to listen to the noises around him. His left eye waters hard. His right, mild.

His fingertips tremble. Snot drips down his face, matting the fur on his chin and neck. He tries to suppress his whines.
Sinuses rattling his nose with every sneeze, he struggles to stay as still as possible.

Wasps suck, especially red wasps, but capture is not an option. Another sting over his left femur, jolting up his body. He tries to stay as still as possible. He's crying silently when the 'bots leave.

Miles. His eyes closed, the sky open.

Tails quietly, or at least as quietly as he can, vomits into a bush. This was supposed to be a short mission - he'd leave at six, be back by noon. There were unexpected things holding him back.

Clearly he not only covers his territory, he's wealthy enough with materials to send patrols out to scrap yards. This isn't good.
The war looks uglier and uglier every day. There's very little keeping the village of Knothole together as is - an increase in these kinds of numbers without the aide of other rebellion camps and they could easily be crushed.

Tails ties his hammock up in what he would consider a sloppy mess of trees. A less likely area to patrol. He spends most of the night spying at the dilapidated city through his binoculars. He watched what was left of the city. He watches the artificial ants crawl around the joke of a Casino Nights zone Robotnik built for himself. He watches the roads in and out of the city. Most of all, he watches the refinery.

He wakes up and the forest is on fire and the flames are creeping up the ropes. He can't help it, he screams and topples awkwardly out of his hammock.
Screams echo the canyon. He rolls enough on the ground to put himself out and crawls to his knees. He looks up to see pure light splitting the night sky and an unidentified god coming after him. A hand wraps itself tightly around him and clenches his heart.

Eyes shot open. Tails hyperventilates among the symphony of forest around him. Wind blowing through the trees, cicadas screeching and crickets chirping.
He sucks the cool night air back into his lungs and he struggles his way out of the hammock and onto his hands and knees.

The sun is coming up. He composes himself.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Sun rises. Tails packs his hammock and makes his way back to the settlement as quietly as possible.

He stops to snack on a tangerine. Nails digging away at the peel, spilling it to the cool earth. His spirits lift as he eats them, one by one. He keeps going, walking carefully along the path.

Stopping for rustles, cracks, the smallest of noises. The biggest. He hears what he thinks is a cannon go off in the distance. He waits for awhile and continues.

He sees the legs in the distance. The big, stalking legs to the body he can't see in the clouds.

The glowing sconces in the distance. Tails feels his heart flutter. He's not far. It's nighttime. He had to take another nap offroad to make up for his grogginess. A two hour nap didn't help as much as he'd hoped it would, but it definitely held him back.

Sliding down the secret path, he has more of an overwhelming sense of dread about him than anything else.
He has to tell someone, and he has to be careful who he tells.

There are two people he can think of that wouldn't be shaken by this news. He decides to leave the contents of his bag on the main workbench along with a note letting him know what to do with the stuff.

He's nudging Dulcy on the back thigh gently when she begins to stir. He hops around her body to her face where he reaches out to her rising neck gently.

"Hrrrng? The fuck you want?"

"Dulcy!" he says, hopping and flailing. He quiets himself down to a whisper. "Dulcy! It's me, Tails!"

"Tails?" she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes. "I was starting to get worried. What do you want?"

"Shhh!" he says in his hushed tone. "I need to talk to you about the state of this place. You're the only one I can trust."

"S-" she tries to quiet herself. "Sorry Tails. What is it?"

Tails cringes. "Robotnik's got a patrol outreaching to the closest junkyard. That means he's got a lot to spare. Not only that, he's using," he tries to catch his breath. "He's using our voices."

"How do you mean?"

A grimace. "He's got at least one Sally 'bot."

"That's not good."

"No, it isn't."

"How's the plane coming along?"

"I've got enough materials for the missing wing and then some. I left Rotor a note about what to do with it. Look, I watched the refinery, they seem to have a mining routine. I dunno if it's weekly or monthly, but the best opportunity we've got is to get up there and steal a truck or something. We need fuel, Dulcy. Need it."

