#Predator Hawk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vendettaspathfanfic · 11 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 😉)

48 notes · View notes

bitter-sweet-coffee · 8 months ago

Note

What theory do you have regarding Babylon's loss of wings? I can understand if it's just how their species looks, but Rouge having wings while they don't seems strange to me. Sega even gave Honey the Cat white feathered angel wings, but not the actual bird species. 🫠

(I myself put slits on the back lol)

Okay Anon, this may seem like an easy answer question, but (un)fortunately, it is not! I have a lot to say on this, so much so that I whipped out my laptop and a word document to answer you, so let's delve into my personal lore for Babylonians, birds, and mobian-human relations: this isn't my official post for it, but until I have time to write a 900K word document on what the hell my canon is, THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS!

CONTEXTUAL NOTE: I wouldn't classify this as a disclaimer, but I want to explain to the other people in these large tags what this post is. No, I am NOT claiming this is canon lore. No, it is not an AU. This is my personal canon-adjacent lore that has been carefully crafted with thoroughly intense regards to every piece of relevant source materials, going as far back as concept pieces from development. In order to make things work for MY canon, details have been changed and will sometimes contradict fragments of regular canon. Could I make everything cohesive and non-contradictory? Yes, and that's a different project of mine. This is my sandbox, you don't have to play in it (but it would be REALLY fun if you joined me :p) ONE LAST THING: I started writing this the second you sent it to me, then abandoned it until now where I did 90% of the writing. I am tired and slightly incoherent but I wanted it done, so sorry if it's rushed. You can send me more asks to clarify but I mean... i will probably make it worse lmao

THE CURSE OF BABYLON: OUR FALLEN ANGELS

HISTORY

1.1 Babylonians in Space

The Babylonians originate from the planet Babylon (lol duh), which is currently too far away from the major galaxies around Earth/Mobius to pinpoint an exact location, or who their neighbouring planets were. (Translation: one day I will design the star systems of the Sonic universe, but today is not that day!)

While most of the Babylonians reside on their home planet, exploration ships did go out in search of new technology, as these aliens pride themselves on their Treasure and Greatness. One of the common misconceptions about Babylonians is that 'treasure' translates to items of monetary value, but what they actually sought out was new technological advancements so they could pull from other developing planets and take what they've learned to improve their own inventions. This distorted sentiment is a tragic detail that spoils the reputation and ambition of the Babylonian descendants who have lost the true meaning of their heritage, but it's safe to say that some of them still think this way (cough, Wave and Tekno, cough).

Circling back to the point at hand though, I want to make it very clear that the Babylonians of Earth/Mobius are NOT the entire species, nor are they pure Babylonians. The real Babylon exists lightyears away, lost to the vastness of the universe, and Babylon Garden (Astral Babylon) was merely one ship that had been scouting various galaxies for new technology.

While it is not inherently relevant to the topic at hand, there was a brief moment in pre-crash Babylonian history where they were in alliance with the Black Arms. This took place before the war on Argentium with the Xorda, as the Babylonians tend to remain neutral during conflicts that do not concern them, but back on Babylon there are a separate class of Babylonian-Black Arms hybrids known to us as Corvids. The black pigment of these birds combined with their superior intelligence and durability was given to them through the power of chaos energy, something Babylonians do not possess in concentrated amounts when compared to other alien species, but was the result of crossbreeding with Black Arms. While there were some Corvids on Babylon Garden, the ship that crashed onto Earth/Mobius, many were made once more once the Babylonians had settled on the planet, welcoming a new, less potent version of this genetic branch. These Corvids are less powerful due to the weakened genetic purity of the Earth/Mobius-bound Babylonians, but they are still exceedingly brilliant, albeit near-extinct by present day.

1.2 Babylonians on Earth/Mobius

After travelling to the Nameless Zone and having a close call with the Berzerkers, Babylon Garden (the ship known as Astral Babylon) managed to emergency warp one last time to Earth/Mobius, the nearest dominant zone. Because of the damage caused by the Berzerkers, they disconnected the Ark of the Cosmos which had been used to manipulate gravity and warp them anywhere in space. This particular vessel was thus stranded on the planet, but their hopes of being found by other Babylonians who could bring them back home are the reason why Babylonians (and anyone in general) are inclined to make wishes on shooting stars. Making do with an 'inferior' planet, the Babylonians got somewhat of a negative reputation for their reclusiveness on their island, and superiority complexes when interacting with the planet's other inhabitants.

