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vendettaspathfanfic · 3 months

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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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ceoofdestructix · 1 month

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(Little do Simian's comrades know... Ursula has goth friends)

Art made by the lovely @an0n0 ❤️❤️

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #archie sonic #sth #archie comics #sergeant simian #lightning lynx #predator hawk #flying frog #sonic oc #mobian oc #sonic fan character #oc x canon #ursula the bear #ursimian #ursula x sgt. simian #anonoarts

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vendettaspathfanfic · 9 months

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THE TIME HAS COME

The cover!!!! For Vendetta’s Path!

S/o to @viveela !!!! She’s the amazing artist who did this commission! Doesn’t it look awesome!? Give her a follow if ya wanna see more cool art like this (esp if ur a scott pilgrim or south park fan)

Thank you so much Vee! You’re an amazing friend and artist ilysm 😭 sorry for breaking ur bones with this comm

But yeah, guys! Vendetta’s Path finally has a cover and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

P.S. Chapter Five is in the works I think y’all will love it! Thanks for following and supporting this fic as always!!!

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ceoofdestructix · 5 months

Text

Destructive Roses Families 🩷🤰

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vendettaspathfanfic · 5 months

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Chapter Seven

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

Toxic was overcome with an exhilaration unlike anything she had ever experienced before. For the past few days, she and the rest of the Destructix had been meticulously organizing and strategizing for the upcoming bank robbery. Her brother had assured her that the heist would not only yield substantial rewards for the gang, but also bring them closer to their ultimate goal of claiming the castle as their own.

Furthermore, she had already tasted the thrill of danger when she found herself being pursued by the police, and had even taken the life of Boomer Walrus. Like Scourge, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline rush that came with living beyond the boundaries of the law, and it was a temptation she simply couldn't resist.

And now, the sun had long dipped below the polluted horizon and the bank had closed its doors to the public. Everyone except for Scourge and Fiona gathered in the dimly lit front lobby of their musty hideout, waiting as the latter was making some last-minute modifications to a newly acquired, illicitly-gained SUV that would be serving as their getaway vehicle.

"When do we go?" Toxic asked impatiently, the frustration transparent in her tone as she slouched her shoulders forward in an exaggerated, childlike display of boredom.

"As your brother mentioned," Predator responded brusquely, "we'll leave once Fiona finishes with the car."

"And where's Scourge?" Lightning interjected, displaying his impatience, albeit in a more composed manner compared to their youngest companion.

"He's checking on Miles," Predator replied, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he observed Lightning's restlessness. "The wait will be worth it."

Reluctantly, Lightning released a soft sigh and nodded, conceding with a muttered acknowledgment of "you're right," his gaze drifting downward and away from Predator.

"That's hardly a revelation," Predator remarked confidently, his arms folded across his chest as he stared ahead.

"Shut up," Lightning retorted with a growl, attempting to maintain a facade of annoyance even as his mouth twitched in a battle against a burgeoning grin.

"We'll be ready soon, Toxic little girl!" Flying exclaimed, bounding off the remnants of the front desk in the lobby where he had been perched. He landed with a solid thud in a crouched position before Toxic, meeting her at eye level. "And then we'll have a grand ole time-rhyme-mime!"

A proud smile spread across Toxic's face as she declared, "I'm gonna shoot someone again," placing her clenched fists on her hips.

"Well, they've got bots instead of guards, so you'll just be shooting them if necessary," Lightning chimed in, leaning casually against the wall as he recounted a detail from his earlier reconnaissance mission at the bank to assess the security system.

"Unless the cops show up-cup-pup!" Flying interjected, wagging his finger playfully while his grin widened at the prospect of taking the lives of law enforcement.

Toxic nibbled on her healing lower lip, revealing a gap-toothed grin. "I wanna shoot them too," she mused before approaching Simon, who carried their arsenal of weapons in an ammo belt slung across his torso. She looked up at him and gently tugged on his pant leg, prompting him to shift his gaze toward her.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"Can I have my gun?" she asked, extending her arm towards his towering figure, her hand outstretched in anticipation.

"Not yet. I'll give it to you when it’s time," Simon replied, his gaze returning to the front as he patiently awaited the gang's leaders.

"Can I just practice more though?" Toxic persisted, maintaining her stance as she tried to negotiate for access to her designated pistol.

"Nope. We have to be conservative with ammo at the moment," Simon insisted, crossing his arms firmly as he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

"That's balls," Toxic grumbled, dropping her arm and crossing it tightly with the other.

"Okay," Simon acknowledged with a nonchalant hum, his shoulders giving a subtle twitch in a barely noticeable shrug.

Scourge soon made his entrance into the dimly lit lobby, his silhouette accentuated by the warm glow emanating from the lantern he carried. With a smirk and, he lowly chuckled “whining bitch,” as he placed the lantern on a weathered end table, joining the ensemble of lights that provided just enough illumination for the gang to make out each other's faces in the dark, dank setting.

"How's our guest, green boss?" queried Flying with a curious tilt of his head.

"He's been trapped in that room going on three days now, and trust me, we're far from rolling out the red carpet for him. He's faring just as you'd picture," Scourge growled with annoyance while he fidgeted with the jacket that seemed to hang loosely on his lithe form.

"I see-hee-hee!" Flying snickered with sinister glee, his hands coming together in anticipation as he imagined the undoubtedly run-down condition of their captive, Miles.

"Fiona's wrapping up her work. I'll go see how she's doing," declared Scourge, striding towards the shadowy alley nestled next to the orphanage. It was a secluded spot where they currently kept their vehicles out of sight. As he arrived, he noticed Fiona, intent on her task under the SUV's hood, her face hidden from view by its bulk.

"How's it going, Fi?" he called out, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her, somehow still striking even with streaks of filth marking her from the day's labor.

"Just tying up the last few loose ends," she answered without looking up, her hands deftly making the final tweaks to the engine. With a satisfied nod, she packed away her tools and lowered the hood with a solid thud. "We should give it a test drive. Care to do the honors?"

"Yeah, I'm up for it," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders lifting in an easy shrug.

"Perfect. Just a quick ride down to the end of the street and back should do. I can tell you're all itching to go soon," she said, a touch of empathy in her voice as she prepared to gauge the readiness of their escape vehicle.

"Don't you know it," Scourge chuckled, the sound low and soft, as he accepted the keys she offered him and slid into the driver's seat. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and he took off for the brief trial run. The vehicle performed flawlessly, and with a satisfied nod, he returned to park it right in front of the building, stepping out to greet Fiona who walked up to him with a victorious air.

"Smooth as butter," she proclaimed, her arms lifted triumphantly.

"That’s my girl," Scourge praised, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into a close embrace, their bodies pressed together in a moment of affection.

"Well," Fiona began, her fingers delicately holding Scourge's chin, elevating his gaze to hers, "it looks like we're ready to roll."

With a broad smile, Scourge reveled not only in the thrill of the impending heist but also in the woman before him – Fiona, the undeniable queenpin of their outfit and, more significantly, his own heart. Drawn in by the moment, their lips met in a soft collision that momentarily swept away thoughts of their upcoming illicit endeavor.

The Destructix, however, did not forget about anything. The expectant gang emerged from the building,

Their intimate interlude was shattered by a piercing, high-pitched "HEY!" that sliced through the air, accompanied by the sharp clap of hands.

"I will break you, you little shi-" Scourge snarled, his moment with Fiona abruptly interrupted, glaring at his sister in disdain.

"Are we ready to get moving?" Toxic interrupted, her impatience evident in her crossed arms and the rhythmic tapping of her foot.

"Mhm," Fiona replied, rolling her eyes at Toxic's insolence. She then turned her attention to the task at hand, announcing, "Everybody, gear up," as she popped open the trunk and began to distribute the nondescript black hoodies and balaclavas to the group.

"How long is the drive again?" Lightning asked, pulling the hoodie over his head.

"We should make it in about thirty minutes," Fiona answered, as she too donned the garment. "Simon, do you have all the equipment ready?"

“Yes ma’am.” Simion replied with an obedient nod, carefully placing a large, loaded duffle bag into the trunk.

Fiona responded with an enthusiastic agreement, enthusiastically thrusting both of her thumbs skyward as she declared, “Cool. Everyone in.”

Upon her cue, her and the rest of the Destructix clambered into the spacious interior of the SUV, a sense of tense excitement hanging in the air. Fiona ignited the engine and embarked on their route towards the bank.

“Alright, one more time let’s hear the plan.” Scourge commanded with authority, his blue eyes scanning the motley crew of accomplices from the vehicle's passenger seat.

With precision, Lightning began to recite his role in the upcoming heist, “I disarm an external security camera by the vent which I’ll crawl through and search for the security room. Once there, I’ll take the flash drive Fiona got and plug it into the main computer. The virus within it will shut the system down completely.”

“Right, then what?” Scourge prodded, his voice laced with anticipation for the next steps.

“I’ll break open the door then guard the car.” Simon chimed in succinctly, underscoring his commitment to the task at hand.

“Can Simon come with us?” Toxic interjected, her eyes wide and hopeful as she cast a beseeching look in Simon’s direction.

“Shut up,” Scourge spat out sharply, his patience wearing thin with his sister’s shenanigans.

“But I-“ Toxic began to protest, her lips parting in objection, only to be met with crossed arms and a resolved stance.

“The answer’s no,” Simon articulated firmly, as the little blue hedgehog sitting beside him grumbled under her breath, her arms folding defiantly while her expression soured by the sting of rejection.

“Go on,” Fiona encouraged, her tone now edged with impatience.

“I run in and find the vault,” Scourge succinctly stated his part of the plan, his confidence unwavering.

“Right,” Fiona acknowledged, her hands deftly maneuvering the steering wheel as she executed a sharp turn.

“We go where Scourge tells us the vault is and start loading the bags.” Predator elaborated, nodding toward the trunk where a stack of empty duffel bags awaited their bounty.

“Then after we’re rich-stitch-bitch, we haul the fuck out before the piggly-wigglies come after us!” Flying exclaimed with his typical raucous enthusiasm, his fist punching the air triumphantly.

“Damn right boys,” Fiona concurred, her lips curling into a predatory smirk of anticipation. The vehicle accelerated, leaving behind the city limits sign that marked their departure from Moebotropilis, as they steered closer to their plunder.

“My mouth hurts…” Toxic complained with a pained expression, her fingers unconsciously gravitating towards the scab forming on her healing lip.

“Then why are you picking at it?” Predator grumbled with a touch of exasperation, shooting a disapproving glance at Toxic.

“Stop picking at it, Toxic. It won't heal if you do,” Fiona scolded firmly, her gaze piercing through the rearview mirror to meet Toxic's eyes.

“I’m not picking at it…” Toxic protested weakly, her fingers betraying her as they continued their ministrations.