Dulcy scowls into the palm of her hand. "You're gonna need Ari. I can't come with you. You should be talking to him."

"I really don't wanna do that, Dulcy," Tails says, shaking his head, his closed eyes digging into his right thumb and middle finger. "Can't you just switch jobs or some shit?"

"What do you have against Ari?"

"It's not what I have against him it's what he has against - auggh. Just like." Tails claps his hands and breathes into them, stumbling backwards before stepping closer with a solution. "Could you talk to him for me? Tell him to meet me near, ah." Hesitation. "Tell him to meet me near the hanging tree."

Tails really didn't want to go there, but he couldn't think of any better landmark.

"Tonight," he continues. "He has to meet me tonight. I have to go."

"Miles?" Dulcy asks, rolling over onto her stomach as quietly as she can manage. "Are you okay?"

Tails shakes his head and throws up his arms. He's flying by the seat of his pants.

He's not wearing pants. He's wearing gloves and socks and shoes like most mobians these days do, for obvious reasons. He's got a satchel at his hip, hanging from his shoulder.
Back against the backside of a tombstone. Never in front. Never rest on a grave. Resting behind one is fine but on one is dangerous.

Tails occasionally stands up and looks around, seeing if he can spot Ari oncoming. He can't. It's too dark. But it's nice to stretch, all the same.
Squatting back down behind the tombstone, he buries his face in his knees. A long sigh escapes him as he rests his eyes for a moment.

"Hey, Fancy~" - the sound of the voice cutting through the quiet routine of the night jolts Tails into an upright posture. He crouches, leans toward the sound.

"A-Ari?"

"Yeah," the approaching dark shroud confesses. "It's me."

Ari's come fully clothed, boots, pants, weapon belt, sashes, tank top. Two guns, a hunting bow, and a small pack hanging from his shoulder, resting at his back. He's smirking, Tails surmises as he gets closer.

"What did Dulcy tell you?"

"She told me Fancy needs ye," he laughs. "She told me we need to steal a gas truck this upcoming week or month."

"Y-yeah, that's about the size of it," Tails almost yelps in a whisper, looking around awkwardly and nervously. "You ready?"

"Fancy," he chuckles, stepping forward to catch his rising shoulder. "If I weren't ready, do you think I'd be here?"

Tails gulps.

"That's enough, Fancy," Ari says, dropping his bag against the thick trunk of a tree and setting his weapons next to it. "We should rest at least some in the night. Regenerate some cells. Hopefully get some REM sleep in before the sun come up."

Tails is shocked he knows what REM sleep is. Ari is southern cut, Tails would say if you put a gun to his head and forced him to give the ram a description at the consequence of his very life.
His jaw is as square as it gets, his body is made of brick and clay. He spoke with a southern drawl based in the gravel he walked on as a child. He has a fire in his eyes - always a hard worker, Tails knows that Ari was the only person he can trust with such an invitation outside of Dulcy. Hanging out with him always just kinda sucked. So Tails doesn't say anything.

"You wanna dig up rocks or kindling?"

"Eh-excuse me?" Tails asks, blinking.

"For the fire," Ari says bluntly. "We need a fire."

"We don't need a fire," Tails says.

"Maybe you don't need a fire. That's awful fancy of you. I'm not staying out tonight in the goddamn wilderness without a fire. That's fine if you don't wanna help, I'll get it myself."

"Wait wait wait," Tails says, exhausted, confused. "That's like. A beacon, right? We'll be calling attention to ourselves."

"Damn things look for organics," Ari says, spitting. "They see us, it'll go the same way whether we had a fire or didn't. You wanna contribute?"

"Fine."

"Rocks or kindling?"

"Kindling," Tails sighs.

"Good job, Fancy. Go get us some kindling, I'll set up a pit," he says, digging around in his pack. "Don't worry, I'll light the damn thing. Get to it."

