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Chapter Nine

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter is where the more full-on action gore begins. It also contains mentions (not depictions or descriptions) of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

As previously mentioned, Moebius found itself in the throes of an environmental crisis. Despite the lack of government support for initiatives to address the crisis, various efforts were being made. One prominent player in these efforts was BioSphere Reclamation Inc., a widely recognized private company. Individuals utilizing their services could opt to pay a one-time or monthly fee, with the funds allocated to projects aimed at cleaning up selected neighborhoods in various cities. Typically, affluent neighborhoods received more attention compared to lower-income areas.

Upon accumulating sufficient funds for a specific location, BioSphere would dispatch teams of cleaners to tackle issues such as litter, graffiti, and general uncleanliness, while also nurturing green spaces within the area.

While such companies tended to benefit the affluent more than others, there were more charitable alternatives available. Dr. Kintobor’s SWEEPbot service, for instance, operated on a non-profit, cost-effective model, albeit facing significant challenges in the battle to preserve a deteriorating planet. Nonetheless, Dr. Kintobor’s efforts played a pivotal role in establishing natural reserves like the Moebian Grand Forest.

Surrounded by a scarcity of thriving nature, McKenna often found herself pondering the potential location of a place she faintly remembered, a place teeming with lush greenery and beauty. However, her recollection of the time before she was adopted was shrouded in a dense fog, impervious to restoration despite her adopted mother's earnest attempts.

That’s what her mother told her anyways.

Over the span of the last decade, Dr. Versipelle had been her mother, providing her sustenance, conducting lab tests, dressing her, subjecting her to body modifications, empowering her, sequestering her, showing her affection, and terrifying her. Following a disturbing incident where McKenna was ordered to taste the blood of a dead man and experience the echoes of his tragic demise through the residual energy in the sample, Her mother tenderly tucked her into bed and recited poetry to soothe her. After undergoing unwelcome surgeries that involved the modification or replacement of various parts of her body, McKenna would be beautifully serenaded on the piano. And following instances where she pushed her magical abilities to their limits, causing her nerves to feel as though they were ablaze, Dr. Versipelle would join her for tea in the greenhouse.

Now, McKenna found herself alone in the greenhouse, awaiting to be called in for a forthcoming surgery intended to adjust her brain and replace her eyes once more, enabling her to perceive visions with utmost clarity. Despite her disappointment about this—having been assured last year that her third-eye abilities had reached their peak—her mother explained that a new threat had emerged, compelling them to leave no stone unturned in service of the Suppression Squad and the greater good, a mission that encompassed both of their fates.

She reproached herself for her surprise at the revelation. As her mother often emphasized, the realm of science and technology was in a perpetual state of advancement. If it were true that progress knew no bounds as aforementioned, there would always be opportunities for further modifications, experiments, training, and pain.

Yet in that moment, all McKenna yearned for was to immerse herself in nature, even if it only manifested within the confines of a softly illuminated greenhouse. From the earthy soil to the delicate petals, the environment felt like a sanctuary to her—a place that resonated with a sense of belonging. Her thoughts drifted to the forest of her distant recollections, envisioning the sensation of grass beneath her feet, the gentle rustle of wind through the trees, and the harmonious melody of a flowing river. She held onto the determination that one day, she would somehow relive these mysterious yet beautiful memories.

Sitting on the edge of a concrete planter box brimming with a bed of roses, McKenna delicately inserted her finger into the soil. With closed eyes, she concentrated intently and took a deep breath, causing her finger to emit a soft glow beneath the dirt, illuminating the surrounding soil. Upon withdrawing her finger, a small yet beautiful daisy bloomed within the spot that had shimmered moments before.

"Hello, little friend," McKenna murmured tenderly, stepping down from the planter box and kneeling in front of the freshly sprouted daisy, viewing it at eye level. "I know you're amidst roses instead of daisies, but there are no daisy beds here. The roses are quite lovely too, however," she remarked softly, extending her hand to caress the velvety petal of one of the roses.

"McKenna, to whom were you speaking?"

Startled, McKenna swiftly turned towards her mother and rose to her feet with her eyes widened. "Nobody, mother," she replied meekly.

"You act as though you've been caught in a transgression," Stellaria remarked slowly, approaching her daughter with a scrutinizing gaze, her hands concealed behind her back.

"I was just looking at the flowers..." McKenna stammered, her fingers twiddling nervously while her arms remained rigidly at her sides.

"Maintain eye contact," Stellaria commanded sharply, causing McKenna to swiftly meet her mother's gaze, which was swiftly followed by a pleased smile before Stellaria redirected her attention to the flowers. "Did you plant that daisy there?"

Aware that she couldn't deceive her mother, given Stellaria's unparalleled understanding of psychology and ability to detect when someone lies; McKenna hesitated before responding, her trembling fingers betraying her nerves. "The gardeners still haven't planted the daisies that you requested for me, mother. It's just a small one," she explained.

"It's an eyesore. It doesn't belong there," Stellaria remarked icily, pointing at the flower. "Pluck it."

With a crestfallen expression, McKenna knelt down slowly and plucked the daisy from the flower bed. She knew she could preserve it in a glass of water for a brief period, but the little daisy would be deprived of the company of other flowers. Despite the dissimilarities between the daisy and the surrounding flowers, McKenna couldn't help but feel a sense of remorse that the lone flower couldn't flourish within a populous garden setting.

"I would have preferred a more mature attitude from you, McKenna," Stellaria remarked, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her daughter with a stern gaze. "You do trust my judgment over a silly flower, don't you?"

"Of course, mother," McKenna replied softly, shaping her expression into a neutral mask.

"Good. It's time for your surgery. Follow me," Stellaria announced, turning on her heel and gesturing for McKenna to accompany her.

"Mother..." McKenna began tentatively, her voice trembling as she sought to decipher her mother's inscrutable expression. "I've been thinking... perhaps if I focused on meditation more, I could enhance my ability to see visions clearly without undergoing surgery."

Glaring at McKenna with icy contempt, Stellaria crossed her arms. "Let me pose a question to you, McKenna. Do you believe that any of my actions are motivated by malice towards you?"

Taken aback, McKenna gasped, raising her hands defensively and shaking her head quickly. "No! I was just—"

"Do you think I act impulsively? How little faith do you have in me, really? Every decision I make is the culmination of generations of research and my unwavering love for you. What causes you to doubt my reasoning, McKenna?" Stellaria hissed, looming over McKenna with a look of disdain.

"Nothing, mother!" McKenna protested, tears welling up in her eyes as she bowed her head in shame.

"Nothing makes you doubt me?" Stellaria growled, seizing McKenna's chin to force her to meet her gaze.

"No! I trust you! I swear! I just didn't want to endure more pain!" McKenna whimpered, her tearful eyes pleading with her mother's intense blood-orange gaze.

"Well," Stellaria remarked, releasing her grip on McKenna's chin, "I take no pleasure in your suffering, but time is of the essence, and we require unwavering precision when it comes to your abilities. On that note, your other cybernetics will be undergoing upgrades. But, you know I always strive to minimize your discomfort and ensure a swift recovery."

"Of course, mother..." McKenna whimpered as she struggled to maintain a facade of composure.

With a warm smile, Stellaria tenderly caressed McKenna's cheek. "Let's put this little tiff behind us. You're a smart girl, and I trust you realize that my intentions are always guided by what I believe is best for you."

"I do, mother. I apologize for offending you," McKenna replied softly, leaning into her mother's gentle touch.

"I forgive you, my dear. Now, let's proceed," Stellaria said, taking McKenna's hand and guiding her to the medical bay to prepare for the upcoming surgery.

Obediently, she decontaminated herself, underwent the pre-operative testing, and resigned herself to yet another in a long series of medical procedures. What could she have done otherwise? Each time she attempted to assert herself, her mother would effortlessly counter her arguments. Every tear she shed only seemed to elicit further disapproval. Progress seemed futile as for every step forward she took, she found herself stumbling two steps back.

Her existence felt like it was predetermined, with her own identity beyond her control.

Upon waking, she found herself back in her room, her body engulfed in a searing sensation despite the effects of the painkillers she had been given, a recurring postoperative discomfort she had grown accustomed to. She knew that with her mother's advanced technology and her own modified flesh, any visible traces of the surgery would soon fade, but she knew this wouldn’t be her last procedure and the vicious cycle would repeat itself.

Forevermore.

As she glanced to her side, she noticed a vial of pills, her water bottle, and a bouquet of daisies in a crystal vase left by her mother, accompanied by a note expressing her good wishes.

Unable to do much more than endure the agony in her bed, McKenna closed her eyes and wept silently.

McKenna's experience, although extreme, was not unique in the realm of those who endured suffering to win a parent's approval. Years ago, a young boy who once called himself Sonic found himself thrust into the role of the caretaker for his family. Following the loss of his father's position at the Royal Court, they were forced to sell their opulent home and lay off the household staff that accompanied it. At just eleven years old, Sonic found himself responsible for cleaning their much more modest lower class home, preparing meals for himself and his parents, and tending to the needs of the new baby.

On a particularly challenging day, he returned home from the grocery store, pushing the stroller that had once been his own through the doorway with one hand and clutching bags of groceries with the other. The journey had been grueling, as Tara incessantly cried despite his best efforts to soothe her, drawing looks of both pity and annoyance from passersby and leaving Sonic feeling irritated and ashamed.

