Oh, it was oh so satisfying when things payed off for me.
Even if I didn't plan it like this at all, I couldn't have possibly planned it any better.
"So what's the actual, concrete plan Sonic?" Sally Acorn asked, her royal poise cracking under the weight of Sector 7's smoldering ruins. I didn't answer immediately—just rolled a confiscated Acorn Trooper dog tag between my fingers like a coin, the metal catching firelight in ways that made the engraved serial numbers look like screaming faces.
When I finally spoke, my voice was velvet-wrapped steel: "Same as always, Sal—we break what they build, and build what they break." I flicked the dog tag onto the table between us, where it spun like a tiny guillotine blade before clattering to a stop. Sally's ears twitched at the sound, her pupils contracting in that familiar way—halfway between admiration and unease.
Good.
She needed both to survive what came next.
I leaned back onto the edges of the training room's wall, letting the flickering emergency lights carve shadows across my smirk. Doc's latest cybernetic prototypes whirred softly behind me—a symphony of scalpels and servos—as I tapped the dog tag against my teeth. Sally's gaze tracked the movement like a sniper sight, her royal conditioning warring with the feral gleam I'd coaxed into her eyes.
"See this?" I spun the dog tag on my fingertip, watching Sally's eyes track its rotations like a hawk circling prey. "Every serial number's a story—some poor fool who thought Maxx's crown was worth dying for." I flicked it into the air, catching it between my teeth with a metallic *click* that made her flinch.
"True that Sugah Hog, true that," Buns replied, her southern lilt sharpening with each syllable. I grinned around the dog tag—cold metal pressing against my tongue—before spitting it onto the table with a wet *thunk*.
"First there's old accidentally killed thousands when we kill Maxxie Acorn's cybernetic experiments and how to make sure we don't accidentally kill thousands when we kill King Maxxie Acorn himself. And Buns,... I know this might be painful but what can you tell us about it?"
Buns stiffened at my request, her previously metallic and now organic again fingers tightening around herself—just slightly—before exhaling through her nose. The scar tissue along her throat pulsed faintly, a remnant of TheNorthern Baronies's "upgrading" that Doc had Baronies spent hours repairing before she could be ready for the Organicizier again.
"Well Sugah Hog," she drawled, deliberately slow, "Maxxie's got himself a lil' failsafe wired right into that fancy silver throne of his. His heart stops, and every last one of them cyber-zombies he's been cookin' up in The Northern Baronies and probably even further dies with him—neurons fry like bacon in a pan." Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against her thigh, mimicking the way she used to check her weapons cache.
"Problem is, them Northern Baronies ain't exactly small—we're talkin' thousands if not tens of thousands of civvies plugged into those rigs," Buns continued, her fingers twitching like she could still feel the phantom weight of a rifle she hadn't carried in weeks.
I watched her pupils dilate—just a fraction—as the memory of screaming test subjects echoed behind her eyes.
"So how do we stop this Boss?" Antoine's voice cracked mid-sentence, his ears flattening against his skull as Sector 7's emergency sirens wailed in the distance. I didn't answer—just let my smirk widen as I rolled the dog tag across my knuckles like a magician's trick. The metal caught the flickering light in ways that made the engraved numbers look like crawling insects. When I finally spoke, my voice was a velvet wrapped blade sliding between ribs: "That's the beauty of it, we don't need to stop it, not yet at least."
Buns' eyes widened even further as they focused on me, her fingers no longer twitching toward a weapon she no longer carried, but to that new plasma knife of hers. I watched the realization dawn across their faces—Patch's grip tightening on his pistol, Sally's claws digging into the holographic maps projected across the table—as I leaned forward, letting the emergency lights carve my grin into something jagged. "You see, Maxxie's little failsafe has a *beautiful* flaw," I purred, tapping the dog tag against the table like a metronome counting down to detonation. "It only triggers if his *heart* stops."
Boomer's chuckle rasped from the corner where he monitored the new cybernetic readouts, his sharper than ever claws pausing mid-adjustment. "Ah. So we don't stop it—we *repurpose* it." His emerald eyes gleamed with the same predatory understanding that had made him such a valuable asset to me.
I flicked the dog tag again—higher this time—letting it flash like a falling star before catching it between my claws with a *snick* that made Antoine's tail puff. "Exactly," I murmured, watching comprehension ignite across their faces like wildfire. Sally's ears pricked forward, her strategic mind already racing ahead—I could practically see the equations scrolling behind those royal blue eyes. "We don't kill Ole Maxxie," I continued, rolling the tag across my knuckles in a slow, deliberate arc. "We *upgrade* him."