Tails almost growls at the order, but he tries to not see it that way. He quietly gathers a healthy pile of dry sticks and leaves. When he returns, Ari chuckles to himself and feeds the firepit before lighting the fire.

Ari settles into the base of a nearby tree while Tails sets up his hammock.

"You too good for the ground, boy?" he asks, sneering?

A sigh. "Always felt better above it." Eyes roll like bowling balls on a mission.

"Sounds fancy," Ari says, the closest thing to giggling gleefully as you could get with a ram like him.

"It is," Tails says, unsure of whether or not he understands the context of all of this. He slaps a devil's tongue knot across the rope connecting the ass end of his hammock to the tree Ari is laying under, almost ironically. Almost.
There's definitely a touch of masochism there.

His tails make something of a spade at the bottom of his hammock, which his feet rest on. He pulls a stocking cap out of his bag before dropping it to the ground, at the shadowed base of the tree by his head.
He pulls the stocking cap over his ears and eyes and shifts until he gets comfortable. Ari looks up at him, watches, and readjusts himself.

"Fancy hat you got there, Fancy."

"Yeah," Tails says, yawning. "I'm fancy, all right."

"Fancy is as fancy does."

Tails forces a laugh and then he rolls over. "Care to be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."

"Ha!" Ari says, getting a kick out of his response. "Sure, Fancy. Watch out for drop bears."

Tails raises the stocking cap above one eye to look around above him. He pulls it down over his eye again and he faces away from the fire.

Ari smiles to himself.

"Why the stocking cap?"

"Light sensitivity." A curt response.

"Why the hammock?"

"...Comfort."

Ari laughs, readjusts himself. "Same answer twice."

"Maybe."

"Yeah," Ari says, picking his teeth with some kind of animal bone. It's definitely a small animal, but the origin is still unknown. "You been creakin' between them trees for just short an hour now. Pretendin' yer asleep. Tryna be asleep. Solvin' the world's mysteries, Fancy?"

"You're carving wood."

"Whittlin'," he laughs, loud and gaudy. "Whittlin' me a funny bunny. That aint what's keepin' you up, though."

"Could be," he fidgets. "Could be your noise keeping me up all night."

Ari stops scraping away at his wood and he smiles to himself. He looks up at Tails, who isn't paying attention. "What's the difference between an organic Sonic and the robotical counterpart?"

Tails snorts. "One kept runnin'."

"Yeah," Ari says, chuckling, flicking his knife towards him. "What's the difference between an organic Sally and the robotical counterpart?"

Tails is silent for a moment. "That isn't funny."

"Nawh," Air says, getting back to carving. "Nawh, it aint."

Tails is standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the swirling void consuming the ocean and the rocks below him. He looks above, the clouds are black and the sky is light.
The sun is shining, a dark blue, almost purple. Kinda like when you stare at it too long. The earth begins to tremble beneath his feet and he loses his balance - he doesn't have the strength to fly. He doesn't bother trying, he just knows it.

His body is weak and useless to the oppressive world around him. Weightless, he isn't sure if he's falling or not, but a hand catches him off guard. A sturdy hand on his shoulder. He feels like crying but he doesn't have the tears. He open's his eyes. A dead princess at his feet, eyes wide with curiosity. Not fearing her last moments, clearly not fully understanding it. Eyes almost as if she's meeting him the first time, but he knows it's not personal. There's nothing he could have done. It wasn't him she was meeting for the first time, it's something else. Something he doesn't consciously understand.

She's in the ground, a carrion bundle of beauty departed filth with dirt being shoveled on top of her. The tool gets heavier and heavier every time he lifts it, the sweat matting his fur grossly to his skin. He feels as if he's going to collapse when another hand weakly grasps his forearm. Funny bunny, he thinks to himself. That's not funny. Her skin decaying slowly at the mercy of a mechanical cancer. Blackening and crusting away to scabs, fur singeing, melting away to reveal her bruised flesh speckled with clotting blood.

She speaks. Two words.
"Kill me."

