The dawn of a new day crawls over the mountains in the horizon as Tails absentmindedly pokes at the dying flame's embers with a stick, glancing at Ari putting on his jacket from the corner of his eye.

"Time to go?" he asks, redirecting his focus back to the firepit. Not wanting to be caught looking at him for reasons he doesn't understand.

"Good a time as any," Ari says from his peripherals.

Tails sighs. He knows Ari is already gone, he just doesn't exactly want to face it. Maybe that's why he can't bear to look right at him, he thinks to himself. "I wish I'd gotten to know you better."

"You knew me 'bout as good as anybody else," he says, stuffing his things into his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. "Better'n most."

"That's tragic." He looks at his own feet. Tosses the stick into the pile.

"You'd know all about that."

An audible gulp. "It's gonna be bad when I wake up, isn't it?"

"Bad as you make it."

"Ha. You're full of shit and you know it."

A laugh that's almost a sigh. "Yeah. Worse. Try not to let it take your future from ye, if ye can."

"If I have a future."

Pause. "If you have a future.."

"I don't know if I can make it without you, Ari. Not through this."

"Made it fine without me before."

"Your expectations of me are way too high," he says, burying his face in his palms. "I'm not as strong as you think I am. Everything's gone to shit and I can't hack it."

"Stronger than you think." A hand on his shoulder. "You aint never given yourself no credit."

"Is this even coming from you? You're dead. Patting myself on the back isn't getting me anywhere. Fuck." He drops his hands and looks straight ahead. The sky is brightening.

"If'n you's the one saying it, it'd be a bigger step than it would comin' from me."

"Fuck," Tails sighs, wondering if he'll feel this way or even remember it later. He won't.

"You'll make a fine woman someday," Ari says.

"Excuse me?" He looks up, tries to look at Ari but Ari is missing. Vanished without a trace. And that's when he notices the screaming and the gunfire echoing through the forest.


Lady parts


"He's opening his eyes, doctor," the high pitched rasp of the smaller figure notes.
Two silhouettes standing tall above him on either side and the brightest light he's ever seen. One bigger than the other.

"That's normal," the low growl of the larger shadow says. "I didn't anesthetize him."

Tails gurgles as he squirms, violently responding by thrashing against his restraints on the metal slab.

A sinister chuckle. "Is he in pain, doctor?"

"I imagine, yes. Very much so."

Tails is choking, heavy breaths escaping his throat carrying the hint of a whine, a stutter. "Ah~ ah~!"

"He's trying to say something, doctor."

"Ignore it. We've got work to do."

"Chances of him dying before we finish our work?"

"Slim. His vitals are good, everything in functioning order. He'll survive it, but it will be incredibly painful."

The silhouette of a very long and jagged knife between them, above him. His eyes roll into the back of his head.


Vultures circle above as the sun peeks over the horizon, slowly spreading light and warmth across the desert. Eyes weakly opening to the blurry encircling shadows of inevitability.
Not today.

Flashes of darkness, true darkness cutting into the creature's perception. The song of the void. Has it always been there, so clear?
Wheezing and smacking the fox tries to generate moisture in its mouth. A cough. Rolls over, hands to knees, knees to feet. Bones sore, skin taut at the seams. Stretching. Tearing.

Awareness of the physical pain, too distant to consider emotion. No time for weaknesses, fragility. Move forward. Body dragging itself, shambling like a reanimated corpse as it begins to understand once again how to walk.

Eyes dart around. Assess the surroundings. Blinding light slips through the cracks of the city, thinning the shadows, stretching them.
Gravitate towards the cliffside of the canyon on the opposite end, towards the great forest.

Stop. Somehow the truck is still on fire. Still burning. With Ari inside it? Tails ignores a deep sadness. Watches the smoldering wreckage disintegrate into nothing. Checks shoulder, follows strap. The shotgun.

Thumbs the release to the side, breaking the weapon open.
Two shells. Check.
Two shots.