"Hey mom," Sonic called out to his mother, who lay on the couch staring blankly at the television, wearing the same loungewear she had worn for days, showing little acknowledgment of his presence. "I got Tara to stop crying. I just walked her around the block for a little while once I was done at the store, and she finally got tired and fell asleep. Maybe come with us next time, and I'll show you?"

Unsurprisingly, she remained silent, blinking slowly as she paid scant attention to another news report on the failing economy.

"Let's watch something else," Scourge suggested. "I gotta put this stuff up first."

After stowing away the groceries, he tenderly settled Tara in the bassinet, shushing her gently as she began to fuss, letting out a sigh of relief as he gently coaxed her back to sleep.

"Let's check if that one funny cooking show's on," Sonic enthusiastically suggested, settling down on the couch next to his mother, deftly flicking through the channels. As he scanned for the familiar program, he stole glances from the corner of his eye, hoping for even the slightest reaction from her. His brow furrowed with concern, his focus shifting back to the screen, his thumb rapidly tapping the remote in a desperate quest to find the show that once brought them shared laughter in years past.

For nearly a year now, beginning when his mother discovered she was pregnant again, she had gradually let go of self-care, her smiles, her words, and seemed perpetually fatigued. Following their moving and her subsequently giving birth, her well-being deteriorated further, withdrawing into a state of near-perpetual recline in the living room, seldom rising except for a few essential tasks.

He knew she was sick. While she didn’t cough, vomit, or faint, she had become a mere shell of the mother who loved and held him. It was as though something parasitic lurked within her mind, sapping away the warmth and vitality that once radiated from her. Thus, she was trapped in a shattered state in which she didn’t have the strength to tell her own son she loved him.

His father's absence only compounded the family's struggles. When he was actually present, the only signs of him being in the house were the lingering scent of rum and muffled heated phone conversations about his latest financial misstep in the stock market coming from the master bedroom.

Despite the overwhelming weight of responsibility and the heaviness of his heart, Sonic continued to navigate the challenges of their strained household with a sense of unwavering determination. Each day, he carried the burden of caring for his baby sister and tending to his ailing mother, silently vowing to someday bring back the light in her eyes and hear her express pride and affection once more.

Alas, that day never arrived.

As Scourge sat on the hood of his newly-altered car in the litter-filled alley beside the orphanage, he felt as if he had just awoken from a nap; a long-expired cigarette dangling between his lips. How long had he been lost in this haze of dissociation? More importantly, why was he wasting time ruminating on the past again? It wouldn’t fix anything that happened or change who he was. Shaking off the memories that threatened to pull him deeper, he swapped the spent cigarette for a fresh one and fished his phone from his pocket, eager to blast some music to cleanse his mind of the clutter.

“Can I have one?”

His ears pinned back in irritation as Toxic’s voice sliced through the stillness of the alley.

“If you can get your own,” he sneered, casting her a glance filled with distaste as she peeked out from the front of the building. “Hang on, what’s on your face?”

“Face mask.”

“Where from?” he asked, holding the cigarette between his lips, smoke curling from his mouth with every breath he took.

“Simon.”

“Why’d he get you a mask?” He leaned forward, curiosity piqued as he shifted his weight on the hood. Simon wasn’t exactly known for being charitable, so the fact that she got a gift from him suggested he’d somehow started to warm up to her.

“So I don’t look like my, uhm, wanting picture, and I can go to places without people staring, and it helps me not pick at my cut and make it redder.” She explained, making her way over to him, grunting slightly as she climbed onto the hood beside him.

“Hey, watch the paint, short stack,” he cautioned, swearing under his breath as he offered her a steady hand to help her up, trying to keep the car's paint job intact.

“I drew on it ‘cause Flying got me markers, and we drew on my shirt, and then we drew on my shoes.” She rambled on, proudly pointing to the crude, jagged teeth sketched in white marker and the chaotic splashes of color covering her shirt and shoes.

“Flying gave you markers, huh?” Scourge replied, raising an eyebrow. “Did he sniff them at all?”

“Yeah, so?” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, that means they’re the permanent kind.” He growled, staring ahead at the setting sun, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. The thought of her potentially ‘decorating’ his beloved jacket with those markers sent a wave of dread through him. “That’s super.”

“Revine had one of those one time,” she continued, “but she kept coughing and told us not to have any.”

“Mhm,” Scourge hummed aloofly, his attention waning.

“We’ll find them, right?” Toxic asked, grabbing his hand, immediately regaining his attention with the sudden, unexpected gesture that almost seemed to resemble… affection.

“Look, we’ll try, ok? No guarantees.” Scourge replied, pulling his hand away to discard his spent cigarette.

Toxic’s hopeful face fell somewhat as he pulled his hand away from hers. She turned her gaze to some graffiti on the wall of the neighboring building. “Revine’s light blue and a big kid hedgehog. Selene and Ren are little just like me, and Selene’s light green. But Ren’s not a hedgehog, he’s a red panda. Ren likes his hat.”

“Okay,” Scourge murmured dismissively, his gaze fixed ahead. Beneath his facade of boredom, he couldn’t stop thinking about what she did. He’d made it clear he expected her to at least mostly behave well, but never in a million years would he have expected her to try and hold his hand. After all, he still had healing wounds on his arms from her biting and scratching him nearly two weeks ago. Even still, he certainly didn’t give her any special treatment that could possibly warrant this.

Right?

Before he could become too lost in thought, his attention was grabbed by the little blue hedgehog sliding off the car with a little grunt and walking in front of him.

“We’re gonna be the king?” she asked, hopping in place eagerly.

“Well, I’m gonna be the king, princess,” Scourge corrected her, a faint wry smile spreading across his face. “But yeah, we’re gonna be royalty. Livin’ in the lap of luxury just like in the movies, kid.”

“Oh,” Toxic replied, her voice fluctuating slightly as she hopped back and forth over a crack in the asphalt. “What’s in a movie?”

“What do you mean?” Scourge asked, raising a brow as he lifted his sunglasses to his forehead.

“What happens in movies?”

“A lot of things can happen. Wait, have you ever watched a movie?” Scourge asked, his eyes widening in disbelief when she shook her head in response. “Shit, imagine that…”

“Can we see movies if we’re, uhm, royally?” She asked, walking closer to him with big, hopeful eyes.

“Well…” Scourge began hesitantly before sighing deeply, “I haven’t seen a movie since before I got locked up, so what the hell? There should be an old drive-in we can sneak into.”

“Are we gonna see a movie now?” Toxic asked with intense excitement, her little blue tail wagging behind her.

“Yeah. Get your butt in the car before I change my mind, kid,” Scourge said, pulling the keys from his jacket and unlocking the vehicle, which Toxic practically flew into with a squeal.

Driving through the bustling city, he glanced over at his sister, whose legs barely dangled over the edge of the passenger seat as she hummed along to a pop song on the radio. Scourge found himself lost in thought, contemplating whether this outing was truly a good idea. While he respected her to a degree and even promised to let her be the princess of Moebius, he was still undeniably annoyed by her. His manners were far from perfect, but she had a knack for picking arguments, talking his ear off, and demanding an endless amount of attention.

Scourge wasn’t above breaking deals with people, especially those he didn’t particularly like. If he put his mind to it, he could send her to live with another family instead of in the castle with him. With enough money and convincing, he could find a decent family for her. For the past couple of days, he’d been wrestling with the idea of living with her. Being only sixteen himself, he didn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone one as wild as her.

Toxic might renounce him as her brother for breaking his promise, and he might never see her again. But at least there’d be no uncertainty about her well-being, unlike the years they spent apart. She’d be out of his way, placed with a family instead of being stuck in a shoddy orphanage, receiving care he simply couldn’t provide.

It would be for the best.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as his jaw clenched with tension. Taking a deep nasal breath, he passed the city limits, the familiar skyline fading into the rearview mirror. For the rest of the ride, he remained silent, focused, until they arrived at the ticket booth shrouded in smoke, a strong acrid scent hanging in the air.

“What movie do you want?” asked the worker, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he leaned on the counter, blinking slowly.

“Any action movie,” Scourge replied, extending his arm out the window, cash in hand, toward the cashier, who took it slowly, peering into the dim interior of Scourge’s car.

“Wait… you look familiar,” the worker said, squinting at him with curiosity.

Shit.

Aside from the fact that he wasn't the only green hedgehog on Moebius, Scourge had been fortunate so far to avoid recognition by sticking to lower-class areas where people were more concerned with daily survival than with political figures. That luck couldn’t run out the night before he reclaimed his throne.

“I was in a soup commercial,” Scourge blurted out, internally berating himself for coming up with such a ridiculous lie afterwards

“What—” Toxic began, her face twisting in puzzlement before Scourge shot her a pointed look that silenced her.

With his jaw agape and his eyes half lidded, the employee’s face slowly broke into a crooked, gap-toothed grin.

“Oh, that’s right! Soup guy! That’s probably how you got that badass car!” he exclaimed, nodding with satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Scourge said, his head reeling back in disbelief that this excuse actually worked. “So, what’s the station for the movie?”

“Uh, 98.7,” the worker replied, glancing at a sheet in front of him. “Enjoy the movie, soup guy.”

“You too, stoned guy…” Scourge muttered under his breath as he navigated the crowded parking lot, eyes scanning for a spot where they could settle in to watch the movie.

“What’s a stone guy?” Toxic inquired.

“A guy who smokes so much weed he thinks I did a soup commercial,” Scourge scoffed, his fingers flipping through radio stations.

“Why did you do a soup commercial?” she asked, her hand fidgeting with the window controls, sliding it up and down.