The shovel in his hands has been replaced with a rifle and there is no one here to help him now. His finger unable to tighten around the trigger, or to even leave the outskirts of the guard. Dropping the weapon, his inability strangles him. The rifle falls for an eternity.

Miles. The sky bleeds, his tongue bitten.

His eyes open. The world is tranquil around him. Even the birds are quiet. The clouds drift slowly across the sky, filtered by the trees and he feels kindred. His body feels disconnected, as if he were still dreaming but he knows he isn't.

Ari's absence completely unnoticed until the gunshots echoing through the distance startle him. The name escapes his lips in a whisper as his attention is drawn to a thickness of trees he could never hope to see anything through from the distance indicated by the sound.
Tails inhales and frees a sigh from his chest. Ari is something he can depend on coming back. He reassures himself, eyes dwelling over to his empty space next to the tree beneath him.

The clouds are gone.
Only the cool blue behind the trees remains. It reminds him of something nostalgic, but he isn't sure what. Perhaps it's just deja vu. And endless oceans of collective understanding, misunderstood. A smile at the thought.

It's early. Sun's not high yet.
Tails sits up in his hammock, legs dangling from the side of it, kicking back and forth. He watches the smoldering remains of the firepit. He grabs the hat he unconsciously discarded in the night and sets it in his lap, smacking his jaw and trying to generate moisture in his mouth. Pulling the vest he's wearing tight around his torso, he considers restoring the flame.

He decides in the notion's favor and his bones warm while he stokes the embers, waiting, not really here.
Fantasies are always fantastic, as in imaginative or fanciful, but they're not always fantastic as in extraordinarily good or attractive. Thin line between fantasies and dreams, or in some cases, nightmares.

Before too long his ears perk up as he hears what he hopes is Ari lumbering through the forest, approaching.

"You up yet, Fancy?"

The crunching of dead leaves and fallen branches connects warmly in his brain to the voice and Tails responds. "Yeah."

"Got the fire goin'. Good," he says, dropping a pile of dead rabbits next to the firepit. "I'm about to cook breakfast."
Ari drops the bow off his shoulder and into his grasp fluidly, setting it gently next to the tree. Following suit with his rifle, he pulls the strap over his head and sets it down in roughly the same place. Double barreled shotgun in the holster at his hip, sawed off. Pistol grip. God knows what else he has in that bag of his.

"That's a lot of firepower for some rabbits," Tails says.

"Ran into some roboticals," Ari grunts, "looks like he's built quite an army."

"How many?"

"How many shots did you hear?"

"Three." He looks down and closes his eyes.

"Three," he whispers to himself before looking back up at the ram.
Tails watches with morbid fascination as he ritualistically skins and guts a rabbit with his bootknife. His attention redirected to the fire licking and sucking the nutrients from the dying logs and sticks. A skewered dead animal is set at an angle over the lapping flames in his field of vision, slowly cooking.

A moment of clarity before his eyes dark like humming birds around the scenery. Tails no longer knows how to carry himself or what to say with knowledge such as this. A painful moment goes by.

"First one's ready," Ari says, picking up the skewer, the cooked animal hanging stiffly onto it with the core of its body. "Have at it."
A feast is offered to the wary fox, so he accepts and takes an awkward bite. He hadn't expected a trip like this and he hadn't been sure how to prepare for it. Ari was completely self-reliant. You could dump him defenseless into the middle of the ocean and he'd dive for sharks and build a place to cook them. He picks up a skewer and smells the sizzling rabbit before taking a bite.
"Y'know, Antoine's a great cook and all, but there's just somethin' about eating the animal on a stick just reminds me of growin' up."

Tails doesn't know what to say, so he chews for a moment and then swallows before apologizing.
Ari laughs heartily, wiping the corner of his mouth with his forearm as he finally calms down.

"I guess burnt rabbit aint that fancy, is it?"

"I didn't mean that," Tails says defensively, frustrated and stumbling over articulation. "I'm associating this with bad times. I'm sorry."