As the Babylonians split into different factions based on 3 major dogmas (which we will examine later) they developed a range of reputations. Because humans look down on mobians, the Babylonians which assimilated with other mobians were treated about as poorly as them. Contrastingly, Battle Kukus and the Battle Bird Armada are praised, respected, and in alliance with human society, especially the government. Their alienness has long been forgotten as Babylonian in origin, but their distinction from other mobians makes humans trust them more. If anything, the dominant public opinion is that "these ones aren't so bad, they can keep the inferior breeds of mobian in-line" which is fucked up to say the least. The Babylon Rogues are still regarded as Babylonian, and yet, hardly known, so they are as invisible and neutral as you can get. The modern reputations of these factions will be brought up again later from a current point of view, but it is safe to say that we have a full range of Babylonian reputation spanning from negative to positive.

1.3 Humans

Humans are racist, big shock! I won't dwell on it too much since this will eventually get its own post, but humans and Babylonians are biologically compatible, meaning there are plenty of humans who have Babylonian heritage. I don't mean like our REAL Babylonian descendants, which I feel like I should clarify. The non-fictional and historical city of Babylon (located in modern day Iraq) was named after the alien Babylon/Babylonians (in Sonic, obviously) because the biblical Tower of Babel depicted the tale of humans trying to reach heaven by building vertically: this sentiment being shared with the Babylonians who looked to the stars and longed to return home to Babylon. So, essentially, the history is reversed here!

Some humans worshipped the Babylonians, and there were a good number of them who had Babylonian-Human children. They turned out normal, arguably more normal than the ones who ended up with mobians, but the racism kinda discouraged this. There was a good deal of fetishization of these hybrids so they don't exist anymore, not to mention how the recessive nature of Babylonian traits discourages this practice. BASICALLY, a lot of humans have some percentage of Babylonian DNA, but it's barely detectable in the modern age… it DID happen though.

GENETICS

2.1 Babylonians

Even back on their home planet, the trait of having full sets of wings was recessive. You can see even by looking at murals of Babylonians provided in the games:

Wings? Where are the WINGS?!? I mean, there's this:

... but if we zoom out:

it is clear that while full sets of wings exist, few Babylonians had them, and the ones that did were ranked higher and even worshipped for their abilities, making them angelic to some extent.

So, considering that only a "small" (subjective) portion of Babylonians were on Babylon Garden when it crashed, it is safe to say that our starting numbers for the winged gene are… actually not as minimal as we might initially think. (But I just mentioned a hierarchy???)

More specifically, there are two types of wings we are going to examine: forearm wings, and back wings. The former are more common albeit still not universally inherited, and the latter were always persons of great status and power, as marked by their organic ways of flight. Since our Babylonians could not go back home or attain more fully-winged persons, this immediately impacted social hierarchies with even more emphasis being placed on genetic superiority.

I am going to simplify the genetics, but essentially, the rules are as follows:

Back-wings are an AUTOSOMAL RECESSIVE trait. This means that both parents must be carriers for there to even be a chance of inheritance. Here is a handy dandy visual I stole from google images because I am too lazy to draw you a punnett square:

Armed-wings are an AUTOSOMAL DOMINANT trait. Look at the chart above, any square with a dominant letter (R) inherits the trait. Essentially, unless both parents are recessive with no forearm-wings (rr and rr) a Babylonian will inherit the trait.

Carriers of the Back-wing trait have a 50% chance of having armed-wings. Don't ask how this works, assume it is magic if you don't know genetics that well (genetics are magic anyways LOL)

From this, it is quite evident how traditional (back) wings phased out of the genepool. While it is true that non-Babylonians can carry the back-wing gene (mobians who have wings), Babylonians by nature are almost always recessive! Birdness? Recessive. Tall, humanoid proportions? Recessive. So while mating with a winged-mobian increases the likelihood of having a set of proper wings, the offspring will almost always be the same species as the mobian parent. Thus, it is far more likely for a modern day Babylonian descendant to have armed-wings as opposed to back-wings, which require a very lucky combination of genetic makeup to present as a trait.