The word hung in the air, thick with implications, as Buns' fingers flexed around her plasma knife—not in fear, but anticipation. I let my grin widen just enough to show teeth, watching the way Patch's pulse jumped in his throat when I leaned into the flickering light. "See, Doc's been tinkering with something *special*," I purred, tapping the dog tag against my temple in a mimicry of a scalpel's incision. "And I slowly altered it into just a simple little neural override that doesn't stop hearts—it rewires them."
"Genius Boss," Boomer rasped, his short tail twitching with approval as he recalibrated Doc's schematics on the holo-display.
"But how do we make sure my sperm donor doesn't just take the cowards way out?" Sally asked, her claws tapping against the holo-table—each *click* echoing like a gun's hammer cocking back. I grinned, slow and deliberate, tossing the dog tag up again—this time catching it between my teeth with a metallic *snap* that made Antoine flinch. "Oh, Sally-girl," I murmured around the metal, savoring the way her ears twitched at the nickname, "you really think I haven't already accounted for that?" The emergency lights flickered, casting my shadow across the ruined Sector 7 schematics—long and jagged like a knife dragged across parchment.
"Ignoring the fact that Ole King Maxxie Acorn is to prideful for that, the override requires a *live* neural pattern to imprint," I slowly explained, "Which means His Majesty will need to be...*conscious* during installation."
I let the silence stretch, watching Sally's pupils dilate as she connected the dots: the way my quills had been collecting Maxx's anarchy energy signatures, the "gifts" I'd been leaving in Sector 7's wreckage, the *specific* nerve clusters Doc's new scalpel could stimulate.
Buns was the first to break the silence with a low whistle, her plasma knife igniting briefly as if punctuating her realization. "So we ain't just overthrowin' a tyrant," she murmured, the blue glow reflecting in her widened pupils, "we're installin' a damn *on switch*." I chuckled around the dog tag still clamped between my teeth—the taste of gunmetal and someone else's fear—before spitting it into my palm with a wet *thock*.
"Bingo Buns," I purred, rolling the tag across my fingers like a gambler that thinks he's on a lucky streak—only stopping when its edge pressed against Sally's wrist hard enough to dent skin without breaking it. The scent of ozone clung to Doc's latest neural stabilizers humming softly in the corner, their rhythmic pulse syncing with my heartbeat in ways that made my quills thrum. "Only catch?" I leaned in, close enough to count Sally's eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones, "we need Maxxie's crown jewel—his prototype Beryl Core—*before* we fry his circuits."
My grin widened at her sharp inhale, savoring the way her royal facade slipped more and more into a cold, feral cunning—something I'd been carefully cultivating in her for months. "Relax, Sal," I murmured, plucking the dog tag from her wrist and flipping it onto Boomer's holo-display, where it landed perfectly atop Maxx's schematics like a tombstone. "I already know where our favorite king keeps his toys." The emergency lights flickered again, casting my shadow across the ruined city plans—long and jagged, a predator's silhouette.
"See, Maxxie's got this *adorable* habit of stashing his shiniest toys in Sector 5's old vaults—right under where his daddy King Friedrich's statue used to stand. Poetic, ain't it?"
I let my claws trace the holographic map, dragging a single, deliberate line through the ruins of Sector 5—slow enough for the motion to hiss against the static. The projection flickered where my fingers passed, distorting Maxx's fortress schematics into something jagged and broken. Boomer's breath hitched when I tapped the screen right where Friedrich's hollowed-out crown would've been, my grin widening as the display zoomed in on layers of bioelectric tripwires and neurotoxin dispensers.
"Only problem? Those vaults are wired to dump every last drop of his experimental beryl-laced serum into the groundwater if breached wrong." I leaned back, watching their pupils contract—Sally's claws digging into the holo-table hard enough to send hairline fractures spiderwebbing across Maxx's schematics. Doc's newest prototype whirred softly behind me, its bioelectric stabilizers syncing with my pulse like a second heartbeat.
"So when exactly do we start playing demolition hedgehog with Maxx's little toy box?" Boomer's voice rasped from the corner, his claws flexing around a stolen Acorn Trooper shock baton—the weapon humming faintly with residual charge. I flicked the dog tag toward him without looking, grinning when he snatched it mid-air with a predator's reflex.