Without thinking the barrels dig themselves into the creature's chin. Eyes tightly shutting.
Encouraging whispers from the void to cut things short.
Avoid more suffering.
Embrace the inevitable.

Sacrifice.
Sacrifice.
Sacrifice.

The hammers click back and a moment of silence. Finger on the trigger, an ounce more of pressure to obliterate the skull.
Finger on the guard.

The weapon lowers, resets. Drops to hip level, dangling. Sigh crashes through lips and clenched teeth.

Move forward.


His eyes trying to escape this field of vision. Cornea scraping against the metal clamps holding his eyelids open. He watches the robots harvest his friends. He screams. Louder.

Blunt metal tearing away fragile mobian flesh. Cracking through bone as though it were brittle and dry.

Your future, they told him.

Desperate, clawing for life.

The future, they told him.

He screams with his friends, watching them. Metal violently tearing through flesh, through organs, through bone. The screams.

Rising in pitch, his voice tears through his voice box, through his throat.

His words escape him. This isn't fair. He begs for help. Clawing against his own restraints. A god finds him and all is not well.


A fire crying out to the night as one had ever seen. The plucked strings of a slightly out of tune banjo over the soft cackling of the flames consuming the firewood slowly, quietly lure Tails into what he feels strongly for unknown reasons is a sanctuary.
The glow warm and inviting in the shadows of the trees. Dead leaves crunching under worn sneakers.

Tails sits down and watches this weasel as he pulls the brim of his hat downwards and leans closer, still picking away slowly, hauntingly at the instrument with his fingers. A glimmer off the one tooth that gives us a smile.

"Fang," he says, offering a quiet, familiar nod.

Tails eyes him critically. A soft rasp with a familiar flavor. "What are you?"

The weasel nods to the canteen at his feet, by the log he now sits on. "Why don't you take a drink? We know you're thirsty."

The hands snatch, fingers trembling subtly as they unscrew the cap. Nostrils flare above, widening and closing while sniffing the fluids in the canteen. A desperate laugh before a sip. Higher than it should be.
Desperate gulping. A satisfied sigh.

Coughing. Wheezing.

"What ARE you?"

"I'm not unlike yourself," the weasel laughs. "We are the chaotic element."

"Right," Tails laughs. "You are guidance and mystery. I've heard this story and don't very much care for it."

Fang's namesake glistens in the firelight as a sly grin spreads across his face. "What are you? Surely you've died."

"In a sense."

"Dying, maybe. A song for the void."
A flame of a different sort dances somewhere within those eyes underneath the brim of that hat. Hypnotizing, Tails would later note based on vague memories of this.

"Fang," Tails says quietly.

"Tails," the weasel replies, his attention back on the banjo in his hands. Irregular rhythm sends a chill up the spine. Tails shivers, pulls the comfort of the vest tight.

"How do you know my name?"

"You can hear it, can't you?"

"Hear what?"

"The void," he says. "It sings to us, doesn't it? Maybe more of a hum. One would think it recently awakened but it's always been here. We just weren't listening."

Tails doesn't say anything in response. Just stares into the fire between them.

"That god that took your loved ones from you. You wanna kill him?"

"He's no god," Tails says sternly.

"You sure about that?"

A solemn nod. "Dr. Ivo Robotnik is human. Human's not god. Human can be killed."

Fang snorts. "Robotnik? You mean Kintobor. The god of artificial life."

"You give that sack of shit way too much honor."

"And who taught you gods couldn't be killed?"

The silhouette of the fat man, distorted in the heart of the flame. That long, jagged knife.

"Mortals have become gods before. A mobian, banished to the void by the very one who stands to destroy you mentally and physically."

No words. Just emotion.


Eyes wide, bruised black dark circles outlining them.
Feet drag. Body propelling itself.

Operating on base instinct. Survival.

The voices whisper of their suffering. Unintelligible hushed shrieks telling stories of being torn apart at the soul. The spirits haunting the creature every step of the way, especially at the hanging tree.
Daunting lights of Knothole drawing Tails in.