“I see you doing it. Knock it off,” Fiona admonished, her voice carrying a note of frustration as she shifted her focus momentarily to berate a sluggish driver ahead, “move it, dumbass!”

“Put your mask on, Toxic,” Simon interjected, hoping this would redirect Toxic's attention away from her lip.

“Okay,” Toxic responded eagerly, a spark of excitement evident in her eyes as she grasped the small balaclava and attempted to pull it over her head. However, her initial enthusiasm was met with a minor setback as she struggled to align the mask correctly, inadvertently covering her eyes instead of the intended eye holes.

“Hang on,” Simon sighed heavily, reaching over to adjust the mask to its proper position on Toxic's head.

“Does it look cool?” Toxic inquired with anticipation, her wide eyes shining with a mix of innocence and eagerness as her tail wagged in anticipation.

“Sure,” Simon replied casually, offering a nonchalant shrug in response to her query.

“Good,” Toxic chimed in happily, a giggle bubbling forth as she embraced the thrill of her first heist.

As the journey progressed with an intermittent backdrop of silence occasionally punctuated by Toxic annoying Simon with various random questions, Lightning seized the opportunity to engage in a moment of meditation. The impending task ahead demanded unwavering focus and precision, necessitating a mental and physical clarity unencumbered by distractions. With a deliberate motion, he gently closed his eyes, honed in on the rhythm of his breath, and methodically purged his mind of extraneous thoughts.

Unbeknownst to Lightning, Predator's gaze had shifted towards him, silently studying his tranquil countenance with a mix of admiration and respect. The aura of serenity enveloping Lightning belied the intense focus he maintained, his unmoving form resembling that of a poised statue, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled with measured calmness.

In this moment of profound tranquility and disciplined resolve, Predator found a poignant reminder of Lightning's indispensable role within the ranks of the Destructix. The brief period during which Lightning had temporarily departed to rejoin the Raiju Clan had underscored not only the loss of a formidable ally in combat but also the absence of a cherished friend whose presence was deeply ingrained in the fabric of their collective identity.

"Thank god he came back…" Predator mused inwardly, the sentiment reverberating within him so profoundly that he resisted the urge to vocalize it.

To Predator, the Destructix remained incomplete in Lightning's absence, a sentiment that echoed the void within his own being that yearned to be filled by the camaraderie and companionship they had shared. Lightning was more than a comrade; he was Predator's first true friend, a bond that transcended the confines of their criminal endeavors and resonated on a personal level.

Abruptly jolted back to reality, Predator's reverie was shattered by Flying's boisterous intervention, as he seized Lightning's shoulder and vigorously shook him while emitting an incomprehensible stream of excited chatter, disrupting the moment with a frenetic energy that clashed with the prevailing stillness.

"Fuck, Flying!" Lightning hissed through gritted teeth, his body taut with barely restrained fury as he glared at him.

Flying, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the tension, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. He let out a playful giggle, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "We’re here, kitty kitty!" he taunted, his voice lilting as he turned his attention towards Predator with a sly grin. With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, he mockingly inquired, "Could you tell we were here, tweety bird? You seemed a lil distracted!"

The color rose rapidly to Predator's cheeks, a deep blush betraying his embarrassment. He was caught with his eyes stuck on Lightning. It was an unusual lapse for him, one that seemed all the more peculiar because he hadn't intended to stare; his mind had simply wandered down a labyrinth of thought.

"Yes I could…” Predator murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to recover his composure. He hastily cleared his throat, finding himself momentarily unable to meet the eyes of his companions. An old nervous habit was resurfacing, one he had diligently worked to quell, and he silently chastised himself for allowing it to creep back in.

Scourge cut through the banter with a voice that brooked no argument. “Everyone put the masks on,” he directed, his tone firm and authoritative. There was no hesitation as the team promptly complied, each member pulling on their balaclavas to conceal their identities in the dark fabric.

Fiona, maneuvered the vehicle into a narrow alleyway several structures away from the bank. The engine hummed to a subdued halt. Turning in her seat, she fixed Lightning with a look that was both stern and encouraging. “You’re on, my man,” she said, giving him an affirming nod.

Responding with a terse nod of his own, Lightning's fingers found the button that activated the car's overhead window, pressing it to open up his pathway. He unclasped his seatbelt with a click and fluidly climbed through the opening. Standing atop the vehicle, he surveyed his surroundings before making his move. With the finesse of a true ninja, he leaped onto a nearby fire escape, his movements swift and silent as he ascended the metal stairs to gain access to the rooftops.

Once he reached the appropriate vantage point, he paced back, calculating distance, then burst into a sprint that carried him toward the edge of the rooftop. With a powerful leap, he bridged the gap to the neighboring building, repeating this athletic feat from one structure to the next in a breathtaking display of parkour until he arrived at the bank's roof.

There, Lightning prowled across the rooftop like a shadow until he reached his target that he had noted when he surveyed the bank earlier: the security camera with a clear view of the vent he needed to infiltrate. With a deftness that spoke of years of practice, he reached out and with a swift twist of his wrist, he dislodged the camera from its perch, letting it clatter to his feet where he proceeded to crush it beneath his boot, extinguishing its ability.

With the camera disabled, Lightning yet again transformed into an embodiment of stealth and precision. He inched over the ledge, his body angled in an almost impossible inversion as he maintained his balance with the expertise of a master climber. Upon unzipping a pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a small screwdriver, its metal glinting faintly in the dim light as he set about removing the bolts securing the vent. One by one, the screws fell away, the metal grate clattering to the ground below. Lightning's movements were a choreographed dance of finesse and strength, as he contorted his body to slip into the vent's maw.

Inside, he weaved through the ducts with a patience born of necessity, seeking the nerve center of their target. After a meticulous journey, he discovered a room bristling with technology — computers, monitors, and servers — the perfect jackpot.

But caution was paramount; security cameras lurked like vigilant sentinels. Tuning into the environment, Lightning detected the faint hum of machinery from a camera nearby, likely positioned to monitor the vent. With a swift and calculated motion, he positioned his feet against the grate and unleashed a powerful kick. The grate sailed away as Lightning burst from the vent, his feet colliding with the camera in a precise strike, its recording light flickering out as he landed deftly on the ground.

Drawing from his extensive experience in past criminal exploits, Lightning navigated the familiar terrain of the room with confident precision. Approaching the mainframe computer, he deftly inserted the flash drive containing the virus, a potent tool acquired by Fiona from a black market, into the USB port. As the malicious code took root within the system, the room's atmosphere crackled with digital tension.

Observing the monitors flicker and glitch in response to the virus's intrusion, Lightning's ears flattened at the jarring cacophony of alarms distorted by the cyber assault. Without missing a beat, he reached for his phone and dialed Scourge.

“Howzit lookin’?” Scourge's voice cut through the chaos, his tone a blend of anticipation and authority, as he answered the call after a single ring.

“It’s working. Any second now...” Lightning's response was measured and focused, his gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos as the virus's effects intensified, causing the servers and monitors to succumb to the digital onslaught. With a self-assured smirk, he announced, “You’re up, boss.”

“See you in a minute,” Scourge's voice resonated with unwavering confidence as he terminated the call, stepping out of the car to retrieve an empty duffel bag from the trunk, preparing for the next phase of their operation.

Exiting the vehicle in tandem, Simon approached Scourge.

"In case the vault hasn't been unlocked, you’ll need some sticky bombs," Simon remarked, retrieving a small duffel bag containing the explosive devices and passing it to him with careful deliberation.

“Right on, man,” Scourge acknowledged with a faint grin, shouldering the bag of volatile tools in readiness for their utilization.

“You know how to use ‘em?”

“Yeah, gotta run,” Scourge responded with a playful salute, his focus shifting to the imminent task at hand. With his signature speed, he hastened towards the bank's entrance, the weight of their mission propelling him forward like a bullet. With a swift motion, he forced open the door, splintering the lock in the process, and plunged into the dimly lit interior, embarking on a determined search for the location of the vault, where their ultimate prize awaited.

Thanks to the combination of his remarkable speed and the lack of security measures in the bank, combing the grounds of the bank wasn’t nearly as difficult or time consuming as it would be under normal circumstances for the average person. In less than a minute, he stumbled upon a stairwell hiding behind an unmarked door in the heart of the bank. Leaping over the rail, he fell to the bottom and landed firmly on his feet, he found a long hallway that led to his destination.

Upon reaching the formidable entrance of the bank's vault, he found himself wrestling with the knob. His efforts proved fruitless as the door stood steadfast, mocking his attempt with its immobility. Unperturbed, he meticulously positioned a pair of sticky bombs on the surface of the massive steel barrier and hastily retreated to the stairwell's summit. From the duffel bag, he fished out the detonator, and despite the seriousness of the heist, a mischievous grin broke across his face, impossible to suppress.

He couldn't help but muse over the irony; the bank had undoubtedly poured an immense amount of time and fortune into their elaborate security measures, yet here they were, his band of rebels, dismantling the intricate system with such ease in hardly any time at all. It was almost pitiful, he thought. Actually, it was downright ludicrous. His laughter spilled forth, a wild symphony of triumph and mockery, echoing throughout, an audible testament that the world was, indeed, at his whim.

"Godspeed, Moebius!" Scourge's voice thundered amidst his cachinnation, the words charged with exhilaration as he pressed the detonator's button, instinctively covering his ears in anticipation of the blast. The resulting roar of the explosion reverberated up and down the stairwell, and he waited patiently as the tumultuous sounds gradually diminished into silence.

Once the echoes faded, Scourge confidently extracted his phone, the screen glowing to life as he connected with Lightning. The phone barely had time to ring before the lynx’s voice came through, crisp and alert. Scourge's instructions were brief and to the point, guiding his accomplice towards the now-breeched vault. With the call ended, he surged back outside to where the rest of the Destructix were already in motion, their figures spilling out of the SUV. They rummaged through the trunk, efficiently drawing out several empty duffel bags, their interiors hungry for the spoils of their venture.

Amidst the organized chaos, Simon distributed guns amongst the crew then took a moment to address Toxic. He crouched down, reducing the distance between them, and offered her the compact firearm that had been selected with her in mind. His voice was gentle yet firm, "Remember what to do with this?" he inquired, handing the weapon to her.

Toxic's response was tentative, her voice betraying the effort she was making to recall his earlier instructions, "Don’t uhm… point it at anyone I’m not gonna shoot and only shoot who they tell me to shoot?" She locked eyes with him, seeking affirmation.

"That’s right. And don’t go anywhere they don’t tell you to go," Simon replied, his nod conveying his approval. He watched as a spark of eager anticipation danced in Toxic's eyes, her small frame barely containing the thrill of their illicit escapade.

"I won’t," she promised earnestly, her excitement manifesting in a series of small, jubilant jumps.

"Good," Simon responded, the shadow of a smile threatening to break through his stoic demeanor. He then lifted his gaze, addressing the collective as he imparted his final piece of guidance, "I’ll call you guys if I hear sirens."