Ari is systematically picking the rabbit clean. "You aint gotta be sorry."

"We've gotta be really careful on this mission," Tails says timidly. "You start seeing bots out here, you start to get a good idea how disposable they are and what we're up against. Either that or he's gambling on trying to scare us and I gotta say, it's pretty fucking convincing."

"Sure."

Tails struggles with this response and struggles with his own. "Sure? Is that all you have to say?"

He looks up from his food. "Sure," he says, shrugging. "If what's left of Knothole finds out about this, it'll only have you, me and Dulcy to fight for it. Bunnie was the last thing really holding the place together. You could argue Sally was, but. Well. Sonic was always dead bark."

"He saved my life once."

"He'd save anybody to impress a girl," Ari says, discarding a ravaged skeleton and plucking another cooked rabbit on a skewer from the fire. "Don't take it too personal, Fancy," he says, closing his eyes and taking a bite.

Tails can never tell whether or not Ari hates him, but he imagines the ram wouldn't appreciate the expression of asking, so he bites his tongue on that, and instead says something he immediately regrets.
"You had to kill her," he says. A moment of silence. "Bunny." He's writhing in his own skin.

"Yeah," Ari grunts after swallowing. "I helped her pass."

"I'm sorry."

"You aint gotta be sorry," he says, pointing the skewer at Tails and wiping his mouth with his forearm. "I hope if I'm in the same position that you can do it for me."

Tails bites his lip apprehensively. "I'm sorry for being so apologetic, I just-"
Ari cuts him off with his bellowing laughter. "Yeah! I think it's funny I'm laughin'!"

An embarrassed smile spreads along the fox's face and he laughs too. He almost feels comfortable. He takes another bite.
"You did a brave thing," he says, shunned by his own thoughts. "I can tell you cared about her."

"We all do what we can, when we have to."

"I dunno if I could have."

"What are you doin' out here?"

"I don't really know," Tails admits.

"You're doin' what you have to."

After breakfast they pack up their things and move on. Their footsteps crunching dead leaves into the dirt and rocks on the path beneath their feet as they walk side by side.
Silence - mostly silence, but it's Ari, surprisingly, who breaks it.

"Yer wearin' Sally's vest."

"Yeah."

"She give it to ye?"

A pause before his response. "She died in it."

"I reckon she did," Ari says. "Looks good, fancy."

"Thanks," Tails says, disingenuously, assuming Ari is making fun of him again. He can't help but feel Ari's demeanor suggest little more than antagonizing, even at his most genuine.

"I reckon she would have wanted you to have it," Ari says, catching him off guard.

Tails looks up at him. He keeps his eyes forward, doesn't seem to notice. His eyes avert back to his own path. "They're using her against us."

"Hrm?"

"Her likeness. Robotnik's got at least one Sally now. Probably more. Has her voice and everything. Her dying screams."

"You have it in you to put her likeness down iffin' it comes down to it?"

"I don't know."

Ari stops, looks at him for the first time since the campsite. A few steps and Tails catches on, looking over his shoulder.

"I know it's hard for you, Tails, but Sally is dead."

"I know.."

"Then do what you gotta, even if you aint got it in you. What are you packing?"

"Packing...?"

"Dear god, please tell me you have a gun in that bag," Ari says, sighing as he wipes his face with a frustrated hand.

"Gun?" Tails looks at his bag. He doesn't know why he looks up at his bag so he looks back up at Ari and feels embarrassed. "No gun."

"Have you ever FIRED a gun?"

"...No.."

"For fuck's sake, Fancy! What do you do out here when you come across roboticals?"

"Run, fly away," he says, looking at his feet. "Or hide."

"Truck aint gonna fly, and I know you can't lift it." He's thinking. "Suppose I die. How you gonna handle yourself?"

"I'd die long before you did."

"Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn't. I'm teachin' you how to shoot tomorrow. I'll refit the coach gun with a stock and we'll fit you with that unless you're some kind of natural with the rifle."

"You don't have to take pity on me, Ari."