“That’s not a toy. Quit messing with it,” Scourge chided, gently swatting her hand away from the buttons. “I wasn’t in a soup commercial. I said that so he wouldn’t figure out who I really was.”

“Are you, uhm, wanted?” Toxic probed, her feet wiggling as she admired the skulls Flying had drawn on the tips of her sneakers.

“Something like that,” Scourge replied, turning up the radio’s volume, the audio synced with the giant screen in front of them.

Toxic’s eyes were drawn to the screen, pupils widening with fascination as she caught sight of an advertisement featuring dancing cartoon characters.

“The movie!” she exclaimed, standing on the seat and eagerly tapping her finger against the windshield as she pointed at the screen.

“‘Ey,” Scourge snapped, “Sit down, don’t scuff up the leather.”

Groaning theatrically, she extended her ring finger toward him in defiance before flopping back into the seat, her shoulders slumped in exaggerated annoyance.

With a roll of his eyes, Scourge mimicked her groan and held up his own ring finger toward her in return. “Back at ya,” he said smugly. He then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out some cash. “I’ll be right back with popcorn, ‘kay? Stay in the car and watch the screen.”

As he approached the snack bar, the enchanting aroma of popcorn mingled with the seemingly recurring, pungent scent of marijuana. Along with two popcorns and a couple of Anarcho-Colas, he received yet another curious look from the cashier.

“Wait, where have I seen you?” the young woman asked, her eyes bloodshot and squinting as she leaned in closer.

“Soup commercial,” Scourge answered, not missing a beat.

“Right! Brody texted us about that!” she exclaimed, grinning widely, struggling to keep her eyes open as she turned to her coworker; who was munching on a hot dog without a bun. “Marley, it’s Soup Guy! Just like Brody was talking about.”

“Man, I love soup!” Marley shouted, raising their half-eaten hot dog in a gesture that resembled a toast toward Scourge.

Honestly, Scourge found himself wanting whatever they were clearly indulging in.

“Same,” he replied with a forced smile, quickly gathering his snacks and hurrying back to the car before the conversation could continue any further.

Toxic was so engrossed in the moving pictures on the screen that even the enticing aroma of popcorn didn’t immediately catch her attention.

“Here,” Scourge said, handing one of the bags to her.

“What didja get me?” Toxic asked, peering into the bag with curiosity.

“You’ve never seen popcorn before?” Scourge replied, his cheek already stuffed with the warm, buttery treat, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Nope,” she answered, burying her face in the bag and grabbing a mouthful. Her eyes widened with amazement as she savored the taste.

“Good stuff, right?” Scourge asked, barely hiding a smile as he watched her devour the popcorn with animalistic abandon.

“Yah, ah like ih,” Toxic mumbled through her mouthful, bits of popcorn flying out with each word.

“Don’t spit popcorn all over my car, kid,” Scourge warned, taking a sip of his soda. “Movie’s about to start,” he noted as the previews came to an end. “Be quiet or we leave.”

“Why?” Toxic whispered, her voice filled with curiosity.

“That’s the rule, now shut up and watch,” he whispered, settling back into his seat as the film began.

The movie wasn’t anything spectacular. The acting was mediocre at best, and the plot was half-baked. Under normal circumstances, Scourge would say the only redeeming quality was the presence of the actress he’d had a crush on for years. However, after spending several torturous months in Zone Jail, struggling to avoid beatings, he hadn’t had the luxury to focus on whatever played on the few tiny, grainy television screens available there.

Every single day since escaping, he often had to remind himself he was safe. The bump in the night wasn’t an inmate coming to throw him around the cell like a ragdoll. He no longer had to rush through meals to prevent them from being stolen or having his face shoved in them. He didn’t have to sit on the edge of his seat, ready to flee unwanted attention. Gone were the days of the inhibitor collars, and he was finally ready to reclaim his world.

This was his first movie in a long time, and he was finally safe enough to watch it. That was enough for him to love it.

Watching his little sister giggling with delight during a particularly audacious motorcycle stunt, he was taken aback by how much he didn’t mind her presence at that moment. Her excitement reminded him of a young, once-blue hedgehog he once knew, staying up late to watch his favorite films. The nostalgia was palpable, and her enthusiasm was unexpectedly contagious. To his own surprise, he found himself whispering comments about the movie to her, chuckling at her responses, and engaging in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Not only was she not a burden, but she was genuinely enjoyable to be around.

In the film’s climax, things seemed bleak for the protagonist. Bloody and beaten, he stared down the barrel of his enemy’s gun, with death looming ominously on the horizon.

Toxic furrowed her brows in worry, her voice barely above a whisper as she chewed on the last of her popcorn. “Are they gonna die?”

“Just watch,” Scourge whispered back, a half-grin forming as he correctly anticipated the moment when the hero would rise and take down the enemy with a clever line.

Pumping her fist in the air, Toxic couldn’t contain her excitement. “Yes!”

“Legends like that don’t just die like chumps, kid,” Scourge added, his grin widening at her reaction. “Golden rule of, like, every movie.”

“He’s fucking cool ass!” she exclaimed, a soft, excited giggle escaping her as the credits soon began to roll. She reached for more of her popcorn, only to realize her bag was empty. “Gimme yours,” she demanded, her eyes darting to his unfinished bag.

With a shake of his head, Scourge dug his hand into his popcorn, nonchalantly swatting away Toxic as she desperately clawed for the bag.

“Stop, bitch!” she groaned in protest.

“Nah,” Scourge replied, chewing on a mouthful with a satisfied smirk.

“Yes!” she growled, trying to crawl over him as he pushed his hand against her forehead, leaving her scrambling in place.

“Mmm, this is mine. I love my popcorn.” He teased, savoring the last few pieces before finally releasing her, “Take my bag, short-stack.”

“Cuntsack!” Toxic shot back, slamming her fist on the seat in frustration.

“That doesn’t mean anything, you dip,” Scourge scoffed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, it does!” she argued, crossing her arms defiantly.

“It doesn’t, idiot. Time to go.” He said, shifting the car into gear as the lights of the parking lot flickered around them.

"I wanna see more movies," she said with a defiant pout as he slowly backed their car out of the parking spot, the engine purring to life.

"We're going to the castle tomorrow," he reminded her. "Don't wanna stay out all night and be too tired for that."

"But we can watch movies at the castle with popcorn and soda, right?" she asked, her fingers fiddling with the straps of a face mask she had just pulled from her pocket, her voice carrying a hopeful lilt.

"That and more," he assured her, a smile tugging at his lips. "But first, we gotta work for it. Just like in that movie, we gotta kick some major ass before we get ours on the throne."

"Are we gonna break windows and shoot people like in the movies?" she continued, her green eyes wide with a mix of excitement and innocence.

The green hedgehog chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Something like that, for sure," he replied to his sister, before groaning as a chime sounded from the dashboard, signaling that the car was running low on gas.

"What is it, Scourge?" Toxic asked, tilting her head with curiosity, her gaze shifting between him and the fuel gauge.

"We need gas. Might as well pick up more cigarettes while we're at it," Scourge grumbled, his eyes scanning the dank, desolate streets as they rolled past, searching for a gas station.

"I want a cigarette," she proclaimed.

"I know. You want everything," he muttered under his breath, steering the car into a dingy gas station and parking by one of the pumps. "Stay here, okay?" he ordered, stepping out of the car.

After filling up the tank, Scourge made his way into the grimy little convenience store. The smell of stale grease and sweat hit him like a wave, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he spotted a rat nibbling on a slice of pizza that had been left on display. Shaking his head, he turned toward the counter, ready to ask the cashier for a pack of cigarettes.

Before he could open his mouth, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around with surprising force.

"I know you, fucker," a cheetah snarled in a low, menacing growl, his clothes adorned with photoluminescent accents that glowed under the dim fluorescent lights, his flashy sunglasses obscuring most of his face but not his fury.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. I was in a soup commercial," Scourge replied with a deadpan expression, showing no fear at the cheetah's aggressive stance.

"Don't fuck with me!" The cheetah roared, baring his fangs just inches from Scourge's face. "You stole my car!"

"I dunno what you're talking about," Scourge sneered, his lips curling into a smug grin.

"Oh, really?" The cheetah chuckled without humor before slamming Scourge back against a wall. "I bet you'll figure it out while you bite the curb."

"At least take me to dinner first, babe," Scourge retorted with a playful wink, his eyes flickering with twisted amusement.

"Wait a minute, Danny," another voice cut in, drawing closer. One of the cheetah's cronies, who had been lurking nearby, stepped forward, peering at Scourge with a look of surprise. "This ain't your average carjacker... shit! This is Scourge, the old king!"

"Well, he ain't king anymore, right? His ass got thrown in jail, I heard," Danny laughed, tightening his grip on Scourge's jacket. "Must not be that powerful if he's hidin' in the shadows and nabbin' cars. Still, how much do you think they'd pay to get him back behind bars?"

"Penny, lock the door," another goon ordered the cashier, who obliged, pulling out a handgun from her back pocket and flicking the safety off with a sinister smile.

Before Scourge could come up with a snarky comeback, the unmistakable click of a phone camera went off somewhere beside him.

It was getting late. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:32 PM. They had to wrap this up quickly.

"Yeah, so, that won't do," he muttered before launching into action. With a sudden burst of speed, he delivered a rapid one-two punch to both sides of Danny's face, stunning him and loosening his grip. Seizing the moment, Scourge kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into a shelf stocked with candy. As Penny fired a shot, Scourge blurred out of the way with his supersonic speed, dodging the bullets effortlessly.