"Right on, Simon," Fiona chimed in, her thumb raised in solidarity.

Without further ado, Scourge issued the command to advance, "This way!" His stride was deliberate, a perfect balance of speed and caution as he led his crew back into the bank's interior, descending towards the vault where Lightning awaited their arrival, ready to lay claim to their prize.

The Destructix charged into the vault with an exhilaration akin to children rushing towards an ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

“Dig in, guys!” Scourge's voice reverberated through the enclosed space, brimming with ebullience, as he flung a duffel bag towards Lightning before eagerly stuffing his own with stacks of pristine hundred Moebium bills.

Fiona joined in the revelry, her whoops of joy punctuating the air as she deftly packed her duffel bag with a precision that bordered on artistry, ensuring every available inch was crammed with the coveted currency.

“Make sure you get these ones, kid,” Predator's voice cut through the commotion, guiding Toxic towards the higher denomination Moebium bills that she dutifully stashed away in her backpack.

In a synchronized rhythm, they continued their plunder, the vault echoing with the rustle of cash and the palpable thrill of anticipation. With each bill added to their bags, their imaginations sparked with visions of the luxuries and enhancements that awaited them. From fine dining to Scourge modifying his newly stolen sports car, and even the prospect of additional cybernetic upgrades for the whole gang beyond Lightning's imminent enhancements for the upcoming siege, the possibilities seemed endless in the glow of their success.

However, amidst the euphoria of their heist, Predator's keen gaze caught a subtle shift in Lightning's demeanor. The seasoned ninja’s ears pivoted, attuned to a sound only he could detect, his expression etched with a steely focus that signaled potential danger lurking in the shadows.

“What is it?” Predator inquired, recognizing the telltale intensity in Lightning's countenance, pausing in his cash-stuffing endeavor, the bills frozen in his grasp.

“That hum…” Lightning's voice was low, his ears swiveling as he zeroed in on a distinct electrical vibration growing in intensity behind him. Without hesitation, he turned his head towards the source, his eyes locking onto a menacing turret descending ominously from the vault's ceiling.

“Hit the deck!” Lightning’s urgent command pierced the chaos, a stark warning that sent everyone scrambling to the floor. In a swift motion, Flying vaulted over, landing protectively atop a bewildered Toxic, shielding her from the lethal hail of bullets that erupted across the room, the deadly projectiles grazing perilously close but missing their marks by mere inches.

Scourge's gaze locked onto the menacing turret, its malevolent intent clear in its automated movements. As the turret momentarily shifted its focus away from him, seizing the opportune moment, he sprang into action, leaping to his feet with a fluid grace honed through countless escapades. With a primal war cry, he executed his signature homing attack, hurtling towards the turret with unbridled fury, his strike shattering the mechanical menace into a cascade of twisted metal. Standing amidst the wreckage, he clenched his fist in frustration, bellowing, “The system’s coming back on! I thought we toasted it!?”

“It was supposed to take down the backup files! Fucker at the black market screwed us over!” Fiona's voice rang out, a potent cocktail of disbelief and fury coursing through her veins, her mind racing to process the unexpected betrayal.

“We have to go! Now!” Predator's voice cut through the tension, his tone decisive as he swiftly rose to his feet, sealing his bulging bag with practiced efficiency. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder that their daring heist had veered perilously off course, leaving them with no choice but to retreat before the full might of the bank's defenses descended upon them.

As they fled from the compromised vault, their footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor, the weight of the stolen cash dragging at their arms, a sudden swarm of sleek white armed drones swooped towards them, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the fleeing band of outlaws.

“Feed ‘em lead, guys!” Scourge's command sliced through the tension, igniting a flurry of gunfire as his comrades unleashed a torrent of bullets upon the armored mechanical adversaries.

“Ain’t this fun-run-gun, little girl!?” Flying's exuberant voice boomed above the cacophony, his shots finding their mark with precision, shattering a drone's camera and halting its aggressive advance. Seizing the opportunity, he lifted the lower half of his mask, stretched out his signature elastic tongue, and ensnared the disabled drone before flinging it unceremoniously to the ground, inflicting heavy damage upon its mechanical form.

“Ew, you licked it!” Toxic's voice rang out in a mixture of disgust and amusement, her own shot landing the final blow on the incapacitated machine.

“And it tasted goooood!” Flying's laughter reverberated through the corridor, a wild blend of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration and irreverent humor in the face of danger.

“Keep your mask down, man!” Fiona’s urgent demand pierced through the deafening symphony of gunfire.

Scourge, ever the showboat, decided that the use of a gun was a waste of time as he flung the bulging duffel bag he carried skyward. With a grace that belied the chaos surrounding him, he blurred into motion, moving in the blink of an eye. In a breathtaking display of agility and finesse, he leapt into action, executing a powerful kick that sent one of the drones hurtling towards its two remaining companions. They collided in a spectacular chain reaction, crashing into each other with a resounding clatter before careening into the unforgiving walls like a cascade of metallic dominos.

Proud of the chaos he had unleashed, Scourge continued his lightning-fast maneuvers, a blur of motion as he seamlessly returned to his starting point, snatching the falling duffel bag from the air with unerring precision before it could touch the ground.

With a smug smirk stretching unseen beneath his mask, he maintained a brisk but steady pace, allowing the others to easily follow him. His voice rang out, laced with a taunting edge as he beckoned his crew with a playful shout, "haul ass, slowpokes! Eyes up!"

Fiona's heartbeat quickened in tandem with the rhythm of their ascent up the stairwell when she felt the unmistakable vibration of her cell phone against her thigh. It was as if she had a sixth sense; she knew it was Simon on the other end before she even drew the device from her pocket. With a swift swipe, she accepted the call, and Simon's voice came through, confirming her premonitions.

The police were en route and getting closer by the second.

"No shit," Fiona bellowed back into the receiver, her voice almost lost amidst the cacophony of the bank's alarm system. Her eyes darted around, vigilant for any additional hazards. "The virus didn't fully take the system down like we thought! Guy who sold me the drive fucked us over and now we’re dealing with turrets and drones!”

There was a moment's pause before Simon's voice returned, now laced with frustration. His grip tightened on his phone, his strength inadvertently causing the screen to crack slightly, "Damn…" he muttered, the sound of his frustration palpable, "I’m out front ready to drive when you get out."

"See you in a mi—" Fiona's response was cut short as a sudden, explosive noise caused her to miss a step. Another ceiling turret had been obliterated by Scourge, its remnants clattering down the stairs.

Toxic, caught off guard by the chaos, let out a startled yelp. Her footing lost, she teetered dangerously backward until Fiona's reflexes kicked in. With a firm grip, Fiona caught her by the shirt, halting her fall.

"Watch your damn step!" Fiona admonished with an air of irritation. She then sighed, resigning herself to a solution, "Or, ugh, climb on back, we can’t have you slow us down!" Bending down, she allowed Toxic to clamber onto her back, securing a tight hold.

Simon's voice crackled with urgency through the phone, "What happened? Are you guys ok?"

"Relatively speakin’, yeah!" Fiona shouted back, her tone a cocktail of adrenaline and urgency, "Look, can't talk—there's a lot of shit going on!" With that, she ended the call abruptly, the severity of their predicament justifying the sudden interruption.

The remaining distance through the bank was a blur of gunfire and mechanical wreckage as they dispatched swarm after swarm of drones and turrets. Finally, the Destructix burst through the front doors, spilling out into the moonlight. They sprinted towards their getaway vehicle, tossing the duffel bags laden with cash into the trunk before tumbling into the SUV.

"Everyone in?" Simon's voice carried a mix of composure and haste, the wail of sirens now ominously close.

"FUCKING DRIVE, SIMON!" Scourge's voice erupted, his fist pounding against the dash with a force that echoed his impatience.

Simon needed no further urging. His foot slammed down on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, tires screeching as they tore away from the scene of their crime.

Exhilaration pulsed through Toxic as she threw her fists into the air, her voice ringing with triumph, "we did it!"

Fiona, ever the realist, tempered the celebration with a cautious glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and a string of curses spilled out as she spotted the relentless pursuit of law enforcement, "almost," she snapped back, noting the sea of flashing lights gaining on them.

"Piggly wigglies have come out to play!" Flying declared with a manic gleam in his eyes, thirsting for the violent confrontation.

Without missing a beat, Fiona barked at Scourge, "Get that scanner on—now!" Scourge, understanding the urgency and following Fiona’s instructions, immediately flipped the switch and dialed up the volume. The scanner crackled to life, and the gang leaned in as they focused on the dispatcher's voice detailing their vehicle's description and last known heading.

The unmistakable blare of the police's ultimatum boomed through their own intercom, "NCPD! Pull over or we will open fire!"

Scourge couldn't suppress a sardonic chuckle, muttering under his breath, "Is that any way to talk to the king and his men?" He then turned to the rest of the gang, his grin sharp and wild, "Get your iron ready, guys!"

Flying didn't need to be told twice. With agile movements, he vaulted over the seats, landing with a thud in the trunk. He rummaged quickly, resurfacing with a cache of assault rifles. He passed the weapons to Lightning, Predator, Fiona, and Scourge with an efficiency born of experience.

With determination, Scourge positioned himself at the window, the cool metal of the rifle in his grasp. He braced, took aim, and as the car swerved to avoid incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal filled the air as Fiona and the others followed, unleashing a hailstorm of gunfire towards the police vehicles that were in hot pursuit.

“I wanna shoot too!” Toxic’s voice rang out with a mix of eagerness and frustration as she watched the ongoing chaos from the sidelines.

“You’re gonna love this, kiddo!” Flying couldn’t contain his exhilaration, his voice booming over the cacophony of gunfire and sirens, shaking with wild laughter. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted the lower half of his mask to reveal a wide, mischievous grin. With precision, his extendable tongue shot out, securely latching onto Toxic and pulling her to his side. Ensuring her safety, he held her steady as she leaned out of the speeding car window, her own weapon in hand. Together, they fired relentlessly at the pursuing police cars. By a stroke of luck, or perhaps skill, one of Toxic’s bullets found its mark, shattering a windshield and striking the driver. The ensuing chaos was immediate - the police cars swerved, collided, and ultimately crashed into a spectacular pile-up.

“Attagirl!” Flying’s praise was enthusiastic, though somewhat muffled as his tongue still maintained a protective grip on Toxic, ensuring she remained safe within the confines of their escape vehicle.

“Shh!” The urgency in Fiona’s hiss cut through the adrenaline-fueled air. Her focus was entirely on the scanner on the radio, the static-filled voice emanating from it capturing her full attention. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Predator’s voice was tinged with curiosity as he ducked inside the vehicle, his head tilting in an attempt to discern the message being transmitted.

“We’re completely blocked in,” Lightning’s tone was matter-of-fact, echoing Predator’s movements by also leaning into the interior of the car.