"I aint feelin' sorry for you, Fancy. Consider it an investment."

"See that switch on the side?"

"I do," Tails says, nervously. The gun trembling sideways in his arms. One hand wrapped around the stock, the other wrapped around the handguard.

"That's the safety," Ari says. "The safety is on and there's no round in the chamber, but when handling a gun you always wanna treat it like the safety is off and ready to fire. That means keeping your finger on the trigger guard rather than the trigger. Understand?"

This makes Tails extremely nervous, but he doesn't want to say anything, so he just nods.

"Flick the switch down to initiate fire. Do that when you start feeling comfortable. Flick the switch up and opposite ye from that position and you're gonna get automatic. You don't wanna fuck with that just yet. You might wanna shorten that stock. You see that button on the bottom of the back of the rifle?"

Tails nods again.

"Press it and bring her home."

He presses the button and collapses the stock closer to the body of the rifle.

"Put your hand on the pistol grip and hold the stock tight against your shoulder," Ari says, as Tails follows his instructions. "Rest your finger on the trigger guard. Good. Line up your sights and scan, get a good feel for the weapon."

Tails is unsure if he's lining things up correctly, but he thinks he has a good idea. "How do I fire this thing?"

Ari laughs. "Pulling the trigger, but you're not there yet, Fancy. You see that lever by the sights?"

Investigation ensues, taking up more of Ari's patience than he's willing to offer. He walks up and points to the lever and Tails awkwardly pulls it back. Ari retreats a few feet behind him.
Tails steadies his weapon once again and scans the horizon. The rolling plains, grass dying yellow on the hills. Two trees, one mid-range, one off in the distance, way off center to the left.

"What am I shooting for?"

"Try the tree," he says, spitting.

"The far one or the near one?"

Ari lets out a guffaw. "Try for the near one for now."

Soft click echoes the plains as Tails flicks the safety and there's a moment of silence before the gun firing cracks the silence.
There's a moment of pause before Ari steps forward and speaks to Tails softly.

"You know how to kill them bots?"

"Their energy cells are in the chest."

"Right. You wanna shoot 'em in the chest but you wanna make sure you penetrate their breastplate. If you do enough damage, precision isn't an issue. But it's better to be precise, you understand?"

"Yes, but. What if Robotnik catches on? What if he moves their energy cells?"

"Then you'll have to think on your feet. Get creative. Do what you have to in order to clear your way. Get out of there."

Another crack of gunfire echoing through the sky.

"If I die, I can't help you, son. You can only help yourself."

Another shot. "I'll die before you do."

"We can't be certain."

He fires again. "I shouldn't be alive. You saved me."

"Whether you should or shouldn't be alive aint up to you, Fancy. You just is or you isn't. Now shoot."

The sky cracks once again, echoing through the rolling hills. A somber moment of silence and another shot. Then another. Sporadic bursts of gunfire depending on how steady he can keep the rifle until the magazine is empty.

Tails lowers the rifle. Ari's hand claps against his shoulder.

"Let's go see some test results."

Nightfall.
Prone at the edge of the cliff, Ari ganders through binoculars while Tails stares through his spyglass, actively watching the shadows and figures under the lights of the refinery.

"Aint much cover on the way up there unless you wanna tunnel."

"I can never tell if you're being sarcastic," Tails responds without thinking.

"I am and I aint."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Ari starts, rolling his jaw and making a sort of clicking sound with his mouth. "There damn sure aint no cover down there. And I damn sure don't wanna tunnel."

"We'll have to hop on the truck while it's on route to the city."

"That aint a long drive. Any ideas?"

"There's a bridge over a creek about a mile down the road. We could get there at dawn, post up until the truck runs by at midnight."

"Hell of a wait," Ari says. "Hell of a grab, too. I aint that fast."

"I'm that fast," Tails says, ignoring his thoughts. His nagging, interrogating thoughts. "I can grab the truck and dispose of the driver. Once I get rid of it, I can stop the truck long enough for you to board. Then we head for the mountains."