"Get my good side while you're at it," he quipped, appearing beside the person who had taken the photo. Snatching the phone from their grip, he took a quick selfie with a perky grin before slamming the phone down hard against a shelf; the screen shattering on impact. Before they could react, he swiftly snapped their neck, their body crumpling to the floor.

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the broken phone at Penny, striking her square in the forehead and causing her to drop the gun. Vulnerable and disoriented, she was left wide open for Scourge's next move. In a flash, he closed the distance and stomped down on her skull with a brutal force, her body going limp instantly.

"You fucking—" the last crony screamed in terror, but his cry was cut short as Scourge aimed the now-recovered handgun and fired. The back of the crony's skull burst open in a bloody display, brains splattering against the wall behind him.

"Yeah, that's sweet of you," Scourge said with a gleeful grin, lowering the smoking pistol. His gaze then turned to a dazed Danny. "C'mon, pookie. I saved the best for last."

"Muh... Nuh..." Danny mumbled weakly as Scourge grabbed him by the back of his jacket, kicked the door open, and forced him to press his mouth against the edge of the curb outside. Without a moment's hesitation, Scourge stomped down hard on the back of Danny's head, a sickening crunch echoing through the night as blood and teeth splattered across the concrete.

Scourge couldn't help but laugh. These jokers thought they could take on the hedgehog who once, and soon would again, rule over Moebius. The sheer arrogance of their challenge made the victory even sweeter.

He glanced at the clock again. 9:33 PM.

Lost in the rush of adrenaline, Scourge almost didn't notice Toxic sitting just a few feet away, perched atop a faded truck kiddie ride. Her jaw hung open beneath her mask, her wide eyes filled with a mix of awe and morbid fascination.

"I thought I told ya to stay in the car," Scourge said, slightly exasperated. He was surprised such a dumb kid had figured out how to unlock the door.

"I'm in this car," Toxic countered with a nonchalant shrug.

Scourge clenched his jaw, a sigh escaping his lips as he nodded in reluctant acceptance. His eyes caught sight of a coin near Danny's limp leg.

"Sit tight for a sec," he instructed, slipping the coin into the ride's slot. The kiddie ride sputtered to life, playing a grainy rock and roll tune and jerking with clunky engine sounds.

Stepping over the mess of bodies and debris, Scourge made sure to destroy anything that might have recorded the scene. Afterward, he grabbed a few packs of cigarettes, a beer, and some cash from the register. Before leaving, he noticed a stuffed cheetah toy on display, its big eyes and innocent smile staring back at him. The irony made him chuckle, and he decided to take it with him. Motioning for Toxic to follow, he led her back to the car.

"Why did they fight you?" Toxic asked, hopping alongside him, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"The cheetah guy got mad at me for stealing his car. He and his buddies were gonna get me thrown in jail, so l killed them all," he replied casually, opening the car door.

"Oh," she responded simply, satisfied with his blunt explanation as she climbed in on her side.

"Here," Scourge said, handing her the stuffed cheetah. "That's your reminder not to let anyone mess with you. If someone gives you trouble, show 'em who's boss."

Toxic's eyes widened as she stared at the soft toy in her hands. For a moment, she was speechless. She glanced up at her brother, a mix of surprise and something else-almost like admiration.

It wasn't every day Scourge showed such a gesture. Was it the adrenaline that had him feeling generous? Or perhaps some hidden guilt, knowing she'd soon be placed with another family? Maybe, just maybe, he was warming up to her.

He cranked up the radio to drown out his thoughts, not noticing the way she kept staring at him. Eventually, she broke the silence, her voice tentative. "Do we have the same mama and daddy?"

Scourge's stomach twisted into knots. He knew where this was headed.

"Yep," he replied tersely.

"But where are they at?" she asked, her voice growing softer, more childlike.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Scourge's jaw clenched as he tried to find the right words.

"They're dead, Toxic," he finally said, his tone darkening.

Toxic's face fell, her body turning toward him, eyes locked on his. "But how could they, uhm, die?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The air felt sucked from Scourge's lungs. His mind raced for a lie, but nothing came to him. He was trapped in the truth. His palms were sweaty, his grip on the wheel unyielding as he forced himself to continue.

"Dad... h-he..." Scourge stammered, wiping the sweat from his brow, "he was a piece of shit, Toxic. We got in a fight, and he died."

Toxic tensed up, clutching the cheetah tightly in her small hands. "Did you, uhm, have a fight with our mama like you had a fight with daddy?" she asked, her voice small, nearly breaking.

"No!" Scourge barked instantly. "Mom was good! I'd never fight her!" He took a deep, steadying breath, staring out at the blur of passing cars. "Mom... she... took her own life," he added, his voice heavy with regret.

Furrowing her brows in a mix of sadness and disbelief, Toxic shook her head and asked, “but why?”

Scourge's mouth went dry. He'd asked himself that same question for years.

Why had she left him and Toxic behind with that monster? After that day, his life had spiraled down a twisted path he couldn't escape, molding him into the hardened criminal he was now.

Should he have done more to help her?

He felt an odd combination of resentment and guilt, hating himself for being angry at her choice. She had been his only real light for years, even in death.

He didn't know who to blame-his mother, himself, his father, an invisible illness, or even his sister, whose birth might have driven his mother over the edge with postpartum depression.

Years had passed, but deep down, he still felt like that lost, scared twelve-year-old kid he once knew.

"Scourge?" Toxic whimpered, reaching out for his arm, her voice quivering with a need for comfort.

"I don't want to talk about this shit anymore, Toxic!" Scourge snapped, his voice sharp and pained. "Just... shut the fuck up and listen to music or something!" he roared, slamming his fist against the steering wheel with a burst of frustration.

Hugging the stuffed cheetah closer, Toxic remained silent for the rest of the ride, the radio's music filling the tense, uneasy quiet between them.

Back at the orphanage, they were greeted by Flying, who was waiting with a lantern held high, his wide eyes glimmering with excitement.

"There you hedgie-wedgies are!" he exclaimed, dropping to Toxic's height with a playful grin. "Where have ya lid-squid-kids been!? Did you make a new little friend, Toxic little girl? Can I eat him?"

Uncharacteristically quiet, Toxic kept her gaze down, saying nothing as she grabbed a lantern and hurried off to the area where she usually slept.

"Say, what's the big idea?" Flying asked, scratching his head, bewildered by the sudden shift in her demeanor.

"She's tired, and I need a cigarette," Scourge replied coolly, turning on his heel to head back toward his car, only to be stopped by Flying once more.

"Yanno, you two are actin' fishier than a pond-wand-blonde!" Flying said, his head tilted, arms crossed as he studied Scourge from head to toe. "And I'm not talkin' about that pretty blood on your shoes!"

"I'll clean it in a bit, okay? Fuck off," Scourge grumbled, pushing past him and returning to the car's front seat. He lit a cigarette with almost frantic urgency, desperate for the calming burn in his lungs.

His mind raced, teeming with chaos and torment. Every so often, he'd lash out, slamming his fist against the dashboard or the seat beside him, shouting out a random obscenity. By the time he'd made it through nearly an entire pack, exhaustion finally washed over him, pulling him into sleep right there in the car.

The night before the Destructix would storm the castle was full of tension, but not just for them.

After spending the day resting and regaining her strength, McKenna stood in the castle's vast training arena, bracing herself for the tests that awaited. The room was expansive and intimidating, filled with workout equipment, targets, and combat robots designed for practice. Today, her training wasn't just about physical prowess; she was also testing her ability to see an attacker before they appeared, and her skill with different kinds of combative and defensive magic.

All stops had been pulled out tonight. She'd even been given a new outfit: a sleek, bulletproof bodysuit, her boots were designed to silence her footsteps, and her arms and legs were covered in a protective lycra-adjacent fabric. She was dressed in all black, allowing her to blend in with shadows. Strapped to her thigh was a dagger, her only non-magical weapon aside from her fists and feet.

Physically, she was prepared, but her mind was another matter entirely.

While resting earlier, she'd had a strange dream. She was back in the forest that haunted her memories, but someone had intruded and started a fire. The act sparked a fury in her unlike anything she'd ever felt. Who dared to harm her sanctuary? It was her territory, and no one was allowed to defile it. She wanted to hunt down the culprit, to make them pay violently for their audacity.

The raw, unfiltered rage was a new sensation, and it terrified her.

"My dear, you aren't still worried about your dream, are you?" Stellaria's voice broke through her thoughts, drawing her back to the present.

"Mother... I've never felt like this before," McKenna confessed, her face creased with concern. "I don't want to be a monster."

"Why, you are no monster," Stellaria soothed, her voice carrying a maternal calm. "I can tell you with certainty the dream does carry a message. But if you follow it, all will be well. Think of this castle as the forest, and the arsonist as someone who wishes to bring harm to those within. I've equipped you with the tools to protect us, and I know you won't fall short."

The tension in McKenna's face eased, a faint smile spreading across her lips.

"Thank you, Mother. I love you," she said, straightening her posture with renewed confidence.

"I love you too, my dear," Stellaria replied, her hand gently caressing McKenna's cheek as she leaned in close, her smile warm and reassuring. "Be ready."

From a separate room, Stellaria watched her daughter meditate for a moment before speaking into the microphone that fed into the arena's speakers.

"Now, begin."

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vendettaspathfanfic · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter Eight

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

I have a lil surprise for y’all! From me and… someone else ;3

“That was fucking cool ass!” Toxic's jubilant declaration reverberated through the vehicle as she thrust her fists triumphantly into the air.