“We can’t carry all this stuff on foot... What’s the plan, bosses?” Simon’s queried, maneuvering the wheel, eyes scanning the road with steely focus.

The tension spiked as the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air reached their ears, followed by the invasive glare of a spotlight suddenly trained on them.

“Hmm…” Predator’s hum was pensive, the gears turning in his mind as a sly smirk began to play at the corners of his mouth, “a helicopter crashing into a police blockade could be very… distracting.”

“Sounds like there’s a blockade straight ahead in about a quarter mile,” Simon interjected, offering critical intel while his gaze never wavered from the road ahead.

Flying’s energy seemed to surge at the revelation, and with a swift, graceful movement, he released his grip on Toxic. He gently placed her in the safety of the seat next to him as he adjusted his mask back into place, concealing his features once again.

“Sounds like a party-arty-farty! Could I pretty please come?” His voice was laced with a playful wheedle as he clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes in exaggerated anticipation.

"Fine," Predator conceded, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he prepared for the daring maneuver ahead. Without hesitation, he propelled himself out of the window, soaring around the car in a swift loop. The frog's outstretched hands snatched his ankles in a seamless motion, propelling him like a speeding bullet towards the helicopter.

"Alright!" Predator's voice boomed over the roar of the wind, his instructions clear and decisive. "I'll take the right side, you'll take the left. Glide in on my word!"

With precision honed from countless escapades, Predator zeroed in on the left side of the helicopter. As the moment aligned perfectly, he bellowed, "NOW!" The signal unleashed a synchronized assault as Flying swooped into the helicopter, swiftly incapacitating one pilot, while Predator swiftly dealt with the other.

The limp bodies of the pilots were unceremoniously tossed from the aircraft as Predator assumed command, his gaze fixed on the impending blockade and the oncoming SUV. "Jump out now!" his command cut through the chaos, urgency tinged in his voice. As the helicopter dove towards the obstruction, Flying wasted no time, gliding out to safety just in time. Predator followed suit, propelling himself upward like a bullet, his gaze locked on the impending collision below. From his aerial vantage point, he watched as the helicopter collided with the police cars, the explosion engulfing them in a ball of fire and chaos.

Below, the police were thrown into disarray, their attention captivated by the explosion which created a gap in their formation as vehicles were tossed aside. Seizing the moment, everyone in the SUV ducked down, and Simon floored the accelerator, steering the vehicle through the flames. They slipped into the shadows, vanishing from the distracted gaze of law enforcement.

Predator and Flying, now airborne, kept a vigilant watch over the van's trajectory as it wove its way through the ensuing pandemonium below. Like specters in the night, they shot through the air, their bodies silhouetted against the backdrop of flames and smoke, as they made their descent towards the now distant vehicle.

The two remained vigilant from their aerial perspective, their keen eyes tracking the van's trajectory as it weaved through the chaos. With the grace of seasoned acrobats, they soared through the smoke-filled sky, their bodies silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, preparing to rejoin their team. With a synchronized thud, they landed on the roof of the car and maneuvered themselves, finding ingress through an open window to rejoin their comrades within the confines of the vehicle.

With their hearts pounding in anxious anticipation, the team held their breath as the scanner's confirmation echoed in the tense air, revealing that the suspects had slipped away, vanishing into the chaos that surrounded them. Despite the seemingly daunting odds stacked against them, the Destructix had emerged victorious yet again.

(Hey yall sorry this took so damn long life became crazy for a min but thank u so much for waiting! Also there was gonna be more to this chapter but it would have been absurdly long but on the upside chapter 8 is already in the works! Next chapter has a lil….surprise 🫶🤍🩵)

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vendettaspathfanfic · 8 months

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Chapter Six

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

This evening, dinner was a simple affair, with only Sonic and his mother seated at the elaborately set table in the grand dining room, a familiar scene given his father's common late returns from the palace. He was a man of significant influence and stature, serving as the indispensable advisor to King Maximillian, a role that demanded much of his time. At seven years of age, Sonic found his father's endless discussions on the complexities of governance tediously dull, a stark contrast to the vibrant tales of his own day that his father rarely had the patience to entertain.

In the comforting presence of his mother, however, Sonic was able to talk as much as he wanted. He excitedly recounted the adventurous escapades from the latest installment of his beloved cartoon series, speaking with animated gestures while their longstanding family butler quietly placed plates of food before them. Unfortunately, tonight's dinner featured lobster, a dish that Sonic loathed.

The pungent aroma that wafted from the plate caused Sonic's face to contort in displeasure, his nose scrunching up as if to ward off the offending scent. He turned to his mother, seeking a compromise, only to find her gaze lingering on a cherished photograph adorning the wall. The image captured a moment of regal splendor, depicting her alongside her father and the other esteemed members of the Royal Court.

"Mom?" Sonic inquired softly, attempting to draw her attention. Receiving no immediate response, he pressed further, the word "mama" punctuated by a gentle nudge on her arm.

His mother momentarily snapped out of her reverie, her eyes refocusing with a slight flutter of her lashes as she angled her body to address her son with a soft “sorry, hun. What?”

Sonic's face contorted into a grimace, his voice dripping with distaste as he lamented, "I don’t want this again… it makes me wanna puke." His words elicited a disdainful huff from the butler, who promptly exited the room with a swirl of disappointment.

"It’s good for you, Sonic," she responded, her voice steady and reassuring, "besides, you remember what we’ve said about being wasteful."

Defiance etched itself into the young hedgehog's posture; he folded his arms across his chest like a barrier, slinking further into the embrace of his chair. His youthful face was wrinkled with obstinacy, as the furrow of his brow channeled the essence of his aversion. "But it's gross!" Sonic retorted, the fervor of his sentiment about the unwanted meal burning as brightly as ever.

"Just eat it, please?" The plea from his mother reached his ears as he turned his head away, embodying the spirit of rebellion. "If you do, we’ll get ice cream and candy."

The promise of such a sweet reward sparked curiosity in Sonic, and he swiveled his head back in her direction, catching the nascent smile blooming on her face, a signal of the incentive that awaited him.

With an effort that felt monumental to his young mind, the little blue hedgehog managed to ingest the detested lobster dish, the glazed carrots that accompanied it no less infamous in his eyes. Upon completing the ordeal, he beckoned for his mother's attention, which had drifted back to the photograph on the wall. She met his gaze with a smile that radiated pride and affection, a smile that could brighten the darkest of rooms. Sonic cherished that smile, for it was not just a mere curve of the lips; it was a symbol of his success in bringing her joy. That was a reward far greater than the promise of sweets.

"Good job, Scourge." The admiration in her voice was unmistakable as Sonic eagerly leaped from his seat to envelop her in a tight embrace. But as he held her close, an unsettling thought wormed its way into his consciousness, leaving him with an unnerving sense that releasing her from his arms could mean never being able to hug her again. It was an absurd notion, surely, for she was ever-present in his life, a constant in his home.

But, she’s never called him Scourge before.

Before he could ask where she heard that name, the space she occupied in his arms became empty. Darkness enveloped him, his world tipping into chaos as he tumbled into an abyss that seemed to have no end. A sense of vertigo overwhelmed him; his surroundings stripped away as if the earth itself had opened beneath him. He flailed, attempting to cry out, but found his voice trapped, his throat constricted by an unseen force.

In the midst of his panic, Sonic's efforts intensified, desperation fueling his struggle. His attempts finally culminated in a muffled, yet alarmed "mmh!" To his relief, the sensation of falling ceased abruptly, replaced by the oppressive reality of a worn, filthy mattress pressing against his back. Heat enveloped him, the summer's sweltering embrace untempered by the absence of air conditioning in the orphanage.

As his eyes snapped open, he lay there, drenched in sweat, his heart racing as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him. He struggled to ground himself back in reality, but it soon became clear that once again, he was a sixteen-year-old green hedgehog named Scourge.

Thankfully, when he awoke with a start, his sudden movement and noise didn't disturb Fiona, who was lying on her side, facing him, lost in deep slumber. The moon's soft glow streamed into the room through the slightly ajar window, casting moonlight gently on her beautiful face. As she dreamt what he hoped was a peaceful dream, her delicate eyelids fluttered.

The faint sheen on her soft, heart-shaped lips revealed the lingering touch of the chapstick she had applied before bed, adding an extra allure to her serene visage. With great care not to disturb her, he turned onto his side to face her, tenderly running his fingers through the fur on the exposed side of her muzzle, relishing the softness and finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment. A sense of calm washed over him, slowing his racing heart and quieting his restless thoughts as he took in every detail of his girlfriend, peacefully asleep before him. In that hushed stillness, he found a rare and precious moment to simply appreciate the beauty and peacefulness of his lover.

Realizing that sleep would elude him for the time being, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before quietly rising out of bed. Descending the stairs, he made his way to the kitchen, where he reached for a water bottle resting on the counter.

As the lukewarm liquid flowed down his throat, a distinct thumping noise echoed from downstairs, instantly seizing his attention. The source was unmistakable—it emanated from the direction of the freezer.

With a sense of urgency, he hastily replaced the bottle's lid, a quiet “fuck,” escaping his lips as the realization struck that they had neglected to assign someone to keep watch over the freezer that held Miles. Carelessly tossing the bottle on the counter, he grabbed and lit a lantern and dashed down to the freezer, swiftly unlocking it and wrenching the door open.

Thankfully, Miles had made only minimal headway in his attempts to free himself. The most significant achievement was toppling his chair to the ground and making almost no progress in loosening the ropes covered with duct tape.

Amused by the sight that greeted him, Scourge placed the lantern on a mildew-covered shelf and shut the freezer door behind him. "Are you enjoying yourself there, Miles?" he inquired, his tone tinged with condescension.

Miles continued to struggle against his bindings, clearly disoriented from the head injury he had suffered earlier. His mouth muffled by the tape, he could only respond with garbled, indiscernible words.

"I'm sure whatever you just said would have been so terribly hurtful," Scourge began in a mockingly sorrowful tone as he righted the chair. "But it's nothing compared to what you're going to get if you don't tell me what I want to know." With a swift motion, he tore the tape from Miles' mouth, inadvertently pulling away a thin layer of fur from around his muzzle in the process.

Grimacing in pain, Miles averted his gaze from Scourge, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled against the dizziness and the throbbing ache in his head.

"Now I can see you renovated the castle a lot since you screwed me over and got me thrown in jail," Scourge remarked, leaning casually against a nearby shelf. "looks real nice, but I’m sure in the process you souped up the security, right? So, if I were to try to waltz in and take back what you took from me, I’d be screwed wouldn’t I? So, either you tell me how to get past security, or you’ll end up getting more than just a punch."

Miles steadied his breath, slowly turning his head to meet Scourge's aiming gaze. With gritted teeth, he growled, "You can't."