Forearm-wings are capable of gliding and sometimes flight, but are very limiting in terms of regular mobility since the arms would have to be somewhat underdeveloped to work as wings. It's also a bitch to try and hold things or wear shirts when your long feathers take up so much space, not to mention how you'll have to choose between flight and non-restrictive clothing. Weight is also a factor, as there is not enough power in arm-flapping to fly, unless one is very light. Furthermore, while a Babylonian child may fly with forearm-wings, they will probably grow out of it.

2.2 Evolution via Assimilation

The recessive nature of Babylonian genes also explains how they evolved to look more akin to mobians than humans. The modern day Babylon Rogues and much of the Battle Bird Armada pass as mobians, hence why Babylonian heritage is long forgotten and perhaps extinct according to most. However, the genes swing both ways: many non-birds (both mobian and human) are also some percentage of Babylonian, the traits are just recessive (making them carriers). There's a huge mutation that I'm about to cover, but it is safe to say that foxes are probably the utmost carriers of it!

2.3 Mutated Genes

There are two main mutations I want to talk about, so I will section them off. I'm sure people can think of more, and I do have a handful in the works, but the ones that are interesting and important to my lore are as follows:

a) Blue Eyes

Ever notice how essentially, across the comics and games, basically every single bird has blue eyes? Speedy and Soar are the only two who are given eye colours outside of blue (they have brownish-red eyes) with the rest having either no colour (black) or blue. When you take a look at who else has blue eyes, basically all the foxes do! Look deeper, and a lot of the characters with heightened intellect/wit or innovative skills have blue eyes. I'm not saying all innovative characters have blue eyes, that's racist, but all of the characters with blue eyes are either birds, smarties, or both. Some of this is character design prejudice, as I am a sucker for beautiful brown eyes mwah, but the pattern does exist.

Wait… what about Eggman? Maria? ELISE, WHOSE ROYAL CREST IS ALSO A BIRD? Need I remind everyone that the real life blue-eye mutation was traced back to a common ancestor? BLUE EYES ARE ALSO RECESSIVE, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER BABYLONIAN TRAITS! I SAID IT FOR A REASON, GUYS! I've constantly brought up how Babylonians are equally compatible with humans and mobians, and it is because this genetic mutation was the result of breeding with Babylonians. Blue eyes are an alien trait that for Earth/Mobius, was Babylonian in origin. It goes beyond blue eyes though, because these inventor-types with blue eyes also tend to be taller and leaner, making them somewhat comparable to the original mural depictions of the Babylonians.

Take it or leave it, I'm not claiming this was intentional or intended to be canon… but it is. To ME. When you combine real genetics with anthropomorphic furries, you're allowed to take some liberties and come up with fun ways to explain certain genetic traits. (I also failed to mention earlier that foxes exist in the Nameless Zone and were tied to the fall of Babylon, so it makes sense that Babylonians upon crashing to Earth/Mobius would seek familiarity in the mobian foxes already inhabiting the planet, thus tying the wit of kitsune to the innovation of Babylonians on a historic level.) Oh and before I move on, blue eyes are a recessive trait in almost every circumstance... the exception is to Babylonians, where it is a dominant trait. Brown eyes, if you are a bird, are recessive, hence why we only have 2 instances of brown eyes! Okay, there might be a few other background character birds I'm missing, but we either cannot see their eyes, or they're black (stylistic) or BLUE! Let me have this lol

b) Ovisanguitan Testalysis (OT)

Wow, that's a fancy name for "eggs no work" isn't it? This may come as a surprise, but Babylonians did not lay eggs, they are viviparous: need I repeat myself on how they're humanoid? Anyways, while Babylonians have viviparous births, mobian birds that are NOT Babylonian still exist. It might feel like I am pulling this out of nowhere, and perhaps it is a bit hypocritical for me to say "not all birds are going to be Babylonian!" after attributing an entire recessive trait to them two seconds ago, I firmly believe that birds exist outside of Babylon with no genetic ties. This is because… (inhales) BABYLONIANS ARE NOT BIRDS! THEY ARE BIRD-ESQUE, BUT THEY ARE HUMANOID BIRD-ESQUE CREATURES! Wanna know what else look like birds? BATS! DINOSAURS! DRAGONS! CERTAIN INSECTS!