"When you all have good enough training. After all, why do you think I chose this room?" My grin took on an edge sharper than any blade as Antoine and Sally realized the true purpose of the room they were standing in was now while Buns and Boomer smiled knowingly at what I said.
The walls weren't just reinforced—they were rigged with Doc's prototype neuro-synaptic training arrays, that I had somewhat redesigned to simulate Maxx's defenses while keeping us safely contained. A single flick of my wrist activated the system, the floor humming to life beneath us as holographic tripwires materialized in intricate, lethal patterns.
"Rule number one," I purred, dragging a claw along the first flickering tripwire until it sparked against my glove—close enough to smell singed fabric but never flinching. The holographic venom dispensers hissed to life overhead, bathing the room in sickly green light that made Antoine's fur bristle like a startled kitten. "King Maxxie Acorn won't play fair, and neither do I, but I will make sure you learn."
Buns exhaled through her nose—half amusement, half adrenaline—as she stepped onto the pressure plate behind me without hesitation. The floor shuddered, panels sliding open to reveal a gauntlet of spinning plasma blades humming inches above ankle-height. My chuckle rolled through the room like distant thunder. "Atta girl. Now—tell me what happens if you sprint through that." Her smirk faltered when the blades' rotation patterns suddenly inverted mid-question, their edges crackling with fresh energy.
"Wrong answer it seems," I sing-songed, tapping the control panel to freeze the simulation just as Boomer lunged forward instinctively—his outstretched claws having already done something like this in this vary same room earlier today—halted midair with plasma blades kissing his throat. The scent of singed fur curled between us as I tilted my head, watching his pulse hammer against the holographic edge.
"See, Ole Maxxie's little death traps? They *learn*. Just like us." My laugh was a dark, delighted thing as I deactivated the gauntlet, catching Boomer by the collar before he could faceplant into the suddenly visible foam pits beneath the holograms. His ragged breathing fogged up my visor as I dangled him there—just long enough to watch his pupils dilate with the adrenaline rush—before dropping him neatly onto the safe tile beside Buns. "Lesson one: never assume the enemy's tech plays by last hour's rules."
Sally's ear twitched toward the faint whine of charging plasma rifles hidden in the ceiling panels—her only tell before she flipped the holo-table between us with a snarl. The impact sent Antoine scrambling backward into Boomer's arms, their combined weight triggering a pressure plate that unleashed a volley of holographic shurikens. I caught one mid-spin between my teeth, the pixelated edge dissolving against my tongue like burnt sugar.
"Cute," I murmured, spitting out the remnants just as the simulation's first neurotoxin mist hissed from the vents. Sally's gasp was drowned out by Boomer's guttural laughter—the idiot actually *inhaled* deeper to prove a point, his pupils blowing wide as Doc's benign substitute hit his system. My tail flicked toward the control panel, adjusting the toxin's dispersal pattern to swirl around Antoine's ankles like a taunting lover.
"But Ole Maxxie's real brew doesn't just *expand* your mind—it melts your very sense of self," I murmured, stepping through the dissipating mist with deliberate slowness, my claws trailing along Antoine's trembling shoulder as he fought the simulation's effects. His pupils flickered between terror and exhilaration—good. Fear kept you sharp, but pleasure? That made the lessons *stick*. Behind him, Boomer staggered upright with a wheezing laugh, wiping his nose where the toxin's harmless substitute had triggered a reflexive bleed.
"Y'see kids," I crooned, plucking a shuriken from Sally's defensive stance and rolling it across my knuckles, "his serum won't just kill ya. It *rewrites and downgrades* you." The holographic toxin swirled into the shape of a Mobian—then melted grotesquely into something hunched and whimpering.
Buns' smirk died when I flicked the shuriken into the simulation's core. The room *shrieked* to life with overlapping trap sequences—plasma grids, neurotoxin mists, and worst of all, the beryl-laced serum injectors hissing from the walls like vipers. Antoine actually whimpered a little bit.
Very good.
Fear kept 'em alive in this world.
I watched Sally's pupils dilate as the simulation's neurotoxin vents hissed louder—her royal composure fracturing just enough to show the feral calculus underneath. Good. The best rulers weren't born—they were *forged* in desperation and betrayal, and I'd make damn sure she understood both before this was over. My claws clicked against the control panel, dialing the holographic serum injectors to their highest setting without breaking eye contact. "Tick-tock, princess," I purred, tapping the countdown timer now flashing above Maxx's schematics.