Grasping the chair that held Miles, Scourge cocked his head, a grin of amusement playing on his lips. "Well, I doubt that's true. They told us we couldn't escape from Zone Jail, yet here we are. Even the tightest ship can spring a leak."

Miles' widened gaze shifted between both of Scourge's eyes as he swallowed thickly. "Not this ship, you fool. Every doorway, hallway, and corner is monitored by scanning posts. And unlike the ones attached to police lines, this system doesn't just sound an alarm. Every entrance and exit is impenetrable to anyone lacking clearance. Not even rats could infiltrate the sewers. And all of that's hardly a fraction of our security measures."

Impressed, Scourge raised his brows, emitting a low whistle of astonishment. "You've really built an airtight system there, my friend. It almost seems... desperate?"

"With the rapid advancements in technology and cybernetic implants, we can't afford to leave any vulnerability unaddressed," Miles retorted, narrowing his eyes as he regarded Scourge with undisguised contempt, as though he were less than the dirt on his shoes. "As I mentioned before, nothing I can say will aid you in the slightest."

Scourge sighed and shook his head. "That really sucks, man," he said as he exited the freezer, closing the door behind him and ignoring Miles' inquiries about his destination.

Hurrying upstairs to his and Fiona's room, he knelt beside her bag to retrieve her combat knife. Startled by the sound of someone rummaging through her belongings, Fiona's eyes flew open, and she sat up, her expression softening as she recognized Scourge's silhouette, relieved that it was him and not an intruder.

"Jeez, you scared me," Fiona sighed, sleepiness evident in her voice as she rubbed her face. "Are you lookin’ for cigarettes or something?"

"Nope," Scourge replied, revealing the knife he had acquired. "Miles is awake and refusing to talk."

"I'll accompany you," Fiona offered, stifling a yawn as she retrieved her bag from his reach, pulling out a pen and an old receipt. "I can write down what he says while you take care of the dirty work."

"Attagirl," Scourge praised, grinning as he affectionately tousled her hair. "Let's go."

Guiding her through the dimly lit building, they traversed downstairs to the freezer, where Miles continued to struggle to escape.

"Why's she here?" Miles grunted, straining against the duct tape and rope binding his wrists.

"If you happen to come up with a way for us to get through, she'll take note of it. If not, well, then you're of no use to us. And we can't exactly release you since you know too much, so it seems the next step is to kill you," Scourge chuckled, delighting in the horror that washed over Miles' face. "But don't worry. I'll make it nice and slow, giving you time to reconsider and perhaps change my mind about doing it. However, first..." His gaze shifted to his tails, tightly bound together with rope and duct tape. "We need to make sure that you won't have any chances of flying away. Fiona, you might want to fetch the first aid kit. Can't risk him bleeding out before he has the chance to speak."

"W-wait! No! Please don't do this!" Miles cried out, his breaths quickening into hyperventilation as he watched Fiona obediently exit the freezer.

"Listen, I didn't want it to come to this, but much like you, my hands are tied," Scourge said, his voice laced with feigned sympathy as he leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms.

"No! I can help you gain entry! You won't be able to do it without me!" he screamed, his wide eyes blinded by fear.

Scourge's expression transformed into a wide, menacing grin as he slowly uncrossed his arms and straightened up to his full height.

“Really?” The smug green hedgehog asked, striding over to the young two-tailed fox and looming over him, leaning in close as he jabbed his forefinger against his chest. “Well, it’s a good thing you remembered. You could’ve been killed.” His smug grin suddenly gave way to a menacing glare. In a swift motion, he withdrew his hand from Miles’ chest and delivered a harsh slap across his face, causing the chair to wobble and splitting his lip. Scourge quickly steadied the chair and grasped Miles’ chin, forcing him to meet his intense gaze. “Don’t you fucking lie to me again, Miles,” he growled, baring his sharp teeth, sending shivers down Miles’ spine.

When Fiona returned, Scourge briefed her on their change of plans. She took the pen they had previously acquired and began to write finely on the back of the receipt.

The success of their mission hinged on having the right technology at their disposal. Miles, the primary designer of the security system, was indispensable to their plans. Their first objective would be to hack the body scan post for entry, a task that required a neural link to connect to Miles, allowing him to access necessary technology through the eyes of the person with the implant. However, due to the Destructix's distrust of him, he would have to be guarded and sequestered away from the castle to prevent any potential betrayal.

To bypass the body scan post, one would need optical implants that would allow them to scan the post, enabling Miles to use the neural link to hack into it and grant every individual passing through with clearance. Yet, this was only part of the larger challenge— the entire security system needed to recognize the Destructix members as authorized personnel. To achieve this, someone would require an interface plug, a wired implant located at the back of the head, along with a neural interface chip. When the wire was extended and connected to specific machinery, it would grant the individual the capability to hack into the technology.

Once someone was plugged into an access point with the interface, Miles could then proceed to hack the entire security system. This would provide the Destructix with unhindered movement throughout the castle, enabling them to locate the remaining members of the Suppression Squad and eliminate them, ultimately allowing the Destructix to seize control of the throne.

Before Scourge and Fiona could explain the plan to the Destructix in the morning, they found themselves contending with the aftermath of Predator, Lightning, and Flying's excessive drinking the previous night.

"Well, I don't know why you drank so much of that crap, but I hope it made you happy," Simon grumbled with a scoff as he entered through the front door, carrying a tray of to-go cups from a nearby coffee shop.

"Mmmm'kay. Shut up, Simon," Predator groaned, his eyes tightly shut as he sat hunched over in a nearby chair, nursing his throbbing head.

With a roll of his eyes, Simon handed Predator a cup of black coffee, scoffing, "drink up." He then turned his attention to Flying, who was slouched against a nearby wall, struggling to keep his eyes open as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. "Got some for you too, Flying," Simon said, prompting Flying's eyes to sluggishly roll toward him, blinking one at a time.

"Is that coffee-tea-fre-" Flying began, before a sudden wave of nausea overtook him, causing his eyes to bulge as he clamped a hand over his mouth and gagged. He scrambled to his feet, dashed toward a nearby window, flung it open, and retched outside.

Simon groaned in disgust and called out, "I'll put this in the kitchen, then..." before handing Scourge his coffee.

"Thanks, man," Scourge said with a courteous nod.

"Thanks for not drinking as much as these idiots," Simon remarked, his disdain evident in his voice. "Have you seen Lightning, Fiona, and Toxic?"

“Lightning’s probably still asleep cause I haven’t seen him yet. Fiona’s giving Toxic a haircut so she looks less like her wanted picture and also we saw a daddy long leg crawl out of one of the mats in her hair.” Scourge said, casually drinking his coffee.

Simon blinked a few times in surprise before muttering, “go figure… Well, if you see the girls, let ‘em know they got drinks with their name on them in the kitchen. I’m gonna wake up Lightning.”

As expected, Simon located Lightning, who was sprawled out on a set of child-sized mattresses, emitting loud snores. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Simon set aside Lightning’s coffee, knelt down, and nudged Lightning's shoulder, attempting to rouse him. When his efforts failed, Simon noticed that Lightning still had water in his bottle. He unscrewed the cap, tossed it aside, and emptied the remaining contents onto Lightning's head.

Lightning groaned and attempted to turn his face away as the water splashed against his forehead. Without opening his eyes, he managed to mumble out a slurred, "hello?" before some water entered his mouth, causing him to choke and erupt into a fit of coughing as he hastily sat up.

"Hello, Lightning. Coffee's here," Simon said with annoyance, standing up.

As Lightning recovered from the coughing fit, he grumbled and shook his head in an attempt to rid his fur of the water, groaning as the motion exacerbated his headache and nausea.

"You didn’t have to waterboard me, Simon," he groaned, squinting as the bright light aggravated his newly awakened eyes.

"Don’t be so dramatic. You gotta get straightened up. Fiona and Scourge got Miles to talk, and they’ve got a plan they want to tell us," Simon responded, offering Lightning his coffee.

"I don’t want anything else in my stomach right now…" Lightning groaned, the scent of the coffee in his hand intensifying his nausea.

"Well, if you get sick, either puke out a window, or if you do it in here, you're cleaning it. This place is filthy enough without three drunk bastards making it worse," Simon declared firmly, his distaste unwavering.

"Agh… Fuck off…" Lightning slurred, his struggle evident as he fought to keep the vomit down. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the window, grappling with it in his disoriented state.

"For crying out loud…" Simon growled, stepping in to open the window for Lightning, who leaned out and threw up.

As he left Lightning to deal with his hangover, Simon muttered bitterly, "it’s like a house full of toddlers. Hell, today I haven’t even had a problem with the actual toddler here.”

After a wait that spanned several hours, the group finally regained enough composure to gather and listen to Scourge and Fiona outline the plan they had devised. They arranged their seats into a communal circle within the same room where they had convened the night before.

“How can we trust Miles to do what we say?” Predator questioned, his voice tinged with doubt.

“He doesn’t have a choice. I know from experience he’s a coward that’ll do anything to live. One of ya will need to stay with him while we work and be ready to gut him if he makes even one wrong move,” Scourge replied, his arms extending in a languid stretch as he reclined back in his chair with an air of nonchalance.

“I volunteer-steer-beer!” Flying burst out with gusto, only to wince as his booming, obnoxious voice aggravated his pounding headache.

“Alright, knock yourself out,” Scourge casually responded with a dismissive shrug, now leaning forward in his seat, his fingers weaving together in front of him.

“Who's getting the implants?” inquired Lightning, downing some ibuprofen that Fiona had supplied to ease his discomfort.

“The rest of you guys. We never know what we’ll run into. Can’t leave any stones unturned,” Fiona declared, her voice firm and decisive.

“Me too?” Toxic chimed in, twirling one of the short pigtails Fiona had fashioned in her hair.

“No way, kid,” Scourge stated adamantly with a shake of his head. “Cybernetics aren’t good for you when you’re that little.”

“I’m taller than Ren!” Toxic contended, climbing onto her chair and stretching to her tiptoes in an attempt to demonstrate her height.

“Tough. You’re still barely taller than a fire hydrant,” Scourge teased, his mocking tone evident. “You gotta wait til you're older.”

“Sit down before you fall and crack your head open,” Simon commanded, his tone authoritative, directed at the young blue hedgehog.

With a scowl of indignation and a growl meant to convey ferocity, Toxic reluctantly descended from her perch and slouched back into her seat, her arms folded in a tight cross.

“Save it,” Fiona interjected with an eye roll, “anyways, Simon, Lightning, and Predator; you guys are going in first. Grab some uniforms from the guard locker room and you’ll easily pass as one of the guards. They know Scourge and I too well, so we’ll wait until the security system is down and you find Patch and Alicia to storm in and join the fight.”

“But what do I do?” Toxic mused aloud, now reclining sideways in her chair, her legs swinging idly over the edge.

“You’ll help Flying guard Miles,” Fiona replied, her tone conveying confidence that this modest assignment would satisfy Toxic’s desire to contribute.