“Where do you even get these word combinations?” Scourge groaned, his grimace displaying his annoyance at Toxic's strange attempts at swearing.

“She’s right-might-bite! That was fucking cool ass!” Flying's exuberant cheer filled the air, his own excitement matching Toxic's as he pumped his fist energetically.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Fiona interjected, her tone a sobering reminder amidst the buzzing atmosphere, “no doubt there's a huge bounty on this car, and someone at a mod shop could report it, or hell, someone could report us on the way.”

“So we’re dumping it?” Lightning inquired, his features relaxing as he pulled off his mask.

“Yup,” Fiona affirmed, mirroring Lightning's actions as she too removed her mask, taking a moment to readjust her hair, “I expected as much, honestly.”

“That sucks,” Scourge lamented with a hint of disappointment, his eyes rolling as he took off his mask, savoring the sensation of freedom as the cool air brushed against his quills.

“Don’t forget, baby, we'll be back on our thrones in no time,” Fiona reminded her lover, a note of reassurance in her voice as she raised a finger in emphasis.

“Oh yeah,” Scourge conceded with a grin, his gaze shifting to Toxic, his next words laden with a hint of nostalgia, “you won’t believe what it’s like being on the throne, kid. Cars, food, money, anything you want at the snap of your fingers.”

“I get, um, a throne?” Toxic's hopeful inquiry hung in the air, her eyes wide with wonder at the prospect.

“Well…” Scourge began tentatively, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, “if you're my sister and I'm the king, then you're the princess. I guess you get a throne...”

“I wanna be the king,” Toxic asserted, crossing her arms.

“Tough,” Scourge retorted, a smirk playing on his lips as he retrieved a cigarette, the flame from his lighter casting a fleeting glow on his face as he took a drag.

"Alright guys," Fiona's voice cut through the chatter, her gaze shifting towards a hopping brightly-lit nightclub they passed by, "looks like that club's busy tonight. Lightning, Predator, go in there and grab..." Her brow furrowed as she hummed in thought, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes, "like, 3 car keys from some drunken jackasses. After that, we gather our belongings, ditch this vehicle, and each take a different route home. All clear?"

After receiving a collective “yes ma’am” in response, Lightning and Predator smoothly exited the now-parked vehicle and made their way into the vibrant nightclub. In the dimly lit chaos of the club, they deftly relieved various inebriated revelers of their car keys without raising a single eyebrow. They swiftly rejoined their team outside, the metallic jangle of the ill-gotten keys echoing through the alley in which the SUV was parked.

Activating the locator buttons, they discovered they had acquired two sedans and a jeep - not luxury vehicles by any means, but perfectly suited to their immediate requirements. With their newfound assets in hand, the team efficiently redistributed the contents and occupants of the SUV, preparing to load up the newly acquired vehicles for their next move.

“Fiona and Toxic are with me,” Scourge announced decisively, standing by the red sedan he had selected, his posture exuding confidence. “Predator and Lightning, take a car, and Flying and Simon will likely opt for the jeep.”

“Where else can ya fit a jolly brown giant, eh, Simon?” Flying quipped, nudging Simon playfully, the latter responding with a resigned eye roll as he stood with his arms crossed.

“I wanna go with Simon!” Toxic's protest carried over as she hurried to him, her enthusiasm evident.

“They only got a two-seater, short stack,” Fiona interjected, her arms crossed as she leaned against the car, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.

“Well, I can always hang with fuzzy and birdie!” Flying chimed in, bounding over to join Lightning and Predator, the latter struggling to conceal his irritation as a subtle twitch of his brow betrayed his composure.

“Your call, man,” Scourge addressed Simon, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his words. “You want this thing?” His gaze flickered disdainfully towards his sister.

Simon expressed his indifference with a dismissive shrug, muttering, "I don't care," before he offered a steadying hand to Toxic, who was clambering up into the rugged jeep. "Buckle up," he instructed firmly, "And take off your mask. Everyone else has already taken theirs off."

"No fuckshitty way. It looks cool," she retorted, stubbornly adjusting the seat belt across her chest.

Simon, under his breath, murmured a gruff, "I don't have time for this." Without waiting for her compliance, he reached over and stripped away the balaclava from Toxic's head in one smooth gesture, despite her immediate objections. "We'll attract the wrong kind of attention with these on," he explained, his tone brooking no argument.

Meanwhile, Scourge stood a little distance away, surveying the group with a casual eye. "Alright, see you guys back there," he called out, his voice carrying an air of finality as he slid behind the wheel of his own vehicle.

With a collective purr of engines, the group dispersed, each taking their separate paths, winding their way back home through the less traveled roads.

During the drive, Toxic became a whirlwind of chatter beside him, excitedly recounting every moment of their recent heist. She embellished the tale with animated sound effects and poorly done impressions, eager to relive the wild journey.

Simon, slightly exasperated, responded with noncommittal hums of "Mhm," and, in a quest for some auditory respite, he reached out and turned on the radio. He hoped the music would serve as a gentle distraction and perhaps encourage Toxic to quiet down.

Undeterred, Toxic continued her enthusiastic reenactment, eventually pausing to ask, "What was your favorite part?" Her foot tapped along to the rhythm of a song now playing, her energy undimmed.

"Dunno," Simon replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he maintained his focus on driving through a dilapidated shopping district. The flickering neon signs were caked with layers of dirt, the road was a minefield of potholes, and the omnipresent litter added a final touch to the atmosphere of neglect.

Contrary to Simon, the disarray didn’t seem to deter Toxic. Her attention was captured by a small, rundown diner. "I wanna eat there," she announced abruptly, pointing with determination toward the diner's partially illuminated sign.

Simon cast a skeptical eye at the establishment, his nose scrunching in distaste. "There? With all the money we have?" he questioned, the incredulity evident in his voice.

Toxic's enthusiasm was undeterred. "Yeah!" she squealed, nodding vigorously as her stomach offered a timely rumble of agreement.

Feeling the gnaw of hunger himself, he conceded with a resigned exhale. "Ok," he acquiesced, guiding the jeep to a stop beside the diner, parking it behind a solitary motorcycle.

Toxic's eyes danced with new interest. "Can I drive that?" she inquired, gesturing toward the motorcycle with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Nope," Simon answered, his response immediate and unyielding as he stepped out of the jeep. He extended a hand to help Toxic down and escorted her toward the diner's entrance, the neon glow of its sign washing over them in flickers.

Shockingly, the desolate ambiance and lackluster staff of the grungy diner failed to entice anyone to linger late into the night — except for a solitary figure. Seated at the counter, a tall polar bear woman clutched a beer bottle in one hand, her attention fixed on a news report detailing a recent bank robbery and ensuing police chase that had unfolded in the city, leaving a trail of casualties in its wake.

In a moment of recognition, Toxic's gasp pierced the quiet of the diner as she pointed animatedly at the screen, her eyes widening in shock. Before she could cause further commotion, Simon swiftly swept her up into his arms, his voice a harsh whisper as he admonished, "no!"

The sudden disturbance drew the attention of the polar bear woman, prompting her to shift her gaze towards the pair. Locking eyes with Toxic, she offered a gentle smile in response to the child's unflinching stare, her attention drawn to the vivid cyan glow emanating from her cybernetic eye, framed by intricate silver steel and peeking out from beneath her tousled white hair.

Known for their straightforward nature, children often possess a unique candor. Toxic, however, excelled in this aspect. True to form, she exhibited her unfiltered curiosity by bluntly pointing at the woman's cybernetic eye and posing the question, "What the hell happened to your eye?"

“Toxic!” Simon hissed, catching the young girl off guard and prompting a sheepish pause in her inquiry.

Rather than taking offense, the woman responded with a light chuckle, shaking her head with a hint of amusement as she turned her body to face the duo.

"Ah, this eye?" she began, gesturing to the eye in question, "it fell out because I didn't eat enough veggies."

Toxic's reaction was immediate, her skepticism palpable as she scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "What a load of bullshit," she groaned, unimpressed by the explanation offered.

This caused Ursula to erupt in laughter, spitting her beer onto the floor as she doubled over, clutching her stomach in mirth. It took her a full minute to regain her composure, her laughter echoing through the dimly lit diner.

Amidst her amusement, Ursula managed to compose herself enough to address Toxic. "Oh," she chuckled, wiping away tears of laughter, "yer a spunky little gal. Toxic, right?"

With a nonchalant shrug, Toxic confirmed, "Yeah.”.

With a warm smile, the woman extended her large hand for a fist bump, which Toxic eagerly reciprocated. "I'm Ursula," she said, her laughter still evident in her voice.

Impressed by Ursula's style, Toxic surprisingly showed signs of politeness as she complimented her fashion sense in her own unique way. "I like your nails, Ursula. And your earrings. And your...” she paused, searching for the right term, “face earrings."

Ursula accepted the praise graciously, her amusement evident in her tone. "Why thank you," she replied, her smile unwavering, "I like them too. And I like yer hair."

Caught off guard by the unexpected interaction, Simon hesitated, feeling warmth creep up his cheeks as he met Ursula's gaze. "We're sorry to bother you, miss..." he began, his tone apologetic.

Ursula quickly dismissed his concerns, leaning casually against the counter and adjusting her black leather jacket. "Oh, not at all!" she reassured him, her demeanor friendly and relaxed. "She yers, mister...?"

"Sergeant Simian," he introduced himself, clearing his throat before adding, "and, erm, no. She's my boss' kid sister."