Just because the Babylonians pride themselves on their birdness, it does not necessitate that birdness is exclusive to Babylonians. However, if modern day Babylonians are birds who have assimilated to be very mobian in composition, it would seem that they would be conceived and developed via eggs, not viviparously. As I established though, Babylonian traits are recessive, and therefore still possible (though not probable) given the right genetic composition.

Some modern day Babylonians then, have a reproductive disorder called Ovisanguitan Testalysis, known as OT. While egg-laying mobians develop about 1/3rd of their offspring inside their body before laying, with the latter part of development occurring independently inside the egg which hatches when completed, Babylonians initially gave birth at the end of term like humans do. Modern day Babylonians with OT will "lay" the same time regular egg-laying mobians do, aka after the first trimester, but because of their Babylonian genes, their body does not physically form a shell around the embryo before it is expelled. Without a shell, this is essentially a VERY premature birth that cannot be incubated or salvaged, and is more comparable to an abortion or miscarriage resembling a bloody clump of cells than a premature child.

There are very few instances where Babylonians with OT are able to prevent their bodies from expelling the embryo prematurely with enough calcium supplements and full-time hospitalization that prevents the premature rejection of the fetus, but because the Babylonians with this disorder are almost always Rogues (I'll probably explain that later) it is essentially just a very rare disorder which affects a small population that aren't even registered as legal citizens to any country. It is not IMPOSSIBLE to successfully have a child with OT, just highly unlikely, and they will probably be underdeveloped in some areas (the most likely defect being a lack of immune system… so the child will probably die from disease even if they make it to term).

Also, if someone with OT were to carry a child to term via medical intervention, the strain this puts on their body will most likely kill them, and if by some miracle they survive, they will be incapacitated as they will never fully recover from the nutrient drainage and overall stress this puts on the body. If this rant feels completely out of place in this response let me have it please, where else am I gonna mention it!?

DOGMAS

With regards to the Babylonians on Earth/Mobius, there are certain branches of absolute belief (dogmas) that they dispersed into, each one thinking they are superior over the other two. These might not seem directly related to your question, but it provides so much scope for how genes are relevant to the three dogmas. Also, with all these groups splitting off, the genetic odds of back-wings decreases significantly.

3.1 Assimilate

Most Babylonians assimilated with the mobians… okay, and the humans. There are humans who have Babylonian DNA even in modern times, but I think we all know who the more obvious choice was, considering the racism and all. These Babylonians found no reason to fight internally about their blood purity or distinct alien features because birds already exist in the universe outside of Babylon. Being more bird-like has nothing to do with surviving as a species, so the truth of the matter is that a lot of Babylonians couldn't care less and therefore didn't! Due to most Babylonians adopting this dogma, the physical, recessive traits disappeared almost immediately, with wings being first to go.

3.2 The Battle Birds

Initially, the only group that existed outside of assimilation were the Battle Kukus, or the Battle Bird Armada. They believed in Babylonian supremacy, and still exist to this day with the same dogma more or less. However, the way Kukus go about defining "Babylonian" is… based on their birdness, combined with regular eugenics, of course. Kukus pride themselves on strength and unity as a faction, with defected birds being snuffed out and eaten up until recent decades… that we know of. They probably still are cannibals lol.

Despite their disdain for other creatures of flight, non-birds with wings can produce viable children for the Kukus and are permitted to do so, as the Kukus only desire the FITTEST members, not the ones with the most Babylonian DNA. More on this in a second, let's circle back to the non-bird policy. I want to make it clear that this is not a good thing, because the Armada is only using winged-mobians for the increased likelihood of the recessive wings trait! They need to be the ones carrying by the way, so it gets prejudiced and sick from every angle: come on now, we can't just use winged mobians for breeding farms… doesn't stop them though! However, only birds can join the Armada, and because of how it is often one or the other (you either are a bird or have back-wings) most of these "outsourced" offspring are not Kukus.

Kukus pride themselves on their birdness, so forearm-wings are permitted for those of adequate status: you have to clip them back until you are given permission to fly. They despise the use of flight-based technology, as it makes flight accessible to non-birds, which as we know, pisses them the fuck off.