“But before all of this, we gotta remember implants cost money that we don’t got. So…” Scourge began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, his hands eagerly rubbing together, “We’ll be ‘borrowing’ some money from a bank out of town.”

This infectious excitement quickly rippled through the group, with members exchanging eager grins and approving murmurs.

"It's in a pretty wealthy neighborhood. And hey, even you can join us, Toxic," Fiona said, her arms crossed, a hint of pride in her voice as she gauged the group's reactions.

"I can?" Toxic gasped, her voice lifting with excitement as she bounded out of her chair and approached Fiona, her tail wagging like a flag of enthusiasm.

"She can?" Scourge echoed, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern, unsure of involving someone so young in such a dangerous activity.

"Yes," Fiona confirmed, assuring the group with a calm authority, "like I said, it’ll be an easy heist. She can help us take out security. We’ve all seen how she can kick ass. Simon, you can train her on a pistol."

Simon, looking somewhat resigned, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "If you insist, ma’am," he conceded, albeit with heavy reluctance.

"Babe, are you nuts? She’s four years old!" Scourge protested vehemently, his arms thrown up in disbelief.

"So what? Don’t be a fucking dickface!" Toxic retorted sharply, flipping Scourge off with her ring finger. Scourge responded in kind, sneering as he mirrored her gesture.

Pulling Scourge aside from the rest of the group, Fiona's voice dropped to a hushed, persuasive tone. "Look, we made a deal with her that if she didn’t do what we told her she’d be rat food and clearly it’s been working. This is part of that deal, hun. Besides, if she managed to put us through that much hell at first, imagine what she’d do to plain ol’ guards."

"How is it worth the risk?" Scourge pressed, his apprehension evident as he pondered the unpredictable nature of their youngest member.

"It’s like I said, if we broke out of Zone Jail of all things, we can rob a fucking bank even with your crackhead sister tagging along. Besides, we need everyone from the gang there to do different things, and do you really wanna leave her alone? She could wander off and a bounty hunter would snatch her. Then what? Game over," Fiona argued, her logic resonating with the risks they faced.

Scourge's jaw tightened, the truthfulness of Fiona's words sinking in, especially the part about leaving Toxic alone. With a heavy exhale of resignation, he muttered, "this better work."

"It will. You’ll see," Fiona reassured him with a confidence that bordered on certainty, punctuating her promise with a light kiss on his cheek before returning to the group. "We’ll start preppin’ tomorrow. Get all the equipment we need." She turned to address Lightning, Flying, and Predator, her face scrunching in disgust as the pungent smell of vomit and alcohol reached her. "For now, there’s a gym with showers not far from here. Let’s make it reek a little less around the place, hm?"

Nodding in silent accord, the gang made their way to the gym, their footsteps echoing against the pavement as they traversed a desolate stretch of the neighborhood. The eerie stillness of the area hinted at its sparse population, offering them a cloak of anonymity that would aid in evading any potential bounty hunters on the prowl for Toxic.

Upon reaching the gym, they made a beeline for the bathroom and obtained the much-needed cleaning supplies from the dispensers, the clinking of coins and the soft hum of the machines filling the otherwise quiet space. As they each cleaned up in their respective shower stalls, the sound of water cascading down in rivulets served as a welcome reminder of the simple luxury they hadn’t had since their escape from prison.

Despite Scourge's usual indifference to cleanliness, he found solace in the sensation of grime washing away from his body as he stood beneath the shower's stream. Closing his eyes, he allowed the water to cleanse not just his physical form, but also his spirit, feeling the weight of his troubles slowly dissolve and disappear down the drain. During his time in prison, he had been constantly on edge, his natural strength and agility restrained by a control collar that left him vulnerable and exposed to frequent beatings. However, as the water flowed over his face and quills, he realized that despite the lingering risks, he was finally beginning to believe that everything would ultimately be alright. He resolved to face whatever challenges lay ahead with newfound determination and resilience.

After everyone had completed their showers, they returned to the orphanage. While some members of their group were still recovering from the effects of the previous night's revelry, Simon took Toxic to the backyard to teach her how to shoot empty beer bottles off the fence using a silenced pistol.

"Keep one hand on the bottom, Toxic, and don't touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep your finger to the side, like this," Simon instructed, kneeling beside her and guiding her small hands to demonstrate the proper way to hold the firearm.

"Okay," Toxic responded with an eager nod. "Can I shoot now?"

"Not yet. First, aim at the space between the two small bumps and make sure it's pointed at what you want to shoot," Simon advised.

"Okay," Toxic responded, her small hands adjusting her grip on the pistol with determination. "Now can I shoot?"

"Go ahead," Simon replied with a nod.

Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, and the sharp crack of the gunshot was followed by the satisfying shatter of the bottle.

Toxic gasped in amazement and giggled, her eyes sparkling with pride as she beamed at Simon. "I fuckin’ gotted it!"

"You sure did," Simon said with a soft chuckle. "Now take out the rest of them."

Leaning against the weathered wall of the building, Scourge and Fiona observed as Toxic skillfully shot several more bottles, her focus unyielding and her aim true.

"Not bad. She's a natural marksman in the making," Fiona remarked with a lopsided grin.

"Good thing she's only shooting bottles," Scourge snidely remarked, retrieving a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket. Fiona signaled for one, holding two fingers in his direction, and Scourge obliged, lighting both of their cigarettes. As they inhaled, Scourge wrapped his arm around Fiona, the sun casting a warm glow over them as it descended toward the horizon.

"Do you think we should check on Miles?" Scourge asked, a sudden pang of concern causing his heart to skip a beat.

"I'll feed him later, but there's no way he's getting out. Simon and I tested that padlock we got earier, and it's secure," she replied confidently, referring to the heavy duty lock lock they had obtained during their earlier supply run.

Scourge smirked with pride, imagining the futile attempts Miles might be making to escape, a sense of control and satisfaction washing over him.

"Not much longer," Fiona began after blowing a cloud of smoke out of her mouth, the wisps curling and dissipating in the air, creating a momentary haze around her. Her eyes, filled with a determined glint, scanned the horizon as if envisioning the future. "We'll rule this world again. We'll bring everything under our control, just like it used to be."

"Fiona," Scourge chuckled softly, the sound mixing with the rustle of the wind, and dropped his spent cigarette, the feeble embers flickering before he snuffed them out under the sole of his shoe, his eyes fixed on his lover's with an intense yet tender gaze. "We already do."

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ceoofdestructix · 1 year

Text

I won't elaborate any further

#sonic the hedgehog #archie sonic #sonic #sergeant simian #lightning lynx #flying frog #predator hawk #fiona fox #scourge the hedgehog #fiona the fox #scourge x fiona #YES THESE ARE TAYLOR SWIFT'S CLOTHES #my memes #my art crap #destructix #the destructix

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vendettaspathfanfic · 9 months

Text

Chapter Five

(First one with the cover!!)

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

The sudden demise of a prominent official and the mysterious vanishing of another were events that could not stay undetected for long. Reinforcements were swiftly deployed to the location to scrutinize the aftermath of a violent explosion, an array of gunfire, and the resonating shockwaves of sonic booms.

Although nobody had any idea who initiated the bombing, it was initially assumed Miles Prower and Boomer Walrus of the Suppression Squad had neutralized the elusive blue blur. Yet, upon arrival, they were met with a chilling scene - the lifeless body of Boomer, his existence snuffed out by a fatal gunshot wound on the lower right side of his neck. The grim tableau was punctuated by the discovery of four police-issue bullet casings and three bullets lodged in the nearby concrete wall.

This evidence led to an almost inescapable conclusion - the young blue blur who had managed to seize a gun from the law enforcement ranks was the likely perpetrator of this crime.

After power and communications were swiftly restored, the area remained under stringent lockdown. Law enforcement personnel diligently scanned the vicinity for any trace of Miles, the young suspect, or any individuals exhibiting suspicious behavior. Their search unearthed only the shattered remnants of Miles' array of handheld devices and a faint set of small, bloody shoeprints.

Atop a hill, overlooking the city, the massive Castle Acorn loomed like a fortress of steel and glass. Its impressive structure was marked by glowing neon spires that pierced the evening sky, a true testament to technological power. Inside the castle's walls, Alicia Acorn sat in the throne room, surrounded by modern design and bathed in the gentle glow of neon lights. It was there that she received an urgent phone call from the chief of police, bearing this news of her comrades' fate and the circumstances surrounding it.

The newly crowned queen gripped her throne, taking in a breath in an attempt to retain composure. “Please bring Boomer’s remains to the castle as soon as you are able. And do not cease in your search for Miles.”

“Yes, your majesty.” The chief dutifully responded. “We’re able to have him sent back right away.”

The loss of Boomer was bad enough by itself. His collaboration with Miles in the realm of engineering and invention had been a cornerstone of the extraordinary technological revolution sweeping through their world. More than just an innovator, Boomer was also one of the most formidable combatants within their small team.

The impact of Miles' sudden disappearance was even more catastrophic. While Alicia held the official title of queen in their domain, it was Miles who was the true architect of power behind the throne. His strategic wit was the keystone in their coup that toppled the despised Scourge, leading to the former king's incarceration in Zone Jail at the hands of Sonic. Without his guiding hand, Alicia's governance faced the threat of unraveling.

Patch, interjected with furrowed brows and a skeptical glance from his intact eye, "I was under the impression that the Shapeshifters had departed our planet, madame."

Alicia gestured assertively as she responded, "Many have, not her.” She turned to pace in another direction, her eyes shifting in continuous thought as she spoke. "I had already considered extending an invitation for her to join us. Now, there's no luxury of time to ponder further. She represents our immediate recourse." With her arms now dropping to her sides, her hands clenched into determined fists, Alicia’s eyes blazed with resolve. "As for locating Miles, rest assured we will find him," she proclaimed with a steely tone. "Even if our search means reducing our world to ashes."

Little did Miles’ comrades know that he was unconscious in the back of a postal van.

In a fortunate turn of events, telecommunications were swiftly restored in the vicinity of the recent bombing. Inhabitants of this affluent area had the financial means to ensure rapid resumption of services, and as a result, utility crews worked diligently to rectify the outage in under 20 minutes. The expeditious recovery allowed the Destructix to hastily reconvene and make their escape from the site of the explosion, slipping away before law enforcement could fully divert their attention from managing the immediate effects of the devastation.

In a calculated move to avoid drawing attention, Fiona opted for a less direct route than the rest of the gang as they drove back to their hideout. She was at the wheel of the high-performance sports car they had stolen earlier. In the passenger seat, Scourge was visibly annoyed, burdened with the task of holding the most wanted child in all of Moebius, who was making her discontent loudly known. Due to earlier incidents, he deemed it best that the Destructix didn’t attempt to handle her.

"I wanna fuckin' drive!" Toxic's high-pitched, petulant demand sliced through the interior of the car, her voice a discordant note that caused Scourge's ears to involuntarily flatten against his head in vexation.