Ursula's response was warm and complimentary. "She's a sweet gal," she remarked, her words sincere.

"Well, you don't know her," he retorted, averting his eyes as a faint blush of embarrassment continued to color his cheeks.

“I’m hungry,” Toxic complained, tugging at Simon’s bandolier with impatience as her stomach continued to grumble and ache with the pangs of hunger.

“Well, uh…” the flustered gorilla spoke lowly before clearing his throat and raising his volume to be more audible, “good meeting you ma’am.” His words stumbled out in a mix of unease and courtesy, a subtle hint of nervousness seeping into his demeanor that he internally cursed himself for.

“I wanna sit with Ursula,” Toxic demanded, her tone once again insistent and unwavering.

“Jeez, you want a lot of things tonight…” Simon murmured through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“By all means,” Ursula said graciously, motioning them to the two seats next to her, her gesture accompanied by a warm smile.

Internally, he cursed himself for his weakness against this already ill-mannered child. He placed her in the barstool next to Ursula, adjusting it so she could reach the counter before sitting next to her and grabbing a menu from the exhausted waiter that stood behind the counter.

Despite his embarrassment, Simon oddly enough found himself looking for an excuse to talk to Ursula. His mind's race for words luckily came to fruition as he noticed the steak in front of her. A flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

“That any good?” He asked, his gaze flicking between her and the menu. His inquiry carried a hint of genuine interest, a subtle attempt to engage in conversation.

Ursula rolled her eyes a little and cringed as she answered, “dry, weak seasoning…” before she picked up the steak in her hands and bit into it, tearing off a chunk of it before devouring the piece. Her unconventional approach to dining caught Simon off guard, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering across his features as he observed her. “But,” she began as she chewed before swallowing, “the beer makes you forget about that.”

“W-well… uh…” Simon stammered, blinking a few times as he processed the sight before him before looking at the zombie-like waiter, “I’ll, erm, have a patty melt and a black coffee.” His order came out in a hesitant manner, another sign of his slightly flustered state in the moment.

“Mhm,” they hummed, “and the kid?” The waiter asked monotonously.

“What do you wanna eat, Toxic?” Simon asked, leaning closer to Toxic who was scribbling on her kids menu with a used-up green crayon

Toxic hummed in thought as she stared at the menu before poking Simon’s shoulder and motioning him to lean in. Once he was close, she whispered matter-of-factly in his ear, “I can’t read.”

With a sigh, he let the waiter know it’d be a few minutes while he helped her decipher the menu, leading her to loudly declare that she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich with orange soda.

“Ah, take it easy on service workers,” Ursula advised, ruffling Toxic’s hair, “they go through enough. Especially in this world.”

“Fine…” Toxic acquiesced, lowering her head. “Can I have, um, a grilled cheese sandwich and then I wanna drink orange soda.” Her compliance was accompanied by a hint of hesitation as her eyes shifted to Ursula who held an approving thumbs up to her.

Simon reeled his head back in surprise. This was by far the most ill-mannered child he’d ever come across, and this woman they’d just met somehow had the charm and charisma to prompt her to behave acceptably. He’d be lying — which he would — if he said he didn’t understand the appeal Toxic saw in her. Simon found himself grappling with a mix of astonishment and intrigue, recognizing the subtle influence Ursula wielded over Toxic and those around her.

She was definitely… interesting.

The food didn’t take too long to get there. The dishes served were as good as one would expect from a diner of this quality. The bread on Simon’s patty melt had a hint of staleness, and the patty was quite dry, but overall, it was still edible. On the other hand, Toxic, who had spent her life in an orphanage that eventually closed down, possessed a less refined palate than Simon and eagerly devoured the slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich.

All of a sudden, Toxic let out a whimper as she put down her half-eaten sandwich and covered the reddened cut on her lips with her hand.

“The sandwich hurt my mouth…” she whined, her speech muffled by her hand, revealing a moment of discomfort.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t pick at the cut,” Simon chastised with a roll of his eyes.

“Aww,” Ursula said with concern as she gently moved Toxic’s hand and examined the cut, “that looks bad, lil girl. What happened?” Her expression softened with empathy.

“I fell off the slide,” she explained, her tone mirroring Ursula’s as she clearly soaked up the loving attention.

Inhaling sharply through her teeth, Ursula winced and asked, “ooh, did ya see a doctor?” Her concern for Toxic's welfare being evident with a gentle ruffle of the child’s hair.

“Sort of. We know a medic and she’s taking antibiotics,” Simon replied, soothing Ursula’s worries while taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, if ya need any help with that, my friend Clarisse is a doctor,” Ursula offered, pulling a napkin from the holder in front of them and retrieving a pen from inside her jacket. She jotted down Clarisse’s phone number on the napkin before sliding it across the counter to Simon, extending a gesture of support.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Simon replied with a nod of gratitude.

“Anytime, soldier,” she lightly teased, saluting him with a wink, adding a touch of humor to the exchange.

The second he registered her wink, as if by reflex, he abruptly looked away, shifting his gaze to Toxic as her eyes darted between them while she absentmindedly picked at her lip.

“Knock it off,” Simon sternly reprimanded, nudging her hand away from her face.

“Ugh!” Toxic groaned in response before diverting her attention back to her sandwich, her frustration evident in her actions as she displayed an exaggerated frown and took a big bite into her meal.

As Ursula held what was left of her steak in one hand, her phone rang. With her speech slightly garbled from chewing, she answered the call. “Yah?” Her chewing gradually slowed, and the composed expression on her face began to falter as she listened intently to the caller, “thlow ‘own. Woss ‘appenin?” With a hint of concern creeping into her voice, Ursula set down her steak and swallowed the bite, muttering a curse under her breath. With a sense of determination, she declared, “ok. I’ll be there in a bit,” before ending the call.

“Who were you talking to?” Toxic asked, leaning in closer to Ursula, her curiosity piqued as she raised a questioning brow.

“I hate to leave you two, but I got a good feeling we’ll see each other again,” Ursula remarked, swiftly retrieving her wallet from her pocket and tossing cash on the counter, instructing the waiter to keep the change. Her actions conveyed a sense of urgency and purpose as she prepared to depart, a glimpse of her commitment to helping others in need.

“Is everything ok?” Simon asked without thinking, a rare moment of concern breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

“Will be soon. You two enjoy your late-night snack. Good meetin’ ya!” Ursula bid them farewell before swiftly exiting the diner and speeding away on her motorcycle, leaving behind a sense of mystery and intrigue in her wake.

“I like Ursula,” Toxic remarked, taking a sip of her orange soda.

“She’s nice…” Simon murmured, his eyes drifting down to his plate. He continued to eat, resting his elbows on the counter as he held the patty melt in his hands.

Toxic carefully eyed his movements, resting her elbows on the counter as she picked up her sandwich and took a hearty bite. She noticed Simon wiping some grease off his chin with his thumb and followed suit, dabbing her own chin with her thumb.

Once they finished their meal, Simon signaled the waiter and paid for their bill. He slid off his barstool and stretched, his joints making a faint crackling noise.

“Ready, Toxic?”

“Ok,” she replied, letting out a small grunt as she climbed down from her barstool. She followed Simon out of the diner and back to their jeep. They continued to take the long way home, the engine purring as they drove through the various city streets.

As Toxic stared out the window while they passed by neon lights and towering billboard advertisements, her eyelids grew heavy. Her animated chatter slowed, and eventually, she fell silent, her head leaning against the door.

“Simon…” she murmured, her tiny voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Today was my favorite day,” she said, her voice becoming softer as her eyes fluttering closed.

Simon’s thoughts drifted back to a pivotal moment in his life. He remembered the day vividly—the day he first truly embraced the life of combat. His old colony in the Mobian Jungle had been ruthlessly attacked by Robotnik’s forces. In the aftermath, he had dedicated himself to stockpiling weapons, acquiring them through any means necessary, even illegitimately. His grandfather had disapproved and cast him out, but Simon remained resolute in his quest for revenge. He launched a one-man assault on a Robotnik base, risking everything. Though he nearly perished in the onslaught of reinforcements, he harbored no regrets. He was ready to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, he was saved by Mammoth Mogul, the former leader of the Destructix, and given the chance to grow stronger. And grow he did, his resolve unwavering.

Simon’s gaze shifted to Toxic, who had fallen asleep, her head resting against the door panel. Despite her crass behavior and turbulent beginnings, she possessed a fierce determination that reminded him of himself years ago. She showed no hesitation in tasks like gunning down law enforcement and had a remarkable knack for marksmanship. Most admirably, she had no regrets about any of it. All of this, and she wasn’t even five years old.

“Just you wait, kid,” he murmured, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

As the wee hours of the morning descended, the group made their way back to the familiar confines of the old orphanage without encountering any significant obstacles. Exhausted by the night's tumultuous events, they retired to their beds, seeking much-needed rest.

Armed with a considerable sum of illicitly acquired wealth, they now had more than enough funds for the cybernetic implants they desired. The following day, Scourge visited an auto shop to enhance the purple sports car he had commandeered while chasing his sister earlier in the week. In addition to repairing the window damaged during the pursuit, he had the vehicle repainted in a gleaming electric green hue and outfitted it with a matching spoiler, giving it the appearance of a sleek racecar—a subtle nod to his supersonic speed.

"It must be my birthday!" Scourge declared exuberantly, letting out a triumphant whoop as he cruised through the city streets. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and he bobbed his head in time to a hip-hop beat playing on the radio.