3.3 The Babylon Rogues

The Babylon Rogues were initially Kukus, hundreds of years ago that is. During the Salem Witch Trials, black-pigmented mobians were hunted to near-extinction, as witchcraft was associated with the Black Arms, and the Black Arms are the reason mobians possess the black-pigment genes. Thus, even if one was not outwardly alien, being black (hah) made mobians targets for burnings or ritualistic sacrifice by both humans AND other mobians. They were dubbed Familiars of witches, or demons from the heavens (aka Black Arms) and killed for no other reason. Remember the Corvids? HAH! Yeah, there's a reason most of them are gone, even though the Babylonian-Corvids were initially able to grow their numbers with the birds on Earth/Mobius. Praised universally for their intelligence and superiority among Babylonians, the fall of the Corvids was a hefty tragedy that struck the Kukus horribly. Despite this, most of them did not care and continued to pride themselves on their birdness.

The Rogues however, objected, and believed that the Kukus had lost sight of what was important to them as Babylonians. Cooperating with humans? Becoming bird supremacists? Establishing a militaristic, ascetic regime that limits their power to the planet they're stuck on, claiming to only rule the skies and all below it? NAH. The Rogues care more about returning to the stars, and innovating their technology. Kukus pride themselves on their physical birdness which allows them to fly, but the Rogues care more about using their intellect and innovative skills present in their technological advancements. Speedy (the Kuku) even notes in the comics that extreme gear is outdated, and most original Armada content has little to do with the boards themselves. The Rogues however, are defined by their technological feats, which is technically closer to what the original Babylonians valued.

This generational disdain for Earth/Mobius and its people has led to some… moral corruption amidst the Rogues. While Babylonians were originally travelling across galaxies with good (albeit still arrogant) intentions on their quest of technological advancement, the Rogues are more thrifty to say the least. When non-Babylonians succeed at innovation, the Rogues believe that they just got lucky and accidentally attained genius, and make it their mission to steal the good parts from others and "make better use of this technology" after thrifting it. Other times, Rogues claim that other moments of genius were stolen from Babylonian technology, and thus, by stealing back any advancements made on Earth/Mobius, they are "reclaiming the culture stolen from them" or whatever. This is far more condescending and malicious than the initial Babylonians, which the Kukus dismiss as hedonism.

They're not WRONG, dare I said both sides are partially correct? Even so, the Rogues rebelled from their Armada and continued on their quest to find the best treasures and technological advancements on Earth/Mobius, stealing them for personal usage to hopefully fuel their ambition to reach the stars and find Babylon once more.

Before we move on, I should probably relate this back to wings with a fun fact. The Babylon Rogues CAN grow forearm wings, it's not that rare of a trait as we established. However, in order to distance themselves from the Kukus and reject their birdness, they tattoo their forearms: this floods the feather follicles with ink, preventing wing growth. The Rogues literally and symbolically choose their hands (INNOVATION, TANGIBILITY, INVENTION: to reach towards the sky… and to steal with) over their wings that honestly don't even work well enough to be effective. If they want to fly, they will use technology as the Babylonians once did, hence their reliance on and pride in Extreme Gear.

The EX Grand Prix was originally a community-based initiative for Rogues to show off their advancements and push the limits of Extreme Gear Mechanics to see who was getting closer for finding a way home, but the thrill of sports deterred them and now there are too many board restrictions (cough and shitty air-tank-exclusive shells mass produced by non Babylonians such as MeteoTech) to make this actually useful. Oh, and there are not enough mechanics to sustain the educational value of the Prix, which sucks. Sorry Wave!

Finally, if it wasn't already clear, the Babylon Rogues value what percentage of Babylonian DNA you have over your physical traits. They aren't inbred, but there's a reason we only have 3 remaining Babylon Rogues…

AFTERMATH

This is more of a "small things I missed" section because if you managed to read this far, I doubt you want MORE incoherent rambling. I'm tired, you're tired, we all just wanted to know where the wings went. BUT, since we're already invested I'm going to perform a lightning-round and give some concise wrap-ups for some of the loose ends I created!

4.1 Legal Rights

Members of the Battle Bird Armada were given equal rights to humans ever since they were instated to the government on a worldwide level. Almost every country endorses the Kukus; they are government funded and given full control of the skies so long as they keep mobians "in check" and work in tandem with GUN. You might be wondering why I choose to make them part of the human government when they're supposed to be aligned with Eggman, to which I point out that Eggman is ALSO in kahoots with the human government. When Eggman took over during Forces, human cities were spared from destruction so long as they were being compliant.