Scourge's patience frayed, and with a harsh tone, he retorted, "And if you don't shut up, I'll want to knock all your baby teeth out." This threat prompted Toxic to issue a low, defiant growl, and with exaggerated pique, she crossed her arms and turned her gaze out the window, embodying the essence of childish rebellion.

Despite the animosity that he held towards his sister, recent developments were too significant to overlook. For starters, there was the fact that one of their rivals had been shot dead, which had subsequently resulted in the abduction of another. To top it all off, Scourge found himself in possession of an exceptionally sleek sports car. Admittedly, the vehicle had a shattered window—a souvenir from the circumstances of its acquisition—but he was confident that with a little bodywork and a fresh coat of paint, it would serve as a magnificent means of transportation. The cause of these victories were his sister's reckless escapade that had her tangling with the long arm of the law.

Her actions, albeit inadvertent, had proven to be of considerable advantage to them.

"Ay, Toxic… We need to talk about some things," Scourge reluctantly initiated the conversation, hesitant to give her credit for her aid.

"I thought you said shut up?" Toxic retorted, her tone laced with bitterness as she tightly crossed her arms over her chest.

Scourge let out an exasperated roll of his eyes, followed by a scoff, "Well, you can talk now, smartass."

"Can I drive?" Toxic inquired, a spark of curiosity lighting up her gaze as she considered the prospect.

"Not a chance, brat," Scourge dismissed the idea instantly. "Anyways, that's not what I'm trying to talk about. Look, you did some crazy-ass stuff today, and I was this close," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger millimeters apart, "to blowing your brains out. You could've landed us all back in the slammer," he added, his voice tinged with contempt. He paused to rub his face, as if the physical action could somehow help him process the day's events, "But, lucky for you, your antics actually played out in our favor. So, not only am I sparing your life, but I'm also offering you another shot to roll with our crew. We're talking about a legit life here. Away from that hellhole of an orphanage, living it up in the castle where everything we could ever want is just a snap away. But this comes with conditions: you do everything we say, you don't run off, you don't attack us, you don't mess with our stuff without permission, and you put an end to those tantrums of yours. Otherwise, you're nothing but fodder for the rats. Are we clear, kid?"

Toxic seemed to mull over his words, her initially rigid posture gradually easing, her ear twitching as if weighing each word. Scourge watched her with a raised eyebrow, his head tilted in anticipation of her response.

"Um… Does this mean you can help me?" Toxic eventually asked, her voice small as she twiddled a strand of her unkempt hair, avoiding eye contact.

Scourge blinked, taken aback. She was asking for help? It dawned on him that he had never really considered her needing anything beyond the apparent satisfaction she derived from antagonizing him and his cohorts.

"Uh… Depends," Scourge replied, his expression still betraying his confusion, "What do you need, Toxic?"

Her response was timid, her words imbued with a childlike simplicity, "My friends didn't come back..." Toxic admitted sheepishly, her gaze shifting away to the car window, evading the weight of their stares.

"Your friends?" Fiona chimed in, perplexed at the idea of her ever having friends.

"Hold on a second," Scourge interjected with a snap of his fingers, a lightbulb going off in his head, "Is that why you had four lanterns?"

Toxic nodded slowly, her long fingernail, encrusted with dirt, scraping against the door's upper panel as she gazed blankly into the distance.

"Uh..." Scourge exhaled, a notable tension in his breath as he grappled with the realization of her situation and scratched at the back of his head, pondering the implication of her words, "we… might have a way to find them." Scourge's voice was tentative, betraying a hint of reluctance before he directed his gaze to her, asking with a newfound sense of purpose, "Where were they last seen? What happened?"

She began to recount the events in a halting, childlike manner, "Um… ok so Revine told me not to do the slide because it was broken but it didn’t look broken and then I did it, but it um… broked. Then my mouth cut hurt really bad and I had a hot um… face." Toxic tapped her forehead, indicating a fever, her speech hampered by the limits of her youthful lexicon, "I didn't feel good and Revine went to go get um… the medicine… But she didn't come back. Ren and Selene were scared, and I felt badder, but..." She trailed off, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as she lowered her head, her gaze fixated on Scourge's shoes in the dim light of the car while she fidgeted with her hair, "Revine always said don't look for her if she doesn't come back, but they still went looking and they didn't come back either."

A heavy silence settled over the interior of the car as the gravity of Toxic's predicament sunk in. For the first time, Scourge felt a genuine pang of sympathy for his sister, his blue eyes softening as they made contact with her green ones, reflecting a vulnerability he hadn't noticed before. He was acutely aware that finding her friends would be no simple feat. In the best-case scenario, they had been apprehended and would be listed in police records, which could be accessed with ease if they managed to secure positions of influence. But if they weren't in custody, they could be kidnapped, dead, or lost among the countless homeless children wandering the neon-drenched labyrinth of the city's streets.

"Ok..." Scourge finally spoke, his voice lower, the earlier edge of command now replaced with a more contemplative tone as he averted his eyes from Toxic and stared ahead at the road, "Just stick to the rules, do what we say, and we'll help you look for them, understood?"

Toxic's nod was firm, and with newfound conviction, she affirmed, "Ok."

"You know, Toxic," Fiona interjected, taking control of the steering wheel as she navigated the vehicle, her eyes scanning the road ahead, "shooting seems to be in your blood. We could train you to handle a gun like a real sharpshooter. But remember, you only use a gun when we say so, got it?"

"Ok," Toxic responded, a glimmer of enthusiasm detectable in her voice as she contemplated the offer, "Can we get some food?"

"Yeah," Scourge agreed, pointing at Fiona with a sudden inspiration, "we should swing by that pizza joint we hit up earlier. We could grab a box and some beers to toast our little victory tonight."

"Amen to that," Fiona laughed.

"Wait, I want beer too," Toxic suddenly piped up, her request prompting a burst of laughter from Scourge and Fiona.

"Have you ever even tasted beer?" Scourge queried through his chuckles.

"No. I saw some people drinking it when we went out to find food. Revine said I'm too young for it, but are you saying I can have some?" Toxic asked, her thumbs fidgeting in anticipation.

Scourge was about to respond when Fiona interjected with a firm, "No!"

"Come on, she's earned it! It'd just be a taste," Scourge argued, still laughing at the thought of their youngest member joining in the revelry.

"Scourge, she's just a kid. Who knows what it might do to her? Plus, she’d definitely be a mean drunk," Fiona retorted, shaking her head at Scourge's lack of foresight.

The idea of a belligerent, inebriated child hurling insults at hardened criminals was too amusing for Scourge to resist. "Wait—Shit!" he gasped, struggling to stifle his laughter, "Alright, alright, just one little sip," he conceded, still chuckling.

"Just a splash, barely a taste," Fiona relented, joining in the mirth, "We're definitely going straight to hell for this."

As the laughter subsided, Scourge reassured Toxic, "We'll get you some soda too. Beer's an acquired taste, kid."

"What the hell does that mean?" Toxic asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

"You'll find out," Scourge said, glancing out the window just in time to see they were pulling up to the pizzeria.

Through the grimy car window, they could see the restaurant's television broadcasting the news, ablaze with coverage of the aftermath of a recent bombing, and now featuring the murder of Boomer Walrus.

"Damn..." Scourge muttered to himself, "Fiona, you grab the pizza. Toxic, you're staying in the car with me."

Fiona nodded tersely, understanding the gravity of the situation, and exited the vehicle to collect their order.

"Why do we have to stay in the car?" Toxic inquired, her fingernail resuming its path along the car door's leather panel.

"Because you've landed yourself in a shitload of trouble. We can't risk some bounty hunter spotting you and trying to cash in," Scourge explained with a weary sigh, his mind flashing back to past encounters with relentless headhunters who’d do anything for a reward.

When Fiona returned, laden with an extra large box of pizza and bottles of beer, they wasted no time in driving back to the orphanage. Upon arrival, they rearranged some scattered chairs into a circle in one of the building's larger rooms. They set a single chair in the center to serve as a makeshift table for the pizza box, which was now the focal point surrounded by the soft glow of the four lanterns. The dim light from the lanterns cast eerie shadows on the walls as they settled into their seats, ready to celebrate the tumultuous day's end.

"Where's Miles, by the way?" Fiona inquired casually, reaching for a slice of pizza and a beer from the makeshift table.

"We tied him to a chair in an old freezer down in the basement," Predator answered, popping open his beer and taking an eager gulp. His face contorted in disgust as he quickly pulled the bottle away, "This tastes like..."

"Like piss and batteries," Lightning finished, grimacing after taking a swig of his own.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Lightning-wing-sting?" Flying Frog teased with a jeering point, his laughter echoing in the room.

"Yeah, learned from the best—your mom," Lightning retorted with a smirk, eliciting a round of chuckles from the group.

"Hey! Watch it, pally!" Flying Frog shot back with mock offense, standing on his chair He then grinned widely, "Tell her I said thanks for dumping me when I was born," he joked before collapsing back into his chair amidst the group's laughter.

Scourge felt a gentle tap on his arm and looked down to see Toxic seeking his attention. "Can I have a beer now?" she asked with a hopeful look in her eyes.

"Hold up, everyone. Before we drink any more, I think we need to acknowledge our little wildcard here," Scourge declared, raising his bottle for attention despite the murmurs of disbelief from his gang. "If it weren't for her wild antics today, Boomer would still be alive and Miles wouldn't be in the freezer. So here's to Toxic," he proclaimed, nodding at Fiona who reluctantly opened a bottle for the youngster.

"Toxic," they echoed, albeit somewhat scattered, as they raised their bottles and took a drink. Toxic, in her innocence, tried to mimic the gesture but immediately spat out the beer, her face scrunching up in disgust, which sent another wave of laughter through the group.

"To be fair, this beer is pretty terrible," Simon admitted with the hint of a grin.

"We kicked ass guys, not win the lottery," Fiona added with a chuckle, handing over a bottle of orange soda to Toxic. "Here, try this instead, kid."

Grateful to rid her mouth of the bitter taste, Toxic eagerly guzzled the soda before hungrily diving into her slice of pizza.

The atmosphere within the dimly lit room was unusually relaxed and convivial as the evening progressed. The gang, typically bound by the commonality of their shared objectives and the threat of their enemies, found themselves unwinding in a rare display of camaraderie. It wasn't an occasion that required the profundity of deep, heart-to-heart discussions; rather, the air was filled with an undercurrent of joviality that was a welcome departure from their usual interactions.

Simon, Flying, Lightning, and Predator shared a history that spanned several years, their familiarity with one another evident in their effortless exchanges. For Scourge and Fiona, however, the dynamics were relatively new territory. Although past collaborations had occasionally thrown them together, it was only recently that they had committed to being full-time members of this gang. As such, their integration into the fold was still a work in progress, with trust and friendship being forged through shared experiences and battles.