"Just wait until we're back in power," Fiona remarked with a grin, tapping her foot to the music while setting up her new laptop, which Miles would use to coordinate with the gang through their upcoming cybernetic enhancements.

"Then it'll be Christmas," he chuckled. "Have you found us a street clinic?"

"Yeah, Dr. Fedorov's Clinic. The reviews say he's good at what he does and values patient confidentiality, if you catch my drift," she replied slyly, offering a wink.

"Perfect," he nodded approvingly, flicking his cigarette butt out of the window.

"I messaged him, and he does provide the implants we need, but it will cost extra since they are military-grade and not exactly legal. He does have other stuff too if you’re interested?" she continued.

"Really? Show me," Scourge requested, turning his attention to her.

"Eyes on the road, babe," Fiona playfully scolded. "Don’t wanna be in a body cast before the big day."

“C’mon baby, your boy’s a good driver…” the green hedgehog began, his hand stroking her arm with a self-assured smirk. However, the tender moment with his girlfriend was short-lived as he abruptly hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with a turning car. The irate driver honked at him, prompting Scourge to retaliate by flipping them off and calling out, “up yours too, you old bitch!”

Fiona leaned her elbow casually against the door panel, raising an eyebrow as she rested her cheek on her knuckles, her gaze fixed on Scourge.

"What?" Scourge inquired, bewildered by her demeanor.

"Is this why you prefer running?" she queried, her tone laced with sarcastic curiosity.

"Cut me some slack, Fiona. I'm just hyped about everything that's happening, plus I've got a hot girl by my side," he retorted defensively, shrugging his shoulders.

"Am I too much of a distraction?" Fiona teased, a playful glint in her eye. "Because I can hop out."

"Please, exit the moving vehicle," Scourge replied amidst laughter.

"I might just do that. I'd probably better have better chances with that than being in a crash with you at the wheel," she jested, joining in his amusement.

"You bitch," Scourge teased, shaking his head.

"You're a bitch too," she shot back with a smirk, playfully poking his arm.

"The baddest of them all," Scourge declared, raising a finger in emphasis.

“Damn right,” Fiona replied, affectionately resting a hand on Scourge's shoulder, causing his grin to widen in response to her gesture.

“Does our doc buddy take walk-ins?” Scourge inquired, pausing at a stoplight and tapping his finger on the steering wheel, displaying a hint of impatience as he waited for the light to turn green.

“Yeah, but for now, we only have time for the procedures Miles mentioned. He says if we want it done today for three people, they better come in pretty soon,” Fiona answered, retracting her hand to focus on her laptop.

“Call the guys, then. Make sure Miles gets some food and water before they head over. Can't have a dead rat lying around,” Scourge instructed, his tone casual.

“On it,” Fiona responded, scrolling through her contacts. “And while we're out, how about you and I grab some actual food for a change?”

“Takeout only,” Scourge declared, navigating through the pristine streets maintained by private cleaning companies in this upscale area. He adjusted his sunglasses as the reflection of a sleek skyscraper caught his eye. “This place is different from the slums. People pay more attention to politics around here. They might recognize me.”

“As long as it's not dripping in grease, deal,” Fiona agreed, raising her phone to her ear to notify the Destructix about the upcoming appointment.

From what Scourge told them about the clinics, the gang harbored some reservations about visiting one. These establishments often offered walk-in surgeries for cybernetic implants and plastic surgery, resembling tattoo parlors in their approach. Overall, the idea of undergoing surgical procedures in a building situated across from a strip club left them feeling somewhat uneasy.

Despite the initial reservations, the clinic appeared to be well-regarded and maintained when Simon, Predator, and Lightning stepped into the empty waiting room. The sole occupant, a teenage receptionist, was engrossed in air drumming to a tune playing on her earbuds, her eyes shut tight, oblivious to their arrival.

Unperturbed by her distraction, Predator approached her and deftly removed her earbuds, eliciting a startled yelp as she opened her eyes to meet his unyielding gaze.

"Jesus, dude! What do you want?" she exclaimed.

"We're here to see the doctor. Our boss arranged cybernetic procedures for the three of us," Predator stated firmly, his expression as unchanging as a statue’s.

"Uh, yeah..." she stammered, clearing her throat and avoiding his chilling gaze. She turned her head towards an archway down the left hallway. "Hey, Uncle Rick? These guys are here."

"Come on back, fellas!" a gruff voice called out from the indicated direction, prompting them to follow the sound into a small, dimly lit operating room. The examination table, peculiarly equipped with straps for the arms and legs, was surrounded by an array of advanced equipment and technology that seemed more at home on a spaceship than in a street clinic. Why the technology on display surpassed anything they had encountered on Mobius, which was already far from primitive.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” he began, fixing his sunglasses, “Each session will take about two hours each. Y’all will be put under the whole time and won’t feel a thing. Aftercare is just a pill a day to help with any aches and fight off infections. And before I forget,” he added, extending a hand forward expectantly “payment’s up front. 9,000 moebiums.”

“That’s insane,” Lightning scoffed, crossing his arms.

“These are military grade implants you fellas are asking for,” Dr. Fedorov chided, “illegal without government authorization and not exactly a commodity amongst street clinics.”

“Relax, Lightning,” Simon said, smacking Lightning gently on the back of the shoulder before handing over the cash. “We can afford it regardless.”

After quickly thumbing through the bills, Dr. Fedorov grinned, his gold tooth glinting from the soft glow of the neon lights in the room. “Great. Who's up first?”

“I will go first if nobody objects,” Simon declared. When the group didn’t object, he continued “alright, you guys don’t gotta wait around ‘til I’m done. Go do whatever.”

“Later, man,” Lightning said with a wave, motioning for Predator to follow him out of the clinic.

For Predator, it felt like he didn’t get to spend much one-on-one time with Lightning nowadays. As they strolled past the many vibrant, and some vulgar signs and advertisements, his gaze flitted between the colorful displays, but his focus remained on the man beside him. Remembering the previous night after the bank robbery, when Flying ended up joining them on the ride home, Predator couldn't shake the feeling that something important to him had been interrupted. Nevertheless, now they had this time alone, and Predator felt a unique sense of calm and connection with Lightning, like they were a force shielded from the chaos of the world around them.

Reflecting on these feelings, Predator wondered if it was strange to experience such closeness with a longtime companion like Lightning. More than anything, though, he pondered whether Lightning felt the same way in his presence.

The blaring horn of a passing car jolted Predator back to reality, causing him to shift his thoughts and chastise himself for delving into such introspection. He recognized that dwelling on these feelings served no practical purpose and only served as a distraction from their established camaraderie.

Lightning, however, caught sight of Predator's gaze from the corner of his eye before the blue hawk quickly averted his eyes. Frowning slightly, Lightning inquired, "you alright?"

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine," Predator replied, clearing his throat nervously, feeling his heart skip a beat under the scrutiny of Lightning's gaze.

“Okay,” Lightning responded, raising an eyebrow in skepticism before dismissing it with a shrug. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I’m open to anything,” Predator answered.

“Anything? Even the XXX Live Theater? Sign says it’s half off Wednesday,” Lightning teased, nudging Predator playfully with a mischievous grin.

With a soft chuckle, Predator shook his head, “god, live theater? What is it, broadway?”

“Yeah, a full-blown musical,” Lightning jested, sharing in Predator's amusement.

“It’d probably be better than that one-man play Flying did last year. I’ve never heard an audience actually scream boo,” Lightning remarked as they stood waiting to cross the street.

“Well, whenever you spray the front row with a fire extinguisher while screaming the alphabet, it really kills the mood,” Predator quipped with a shrug.

“Hopefully the ‘Happy Holiday Special’ doesn’t have as many problems,” Lightning remarked as they began walking across the crosswalk together.

“The what?” Predator asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“You heard me,” Lightning replied with a small laugh.

“Lovely,” Predator said sarcastically.

"To be honest, though, Hawks, it feels like you and I don’t hang out as much lately," Lightning remarked, wrapping an arm around Predator in a friendly gesture. "We got a couple hours to kill and it’s a big ci- what was that?"

“What was what?” The blue hawk inquired, dumbfounded.

“Your feathers got all puffy for a second and your tail, like, wagged,” Lightning pointed out, a teasing smirk playing on his face.

“I was only adjusting my feathers,” Predator replied, feigning interest in reading a nearby sign as he struggled to hide the flush creeping up his face.

“Hm, alright then,” the lynx chuckled, not entirely convinced by his friend's explanation but choosing to let it go.

Eager to shift the focus away from the embarrassing moment, Predator quickly scanned their surroundings for a distraction. His gaze settled on a skyscraper about half a mile away, sparking an idea.

“Well,” he began, an implicative grin forming, “I bet the view from that skyscraper is breathtaking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lightning responded, intrigued.

“If you want, we could find out for ourselves,” Predator proposed.

“I’m down,” Lightning agreed enthusiastically.

With a swift motion, Predator spread his wings and took flight, with Lightning leaping up to grab onto his ankles. Carrying his friend effortlessly, they shot through the air toward the towering skyscraper, their destination in sight.

Upon reaching the rooftop, Predator landed smoothly, allowing Lightning to hop down onto the concrete.

“Wow…” Lightning marveled, settling on the edge. “This city may be a dump to live in but… you were right about the view.”

“I’ve... never seen anything quite like it,” Predator admitted softly, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily softened by the awe-inspiring sight before them.

The mesmerizing horizon held them in silent awe for several minutes. Sitting side by side, they absorbed the symphony of flying vehicles' gentle hum and marveled at the kaleidoscope of colorful city lights flickering below. Even in the daytime, the urban landscape sparkled as sunlight bounced off the polished surfaces of the towering skyscrapers.