"Daddy's little death traps won't wait for royal permission," I crooned, watching Sally's claws dig into the holographic table hard enough to crack Friedrich's grinning face in half. The scent of ozone and adrenaline thickened as Boomer lunged for the shuriken trap's blind spot—only for the simulation to reroute the plasma grid into his path with a vindictive hum. His choked curse dissolved into laughter when I flicked the safety override, the blades freezing millimeters from his throat. "Wrong again, Boom-Boom. Maxxie's toys *cheat*."
My tail flicked toward Antoine, no longer trembling near the injectors. "You freeze—you die." The words came out low, not a warning but a *promise*, as holographic venom dripped from the ceiling onto his twitching ears. His choked gasp dissolved when I shoved him sideways—just as the simulation's neurotoxin spray hissed through the space his head had occupied. Boomer whooped at the near-miss, already adapting—his stolen shock baton jammed into a vent to disrupt the toxin's dispersal pattern.
Buns' plasma knife flared to life as she severed a tripwire mid-stride—only for the simulation to retaliate by electrifying the floor beneath her boots. She rolled with a snarl, her fur crackling with static, but her smirk never wavered. That's why I kept her close; she *enjoyed* the burn. Sally finally moved—not toward safety, but straight through the densest cluster of venom injectors, her royal cloak flaring behind her like a banner. I caught her wrist before the third trap could impale her, spinning her into a controlled slide that sent her skidding under a plasma grid. "Royalty shouldn't *rush*, Sal," I teased, tossing her a stolen security card mid-spin.
"Unless they wanna *bleed*."
Antoine fumbled his shock baton, triggering a cascade of holographic grenades—then froze, awaiting annihilation. Instead, Boomer *launched* himself into the blast radius, his laughter raw as he body-checked Antoine into a foam pit. The grenades dissolved harmlessly, revealing the hidden lesson: Maxx's traps *punished* hesitation. Antoine's breath hitched when I hauled him up by his scarf, my claws dimpling the fabric.
"Good news, *mon ami*," I purred, flicking a singed whisker off his muzzle, "now you know how it feels to *almost* die for a friend." His shuddering exhale fogged my visor that I had just put on—just long enough to watch his pupils contract with the realization that Boomer had willingly taken shrapnel meant for him. The scent of charred fur and ozone clung to Boomer's twitching fingers as he flexed them, the simulation's phantom pain still sparking along his nerves.
I let Antoine dangle there a second longer—just until his claws stopped trembling—before depositing him beside Sally with a wink. "Bad news? Maxxie's traps won't *telegraph* their cruelty like I do."
Buns' plasma knife carved through a holographic venom dispenser with surgical precision—only for three more to sprout from its wreckage like hydra heads. She barked a laugh instead of a curse, pivoting on her heel to kick Boomer's shock baton upward into the cluster. The resulting explosion of sparks painted the room in strobes of violet and cyan, revealing Antoine mid-leap—not away, but *toward* Sally as she wrestled with a malfunctioning neurotoxin vent. His claws found purchase on the vent's edge just as its emerald mist billowed outward, redirecting the spray into the foam pits where it dissolved harmlessly. My grin stretched wider than any blade's edge.
"*Now* you're thinking," I crooned, flicking a switch that sent the simulation into overdrive—walls shifting, floor panels tilting into forty-five-degree kill slopes. Boomer's yelp of surprise morphed into a war cry as he *used* the incline to body-slam a plasma turret into scrap. The scent of scorched metal filled the room as Sally rolled past him, her stolen security card jammed into a floor panel's seam. The holographic beryl injectors above her fizzed out with a pathetic wheeze. I tossed her a fresh card from my wrist compartment, watching it spin through the air like a thrown knife.
"Catch, princess—you'll need it for Sector 5's *real* vaults." The security card landed edge-first in Sally's palm, drawing a thin line of blood she licked away with deliberate slowness, her gaze locked on mine like a challenge. Behind her, Antoine and Boomer moved in tandem now—no longer flinching at every trap but anticipating them, their motions syncing like gears in Doc's old war machines. Buns let out a low whistle as she sidestepped a holographic neurotoxin spray, her plasma knife carving through the mist with practiced ease. The scent of ozone and singed fur hung thick in the air, but beneath it? Something sharper: *confidence*. My grin widened even further.
Again, very good.
Fear kept them alive, but *trust* would make them all the more lethal in due time...