It is heavily implied if not indirectly confirmed that Eggman makes all the weapons and machinery for GUN, and the reason he has an infinite amount of resources for all his projects is because he is given permission from the human governments to do whatever the fuck he wants. "Oh but why does Sonic have to defend the humans from Eggman?" It's all about how Eggman and GUN can help one another under the table. Money. The answer is money and political corruption. The Kukus and Eggman can be allies or enemies, no one gives a fuck, they're both protected by government funds anyways.

The Babylon Rogues, as they are not assimilated mobians OR Kukus, are thus not registered citizens. This is why they can commit crimes and remain immune to genuine repercussions including imprisonment, but it is also why we do not know how many of them still exist. Jet, Storm, and Wave are presumably the last 3, but we have no way of confirming this since it's not like they exist in any databases within mobian or human censuses, or services such as healthcare or residency. They have so much money that it does not even matter, but as free as they are, it kinda sucks that they are not protected by the law either.

4.2 Present Day Relations (Very Concise)

No one knows about the Rogues, so who cares!

Humans love the Kukus... usually. Don't look into the cannibalism.

The Rogues despise the Kukus and will never cooperate with them.

The Kukus despite the Rogues, but believe that some of them are of use to the Armada. Lazy, incompetent, and inferior Rogues are hunted for the kill, but someone like Wave who is very Babylonian (genetically), has a Corvid father (in my lore), and is a mechamechanical genius unheard of and unchallenged… they really want someone like her. After they lost Tekno there was a horrendous void to fill, so while they will patronize the Rogues, they think that some of them can be "fixed" for a greater purpose.

Mobians don't typically like either faction as both dogmas are too extreme (read as: rooted in eugenics)

4.3 Predator Hawk

This pertains to my lore specifically, so feel free to skip it. Ehem:

MY Predator Hawk had back-wings. Emphasis on HAD. Remember how the Battlelord threatened to clip his wings off in the comics? Well, due to a black market intervention, a certain someone used the Battlelord's anger towards Pred to convince him that the Battlelord demanded his wings be removed for failing his mission to recruit and/or kill the three remaining Babylon Rogues: a final mission given to him after he attacked Speedy as a last chance to redeem himself. In reality the Battlelord did NOT actually request this to happen and actually has no idea where Predator Hawk disappeared to, but it remains the case that his wings were twisted off of him with a wrench (I swear it wasn't Wave's) and sold on the black market. He still has the large gashes on his back that are semi hollow, as the base of the wing-bones were merely cut off, not fully extracted as that would rip his spine. Rather, the base bones lay flush inside the crevices of his back, and if he were to tense, the nubs of the bones pop out by about 7 inches. The skin healed around the bones so there's no blood, he just has permanently exposed bones.

Pred obviously can't fly anymore, but I felt like it would be really stupid if I were to come up with all this lore for Babylonian wings only to NOT have any avian characters who possess back-wings. So… I retconned Predator a little bit and made him a fucked up creature with trauma! I have a lot of other rants about Predator Hawk pertaining to my canon, but I honestly need to stop typing this, so if anyone wants more... it is on a requested basis.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I'm sure I had some final thoughts when I started this, and it was not meant to be NEARLY this long of a response. While I feel like I didn't directly answer your question, hopefully there's some catharsis dispersed in everything I rambled about here. In summary though, I do NOT give the Rogues wings because the Curse of Babylon (ehem, recessive back-wings) makes it nearly impossible for Babylonians of the modern day to have wings. If they did have wings, they would be from forearm feathers: lots of birds in the Armada have these. Due to dogmatic differences and a convoluted history of identity-based conflicts though, the Rogues tattoo away the possibility of hybrid arms in the pursuit for technologically-based flight. The exception is Predator Hawk, who HAD wings, but then had them removed against his will. He is still bitter about it.

Did anyone make it this far? If so, you're a fucking FREAK, and I encourage you to send me more asks, because I could ramble forever about Sonic lore. It does not have to be related to the Babylon Rogues, you can ask me anything, but do take into account that I am clearly a bit obsessive and might take some time to answer. But when I do… it will be a shitshow like this response was. You read to this point though, so clearly you're into it. ENABLE ME! Love ya <3