Despite their shared knowledge that New Moebotropolis was far from utopian, in that moment, they felt a sense of detachment from its flaws. In the serene stillness of the sky, even the most sordid aspects seemed to fade away, revealing an unexpected beauty in the urban chaos.

In the presence of one another, they both found beauty where no one else could.

"I wonder what the view’s like from somewhere even higher?" Lightning mused, casting his gaze towards an even taller building.

“That’d be all well and good, Lightning,” Predator replied, “but I’ve a feeling you’d want to do more than just sightseeing…”

“Maybe I do,” Lightning responded, turning to face him. “What did you have in mind?”

“We freefall,” Predator declared as he rose to his feet. “As far down as we can.”

“And potentially splatter against an airbus?” Lightning quipped with a chuckle.

“Lightning Lynx, when did you start to fear risking your life?” Predator teased, lowering himself to Lightning's level, a smirk playing on his lips as their eyes locked.

“Who said I did?” Lightning shot back with a playful tone, standing up.

“Ah, yes. Because you know better than to forget who is looking out for you,” Predator remarked, rising to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lightning scoffed before playfully urging, “you first, Hawks!” and gave Predator a sudden push over the ledge.

Predator's eyes widened in surprise as he tumbled backward. Although he knew he had nothing to fear as a bird, he never expected his friend to push him off a roof in any circumstance. Moments later, as Lightning leaped after him, a mix of determination and smugness on his face, their eyes met, and Predator couldn't help but grin with a blend of amusement and camaraderie.

Adjusting his position in the air, Predator oriented himself downward, maintaining a vigilant watch for any potential obstacles as he descended rapidly towards the ground, with Lightning not far behind.

For Lightning, the sensation of detachment from solid ground was both exhilarating and liberating. As he ripped through the air with no fear, embracing the risk and the rush of adrenaline, he felt a profound sense of empowerment that surged through him, amplifying the thrill of the freefall.

As they descended closer to the ground, Predator turned towards Lightning once more and gestured for him to grab onto his feet. After aligning themselves, Lightning firmly clasped his ankles, and in a swift motion, Predator shot back up into the sky, narrowly evading the bewildered onlookers below.

Reaching the next skyscraper, they paused to savor the breathtaking view before Lightning, brimming with confidence, snapped a photo of the duo against the urban backdrop. Without hesitation, they plunged back towards the earth. As they neared ground level, they propelled themselves upwards to an even taller skyscraper, repeating the cycle from one building to another until they reached the tallest skyscraper around.

"This time," Predator announced, positioning himself at the edge with his hand extended towards Lightning, "we fall together."

With a warm smile, Lightning took Predator's hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with his trusted companion. "On three... one, two, three!" Predator counted before they both leaped off the ledge, their hands clasped tightly as they plummeted towards the ground.

The thrill of freefalling was intense, but the shared experience with one another made it all the more exhilarating. As they locked eyes during their daring descent, the rush of adrenaline was magnified by the bond of something more than mere friendship that united them in this extraordinary escapade.

Lost in the thrill of the moment, they failed to notice how rapidly they were approaching the ground. As Lightning turned his head to take in the surrounding view, his initial excitement swiftly transformed into a sense of urgency when he realized their perilous proximity to the sidewalk below. Reacting instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Predator's neck, gripping him tightly as he shouted, "Pull up, Hawks!"

Cursing softly under his breath, Predator swiftly extended his wings and ascended back into the sky, maneuvering them both safely back to the rooftop of the skyscraper they had leaped from moments before.

"Jesus, Hawks!" Lightning gasped, his heart pounding in his chest, momentarily forgetting that his arms were still wrapped around Predator.

"Sorry, Lightning," Predator responded, placing a comforting hand on Lightning's shoulder as the lynx sheepishly withdrew his arms.

"Don't worry... I still had a great time," Lightning managed to say between pants, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Me too," Predator replied sincerely, giving Lightning's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. With his eyes stuck on his companion’s grin, he felt compelled to speak up, "Hey, Lightning?"

"What's on your mind?" Lightning inquired, noticing a shift in Predator’s demeanor as he somehow seemed startled by his own question.

Retracting his hand and wiping sweat from his brow, Predator let out a deep sigh and gazed down at his feet before asking, "where would you like to grab some lunch from?"

"How does ramen sound? We can have it here," Lightning suggested, perched on the ledge.

"Sounds good. Wait here, and I'll bring it up, okay?" Predator agreed, gazing out at the horizon before spreading his wings and taking flight.

During his search for a ramen shop, his mind was tearing itself apart. Predator Hawk was anything but a coward, but he couldn’t bear the risk of jeopardizing the bond he had with Lightning. He treasured his relationship with him deeply, considering him one of his most cherished, irreplaceable companions. With only a few words, Lightning may never see him the same again. After all, he still held bitterness about his heart being broken by Conquering Storm several months ago. Would broaching this potentially sensitive topic cross a line with Lightning? Could it imply to him that their friendship was lacking in some way to Predator? Even if Lightning responded the way he dreamed, what then? With his lack of experience in that field, things could end badly, thus causing him to lose both what he has now and what he wishes he had.

Besides, he couldn’t risk revealing such a deeply personal and vulnerable side of himself. For years, he had meticulously worked to mask that part of his identity, a task he had undertaken since childhood, ever since his own mother had abandoned him.

He had long known that she didn’t like him. She was constantly yelling at him for things including not making eye contact, swaying in his seat, fussing when things were too loud, or struggling to express himself. But it was the late-night arguments between his parents that truly exposed the depth of her resentment. As he lay awake in bed, he overheard her tirades, calling him a freak and resenting his father for not giving her a "normal" child. In comparison, his father’s disdain was more subdued until she left.

From that painful moment on, he resolved to improve himself so that no one would ever want to leave him again. Every day became a challenge to better himself and reach new heights. By his teens, he had become a fierce soldier in the Battle Bird Armada, learning to endure eye contact, sit still and quietly, manage overstimulation, and most importantly, mask the parts of himself that had previously been shunned by others.

Despite his fierce pride and genuine enjoyment of his achievements, his father rarely showed any pride in him. No matter how much he changed and grew, to Nigel Hawk, Predator would always be the abnormal child who drove his wife away. The day Predator was promoted in the Armada, he returned home, packed some essential belongings, and left without a single word to his father, severing contact forever.

For a time, his might and determination to be the best were his only constants. These traits saw him through being expelled from the Armada for attacking the Battle Lord's son and during his tenure with the Babylon Rogues. However, after joining the Destructix, despite its shifting leadership and affiliations, he found another constant.

Simon, Flying… and Lightning.

He knew what it was like to lose him. Even with his gratitude for the presence of Simon and Flying, when Lightning left the Destructix to rejoin the Raiju Clan—where he wasn’t nearly as valued as he had been among the Destructix—a part of Predator felt hollow. The empty chair at the table, the silence where Lightning’s words should have been, left an undeniable void.

Lightning had been back for quite some time now, and although Predator hadn’t shown it much, he was overjoyed by his return. It was because of this that he knew he couldn’t reveal his true feelings for Lightning. The revelation would inevitably lead to the displaying of a weak, vulnerable side of himself that may push Lightning away. Predator resolved to take these feelings to his grave.

No matter how foolish it seemed, though, he wanted it more than anything. The more he repressed his feelings, the louder they became. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to act on them, he couldn’t lie to himself—they were undeniably there.

"Predator?" Lightning's voice cut through the silence as the two gazed out over the urban horizon from the skyscraper, each holding a takeout lunch.

Lost in his thoughts, Predator had barely registered the last thirty minutes.

"Yes?" Predator responded, trying to collect himself after noticing Lightning's concerned expression.

"You haven't even opened your ramen," Lightning remarked, twirling his chopsticks in his bowl before taking a bite of noodles. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just waiting for it to cool more..." Predator replied, clearing his throat as he removed the lid, releasing a puff of steam into the air.

"Then why'd you keep the lid on?" Lightning inquired. "You know that just traps the heat."

"I guess I forgot," Predator admitted, absentmindedly taking a bite of his meal then wincing as he spat out piping noodles that had burned his beak.

"Slow down, Hawks!" Lightning cautioned. "You seem really out of it. You sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine, Lightning," Predator responded, wiping the mess with a napkin.

"I know you better than that. What's wro-"

"I said there's nothing wrong," Predator cut in sharply.

Taken aback by his tone, Lightning reacted with a scoff of offense before turning away, muttering, "fine."

The two lapsed into a bitter silence, finishing their meals before receiving word from Simon that his procedure had gone well and it was time for one of them to undergo it.

"Do you want to go next?" Lightning asked, his gaze locked on his phone rather than Predator.

"Fine," the blue hawk replied impassively.

As they flew back to the clinic together, the storm in Predator's mind raged on. He hadn't intended to be harsh with Lightning, but he couldn't let his inner turmoil spill out. Now, tension lingered between them. While he knew they could likely overcome it, the guilt of his treatment towards Lightning weighed on his heart. Concealing his feelings felt crucial, yet he pondered how far he would need to go to maintain that facade.

Above all, he questioned whether it would be worth doing so in the end.

…

(SO the surprise was revealed! It’s Ursula the Polar Bear!!!!! For those unaware, Ursula belongs to @ceoofdestructix and was written in with both their permission and guidance! Thanks for letting me use the mama bear, friend! I can’t wait to write more “surprises” with your help 😉)

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