Yet, as laughter filled the room and barriers began to dissolve, it seemed that the invisible walls that had separated them were crumbling. Even Toxic, the young girl who had been the object of their collective disdain earlier in the day, was now an integral part of the evening's festivities, her presence accepted, perhaps even appreciated, as they all found common ground in the simple pleasure of the moment.

As the night wore on, the effects of the alcohol became increasingly evident. Their inhibitions lowered, their speech slowed, and their movements took on a languid quality. Lightning, in particular, seemed to succumb to the introspective pull of inebriation. Holding an empty bottle with a loose grip, he lamented over a lost love with slurred words and a bitterness that could only be fueled by the sting of rejection. Bride of the Conquering Storm, the formidable leader of his former Raiju clan, had not only denied his affections but had also cast him out of said clan following his failure to display his worth in combat against her and Sonic.

Predator, observing Lightning's inebriated state, offered a dose of unsentimental advice. Hunched over in his chair, a bottle of his own hanging precariously from his fingers, he addressed Lightning with a weary sigh. "If she's such a bitch, forget her," he muttered.

"I c-“ Lightning's speech was abruptly cut off by a soft burp, his words trailing off. "I can’t. I wanted her more than anything, man… And then I get kicked out of my clan… Like what the fuck!?" His voice grew progressively louder, his words slurred as he spoke.

"Lightning, look around you," Predator grumbled, his grip tightening on the bottle as he gestured around them. "Sure, we’re in a dump of an orphanage, but no matter what, you’ve got us. Focus on that. What happened back then won’t happen again."

Lightning paused, attempting to process Predator’s words, but before he could, he was overcome by a wave of acute nausea, muttering a faint "fuck" before rushing out of the room to vomit.

Predator watched him go and then stared at the doorway through which he had fled for a moment or two. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, staring down at his feet in silence. After a heavy sigh, he placed the bottle on the floor, stood up, and slurred, "I’m gonna go to bed…" before storming away without another word, dragging his feet as he went.

"Looks like I’m getting some black coffee in the morning," Simon said, observing Flying Frog snoring in his chair with an empty beer bottle in his lap.

“Why?” Toxic asked, squishing her empty plastic soda bottle out of boredom.

"It helps when you get a hangover," Simon replied, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"What’s a hangover?" Toxic asked, wiggling her feet aimlessly before putting the tip of the bottle in her mouth and gnawing on it. She leaned back against the wall, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s when you drink a lot of beer or other types of alcohol and the next morning you feel sick,” Simon explained, getting up to pick up the empty bottles scattered around the room, the faint aroma of alcohol lingering in the air.

“Why do people do that?” she pondered with a grimace, unable to fathom the appeal of drinking something so vile. She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“For fun, I guess. Why do you ask so many questions?” Simon replied, taking her bottle and adding it to the trash he took to a nearby waste bin, the clinking of glass echoing in the quiet room.

“I dunno,” Toxic said with a shrug, her eyes following Simon as he moved around the room.

“Well,” Simon began with a stretch, “I’ll go to bed too. You should sleep too soon, you hear me?”

“I’m not tired,” Toxic protested, her gaze wandering around the room.

“Well, you will be soon. G’night, Toxic,” he said softly before leaving to go to bed, his steps fading into the distance.

Meanwhile, Scourge and Fiona were outside having one last cigarette before they went to bed, the night air cool against their skin.

“So…” Fiona exhaled, a cloud of smoke escaping her lips, “If we get Miles to talk, we get word on the castle’s security. Then… it’s almost straight shootin’ from there.”

“Hopefully,” Scourge added before inhaling deeply, the red ember of his cigarette glowing in the darkness, “but our plans have seemed to change a lot lately, so we gotta be prepared for anything.”

“We’re good at rolling with the punches though, ain’t we?” She said with a mischievous smirk as she held the cigarette between her fingers, turning her head to Scourge, nudging his side playfully with her elbow, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating their faces in the dim light.

“True,” Scourge admitted, his arm enveloping Fiona’s waist as they stood bathed in the gentle glow of the moonlight filtering through the night sky. He gazed into her eyes, the silver beams reflecting in her irises, creating a mesmerizing effect.

“Nowhere I’d rather be…” Fiona said softly, her voice carrying a hint of longing, as she closed the gap between their lips, embracing a fusion of love and the bitter tang of nicotine.

They savored the moment for a couple of minutes, their connection deepened by the intoxicating allure of both the chemicals and each other’s presence. Although unspoken, they both knew they needed one another. In a world consumed by chaos, they were each other’s anchor, the one constant they could rely on. As their lips hesitantly drifted apart, they extinguished their cigarettes, reentered the building, and headed off to bed, their silhouettes fading into the darkness.

Toxic was the last one awake at this point. She rubbed her eyes as she got up from her chair and turned three of the lanterns off, preserving their power as Revine had taught her to do before taking one to guide her to her designated mattress. With a quiet click, she turned off the lantern and settled onto her bed, a glimmer of hope kindling within her for the first time in almost two weeks.

As Scourge had mentioned earlier, they had to be prepared for anything.

Dr. Stellaria Versipelle eagerly accepted the opportunity to join the Suppression Squad. After conducting a thorough examination of Boomer’s lifeless form, she extended an invitation to Queen Alicia and Patch to demonstrate something she claimed would be incredibly useful to them.

“What can she show us?” Patch asked Alicia as they approached the lab, his voice tinged with curiosity and uncertainty. “Clearly the child shot and killed him.”

“We won’t know until we get there, now will we?” Alicia tersely replied as they entered the lab, the sterile scent of antiseptic hitting their nostrils as they were greeted by the doctor, who had taken the form of a tall navy blue Moebian fox, her presence exuding an air of professionalism and intrigue.

“Thank you for making time out of your schedule to come see me,” the doctor spoke formally with a grin, her hands folding in front of her as she stood before them. “I’ll make this quick and worth your while.”

“Well, what do you have to say?” Alicia inquired, her eyes fixed on the shrouded form of Boomer, a sense of urgency palpable in her voice.

“Firstly,” the doctor began, her steps purposeful as she paced around Boomer’s still figure, “I’ve come to the conclusion he didn’t die instantly. He struggled for a moment, gagging on his own blood long enough for me to be able to show you why you’re here.” She turned to an assistant standing nearby, her expression expectant. “If you could bring my subject in? And please do be gentle with her, she can be sensitive.”

As her assistant followed orders, Patch’s eyes furrowed in confusion, his unease growing palpable in the tense atmosphere of the lab.

“Erm… Subject, Miss?” Patch asked apprehensively, his gaze shifting between the doctor and the assistant, uncertainty etched on his features.

"Doctor," Stellaria corrected him, her blood orange eyes locking onto Patch’s with an icy intensity that sent a chill running down his spine, eliciting a disquieting chuckle from her. The air in the room seemed to grow colder as her gaze held him in place. "And, yes. I found her and have been working with her since she was a child. You see, she was born with certain abilities that make her quite unique. This includes but isn’t limited to telekinetic powers, the ability to create out of thin air, and, most relevantly at the moment, clairvoyance. With the ever-increasing rise in technological and scientific advancement, her abilities have been enhanced tenfold, resulting in quite a remarkable specimen if I do say so myself. Oh, and do call her McKenna."

At that moment, accompanied by the aforementioned assistant, a teenage red fox with frizzy, somewhat wavy hair entered the room, her locks partially obscuring half of her face. She wore a plain white t-shirt and matching white pants, with socks that had grips on the bottom, her posture rigid and her expression blank and unflinching. The only indication of her being anything near lifelike was the subtle movement of her fingertips as she twiddled them in random, strange patterns, her presence casting an otherworldly aura in the room.

“I’ve taken the liberty of collecting a blood sample from Boomer,” Stellaria added, holding up a small vial of blood, the crimson liquid swirling within the glass under the harsh laboratory lights. “Just enough for her to show us what we need to know. As I’ve said, her clairvoyance is vital right now. When she tastes his blood, she can get somewhat of a profile of his energy, as well as be able to see things from his perspective. More importantly, the circumstances of his death. If you will, my dear?”

Saying nothing and retaining a blank, unflinching expression, McKenna took the vial that Dr. Versipelle handed her and removed the cap. Closing her eyes, she raised it to her lips and drank the blood sample, the action causing a flicker of repulsion to cross the faces of Alicia and Patch. For a moment, she was completely still, the bottle held to her lips, looking as though she was the subject of a paused movie frame.

When she let out a loud gasp, she startled all but Stellaria, her frame tensing as she gripped the lower right side of her neck, the place where Boomer was shot, her distress unmistakable as she seemed to struggle to breathe, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second. After a moment, her jaw squirmed, and she emitted a deep, guttural voice that bore a striking resemblance to Boomer's as she shut her eyes tightly. “That little bitch shot me!”

“Who did!?” Alicia interjected demandingly, her voice cutting through the tense silence, her eyes locked onto McKenna.

“The fucking kid! Who do you think!? She’s with him! We should have known!” McKenna groaned and gasped, her voice still laced with pain as she retained the same tone, clutching her neck tightly. When she opened her eyes, it was revealed her pupils were glowing red.

"Who’s ‘him’?” Alicia stood closer to her, her eyes narrowed as she knelt in front of McKenna. She clenched her fists in determination as she demanded to know the answer.

“OUR OLD KING, GENIUS!” McKenna roared before coughing violently and falling to the ground, writhing as she struggled to breathe and clutch her throat.

Dr. Versipelle, unfazed by the display that shocked Patch and Alicia, calmly pressed a button on her watch. In response, electrodes surged through McKenna’s body, causing her to jolt and become limp, panting as she tried to steady her breathing. Stellaria knelt down to the girl who lay helpless on the ground and helped her stand.

“You’re ok. It’s just energy. You haven’t been hurt, my dear,” Stellaria reassured McKenna, who whimpered as she reciprocated the hug she was pulled into.

“Mother…” McKenna whispered, her accent and voice now dramatically different as it became higher pitched and wheezy. Furthermore, the red light was once again absent from her eyes.

“Shhh… follow him back to your room for now and rest, my dear,” Stellaria requested gently, to which McKenna and her lab assistant obliged.

Dr. Versipelle’s demeanor returned to its typical formal state with a hint of cockiness. “In case you’re wondering, the electrodes help ground her back to reality.”

With Alicia and Patch in a state of horror, Patch, with his hand over his mouth, murmured, “Scourge…”

"He’s back!? How!? Fuck!” She roared ferociously, her voice laced with anger and disbelief. “he’s been behind everything. We’ll find him! When we do, we’ll ensure he NEVER sees the light of day again!”

Stellaria chuckled at the outburst, finding grim amusement in the situation. “Oh, that much is clear,” she spoke, her grin growing wider as she observed the raw determination in Alicia’s eyes. “I hope to work with you further, your majesty.”

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