A hysteric laugh dies in the throat of the collapsing fox.
A shamble to a sprint, a sprint to a shamble, a shamble to a crawl.

The desperate attempts of the fox to claw and drag the way home come to an abrupt and ironic end at the first glimpse of hope.
But the dragon noticed, as the dragon does.


"Is she okay?"

"Who is that?"

"It looks like Tails, but like. A girl."

"She's wearing Sally's vest. Maybe Tails saved her?"

"You think Tails found a girl fox with two tails and saved her and gave her Sally's vest?"

"Well it can't be Tails. Tails isn't a girl."


"I killed it, it's not too much to ask that you skin the fucking thing," she says, exhausted, dropping its hind legs as soon they reach the outskirts of the campsite.

"I dunno howwww," Fiona says, following suit with the front legs, its limp head lolling around limply until it lands akimbo on its side. "Besides, you're so good at it. You wouldn't want a botched skinjob."

"That's not-" Nicolette rubs her eyes in frustration, "exactly how it works."

"Exactly my point. YOU know how it works. YOU should skin it and cut it."

"Five minutes," Nicolette sighs as she removes the rifle from her shoulder and collapses against the trunk of the tree, pulling her hat down over her eyes. "I need a rest."

"Hurry up, Nic. I'm hungry."

"If you're hungry, skin it your damn self. I'm tired."

"Bitch."

Nicolette grins toothily - particularly toothily. Her fingers lovingly graze the rifle in her lap. She fondly remembers the shot she took at dinner. Poor fucker didn't know what hit him, and then he was dead. She knew it was a him because she could see its furry balls poking through the backside of its hind legs. "You love me."

"You know I do."

Nicolette is struck by a jolt of surprise just as she's dozing off by the weight of her partner's body sitting down on her legs, scooting up and pushing the rifle towards her body. Her eyes pop open as Fiona plucks the hat from the top of her head and put it on her own. She grabs the rifle from between them and obnoxiously poses with it.

"What are you-"

"Look at me," Fiona says with a deep voice, purposefully mocking Nicolette. She pretends to aim through the scope at the campfire, posing, her finger on the trigger and her head sliding back and forth.
"I'm Fang the sniper. Wobwobwobwobwob."

"Hey, idiot. Trigger discipline."

"Why? This thing's got a safety, right?"

"Safety's goddamn irrelevant. You keep your fucking finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot if you have a brain in your head."

"Oh, and you have a brain in your head?" Fiona scoffs, setting the rifle down next to them, leaning it against the side of the tree. She lifts the brim of her stolen hat and leans forward. "Why don't you show it to me?"

"You know stealing my hat is a punishable offense, yeah?"

"Mmmm," Fiona leans in closer, closing her eyes to kiss Nicolette softly. "You, punish me? What a laugh."

Nicolette kisses back and kisses her again, her hands almost timidly crawling to her knees, up her thighs and to her sides, pulling her gently but firmly in slightly closer, looking up at her.
Looking up at Fiona, she breathes out happily and she can't help but smile.

"You big dumb idiot," she laughs.

"Heyyy," Fiona says, nuzzling her softly, her eyes closed. "You love me, too."

"I suppose I do," Nic says, closing her eyes as well. "I suppose it's okay if you wear my hat."

They kiss again.


When Tails wakes up she still doesn't know she's a girl yet. What she does know, however, is that everything hurts.
Every muscle, every sore bone. Just opening her eyes sends shockwaves through her body, a warning against moving at all, but she fights it still to roll over onto her side.

A crippling reminder of her humanity as her arm shoots for the canteen on her nightstand before studying the weight distribution by shaking it.
It's relatively full. She scrambles with the cap, setting it on her nightstand and ravenously sucking the contents from the container. The grunts of a desperate animal as she drinks the water inside. Setting aside the canteen, she collapses back onto the bed and stairs at the straw ceiling. She tries to soften her breathing, because her body feels like it's a giant bruise as far as she's concerned.