"We're looking at eight barrels of gas here. How far is that going to get us?"

"Hopefully far enough."

"Hope," he laughs. "Aint that fancy."

"Another dig at me?" Tails says, annoyed.

"A dig at m'self," Ari says dryly. "I don't like bein' afraid."

He can feel it passing over him as he rolls from his back to the starting position. He leaps upward and sprints forward and gains speed by propelling his tails. Hopping from the irregular earth, he leaps upwards and to his right, groping anxiously for any sort of hold on the side of the vehicle.
Catching the built in step on the side of the vehicle with his feet he grapples with stabilizing his momentum gripping desperately to the handle and the top of the vehicle. The SWATbot for some reason doesn't seem to notice him until he grabs the double barreled shotgun and pulls the weapon's sling over his head.

Smashing the butt of the weapon into the glass, he digs his heels hard against the platform he's standing on with his right arm, he struggles to hold onto the top of the vehicle. The window spiderwebs as he casts out a surprised gasp into the cold night air. He strikes again and-

"I gotta warn you," Tails says, "I'm not any good with a truck."

"You can fly, can't you?"

"It's not exactly the same thing."

"The laws of physics still apply, don't they?"

the glass shatters inwardly and he stuffs the double barreled shotgun into the robot's chest, thumbing one hammer back as he steadies the weapon against his bicep and pulls the trigger.

"Honestly it doesn't look like you hit a goddamn thing."

"Are you serious?" Tails groans

"Yeah. Nothin'. You couldn't shoot an elk in the face with a rifle from ten paces, looks like."

Tails scowls and curses to himself. Without looking back, Ari responds.

"It's fine," Ari says before turning around and grabbing the rifle from his hands. "You didn't fail, you just aint a natural." He hands him the loaded shotgun. "Take a few paces back, pull one of the hammers, aim at the tree and fire."

Neon blue and black fluids spray violently, coating the inside of the truck.
Tails slings the shotgun over his shoulder, the bruise already forming in his bicep. He cuts himself opening the door from the inside, but still, he sidesteps it and unbuckles the seatbelt, dragging what remains of the SWATbat out of the vehicle and tumbling onto the moving ground.

He hops into the cab and accidentally slams his foot onto the gas before remembering what he's doing and slamming his foot onto the brakes.
The machine whines, gears grinding against gears, engine blowing off steam. He unlocks the passenger door and awkwardly and inherently slowly buckles himself in.

Sighing, he uses his gloved hand to wipe the windshield in front of him clean.

Tails pulls the trigger and his weapon kicks his body back. He takes a step backwards, stumbling into Ari before nervously stepping forward and readying his shotgun. He looks at the tree - a scattered blast across its base. Right where he had aimed. He laughs and pulls the trigger again.

The door opens and Ari steps in - another gut laugh. "You is fancy, aint ya?" he asks, slamming himself into the truck. "Seatbelt and all."

"Fuck you, Ari," he says, shifting from park to drive and stepping on the gas. "I don't wanna die if we crash."

"Don't aim yer sights for the sun," Ari laughs. "Drive the truck."

The vehicle whines and putters before pushing into a full roar forwards.

Ari's laughter. "Proud of you kid. Here, knock open them barrels." His hands guide him to the unlocking mechanism and the spent shells pop out. He hands Tails two shells and he loads them in, one by one.
He aims.

"Pull both hammers back this time. See if you can't cut yourself down a tree."

Ari rolls down the window manually and turns around in his seat - leaning out and pointing his rifle backwards. Two or three shots through a windshield to take out each driver chasing them closely. Cars without drivers crashing into the plains. Flipping, driving themselves into oblivion.

Tails; his ears bleeding, his eyes wide.

"Get some sleep, Fancy. You been through a lot."

There's a moment of silence, only the cackling of the fire and the ropes of Tails's hammock grinding against the trunk of a tree.

"I can never tell if you're making fun of me or if you're being serious."

"I am and I aint."