When she closes her eyes again she can smell rotting flesh. Her eyes pop open again and she sucks it up as her body lights up in pain when she tosses the covers off her body and forces herself to get up, crying out in pain as she catches herself on her desk and chair near her bed.
A few deep breaths and she's convinced herself that it's not as painful as it is.

Noticing Sally's vest on the back of the chair she's supporting herself on, she awkwardly picks it up by the appropriate armhole and slides it onto her back. Transitioning her weight over to the other arm, she follows suit with the opposite side, whining in pain as she pulls her vest around her shoulder.
She looks down as she pulls it closed and her eyes widen in confusion. Breasts...?

Yelping, she ignores her pain as she rushes out the front door of her hut, leaving it ajar.
Twilight. The sky is grey, the dying light hanging over Knothole village almost like a fog. No sunset.

Sprinting past the fountain and down the trail to the pond. Onlookers stopping what they're doing to stare in confusion at the panicked fox as she speeds down the path. She reaches the ring pool, collapsing at the edge of it to catch a glimpse of her vague, rippling reflection.

A high pitched scream echoes throughout the village and the surrounding forest.


"You're not the first of the doctor's experiments. You think I was always like this?"

"No idea."

"I was born Nicolette. Nic. I thought it would be funny to change it to Nack, all things considering."

"Nicnack. I get it."

"I was always a sucker for wordplay."

"I was, too," Tails says distantly. "What are you haunted by?"

"Voices, mostly. The screams of the dead."

"The ones you've seen die are the loudest, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"One stand out?"

Nack's fist tightens and he stops playing for a moment - "yeah."

Tails doesn't ask for their name. She knows it's burned into the back of his eyelids. She knows there's no escaping it. She doesn't need anymore names, anymore ghosts.

"You're not the first to try and kill him, either," Fang says.

Her ears perk up and she looks over at him and he stops playing. Setting the guitar down on the ground and leaning it against the log he sits on.
Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he stares into the fire.

"The ones you love are with you," he says. "They're suffering, but they're with you."


There are four steps to firing a bolt-action sniper rifle once the magazine has been loaded.
Cock. Load. Lock. Fire.
Nack pulls the lever towards the sky, catching it with his palm and pulling it back - cocking the weapon.
He pushes the lever forwards, loading the round into the chamber.
Fingers quickly pull the lever down into place as his eyeball coordinates the trajectory of the bullet, steadying the weapon as he locks the rifle.

Drawing in a deep breath, he eyeballs his target, carefully adjusting the sight into focus.

"Kintobor," he breathes to himself. "You got fat you miserable piece of shit."

Wordlessly the weasel takes offense to the fucker laughing. Laughing. That worthless blight on this planet finding joy in anything is enough to make his skin crawl. The dot at the center of the scope centering in on his forehead. He holds his breath. He speaks, his eyes watering, he can't help it.

"Don't worry, Fiona. His death will be painful." Blinking the tears from his eyes, he readjusts carefully and squeezes the trigger, savoring every ounce of pressure against his pull.

The sky cracks and the bullet tears a hole in his throat. Four steps to firing the first round. Eight steps for the mechanism to fire the second one. Usually Fang the sniper only needed one shot, but he wants to make sure.
Unlock the mechanism by pulling the lever up. Extract the casing from the chamber by pulling it back towards him. The gun spits out the casing and the spring in the magazine feeds the weapon. The weapon is cocked, the cartridge is loaded, the mechanism is locked into place. Another round is fired as the mechanical god's head splits apart. Violently spilling oil and electrical sparks and currents that fill the air like flames ignite the fumes of gasoline.

There's a finality to the release of air Nack lets from his lungs - or maybe that air is taken from him. One can never be too sure.

A sentinel stumbles in the current, in the outskirts of the great forest of Mobius. This is the first time this has ever happened.