Tails lifts the stocking cap over his eyes and sits up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's fun to call you Fancy. You don't like it, but it seems to have an effect on ye."

A grimace. He lays back down, annoyed. "I don't give a shit," he says curtly.

"You aint as weak as you think you is."

His ears perk up, and he feels embarrassed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been through a lot and you aint given up yet. You got a strong heart."

Tails scoffs. "What would you know?"

Ari laughs. "You'd be surprised."

Like the sky is melting, almost, or even like a spotlight behind a wall of dyed cotton, grey and red. The glass spills across his face - some shards flying past, others digging into the skin on his face aggressively.

Ari curses and tries to dig the glass out of his eye before leaning out of the vehicle and shooting wildly, his crazed screams echoing the valley.
He collapses in the seat and drops the magazine from his rifle. "Fucks," he says, absentmindedly replacing it. He turns his body out the window raising it before his brains spray across Tails's face and his limp hands drop it. The rifle clatters against the side, engulfed by the tires and Ari's body goes limp.

"My daddy left me before his time," Ari says, whittling away at the block of wood in his hands. "He took me hunting twice. Taught me how to take care of m'self. Always knowed he wouldn't be around. Broke my heart talkin' like that without even realizin' it. I never knowed my momma."

"I'm sorry," Tails says, biting his lip. "That sounds awful."
"Sounds condescendin'," Ari laughs again. "Like you tryin' to feel bad for me instead of identifyin'."

Tails cradles his own head, his own headache, his own destructive thoughts. "I'm sorry, I-" he purses his lips. He digs his palm into his face. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "I found my places in the world. How about you?"

"I froze," Tails says, pulling his stocking cap over his eyes. "I froze and my mom, the only one still alive, still motivated, she picked me up and ran. She ran as far as she could."

"How do you feel about that?"

"The wrong person died."

"There's a fine line between feeling sorry for yourself and self-destructin'."

Miles Prower collects himself, feeling infantile and choking back tears.

"I can't be what I need me to be."

"You can be what you need to be. What you need you to be is everything you got."

Tails finds himself stuck on what he can't decide is a sob or a bitter laugh. The fire is dying. So is his spirit.

"You can't honestly expect me to be as strong as you? You can shoot, you can drive. Consider a plan without me. Make sure you cover a plan B that doesn't involve me."

Ari laughs. "You bet'cha, Fancy."

"I can never tell if you're making fun of me or what," Tails says, sniffling. "I never know what you mean but it always sounds like you're making fun of me. I get it. I'm worthless. I don't need you tearing me down when I'm already fully capable of that myself."

Ari audibly sighs. "I've seen you live through hell. I expect more of ye than to just roll over and die."

"Give me a break."

"Nawh. I cain't. Since I met you I cain't. You done survived the worst things a boy could imagine. What's stoppin' ye now?"

Tails screams and cuts the wheel right, ducking. Time slows down and he absorbs the death of his friend.
Vehicle reacts violently to uneven ground and gravity loses meaning. Ari's dead body clanks against the
door frame it's sitting next to before floating for just a minute - floating, and coming crashing down on him like everything else loose in the cab of the truck.

"Here's your one chance, Fancy," Ari says grinning. "Don't let me down."

Tails claws desperately at his seatbelt, feeling for the buckle, kicking and squirming to free himself. Terrified cries and sobbing escapes his throat while he struggles. His eyes filled with Ari's blood and his own. Nostrils burning with the smothered stink of gasoline. The air thick between the grounded side of the cab and the corpse.
Crying becomes desperate laughter. His body goes limp save for his arms tightly clutching his chest. The stench of gasoline burns his nostrils. Carrion Ari, his final blanket of comfort, muffling his high pitched screams.

Screaming turns into soft whimpers as Tails tries to come to terms with his fate. No promises, he tells himself in his head, but things will likely be okay. All or nothing, either is fine. Right?

He waits for the warmth and light to free him from this mortal coil, but he can't be sure if it'll ever come.