"Who are you?"

Eggman didn't like surprises, as a general rule.

He liked surprising people, preferably as a perfect prelude to getting his gloat on, but recent years especially, getting surprised usually meant that someone - usually a hedgehog - had showed up and broken his best toys, escaped certain death, or dug deep and used heroic resolve to come out on top against all odds. Or, for really surprising things, that he was going to have to work with that selfsame hedgehog to survive.

He certainly wasn't used to positive surprises.

He rubbed his bald chin, frowning at the smiling fox standing before him in his makeshift audience chamber with escalating discomfort that was nothing to do with his stylistic choice to sit on a throne built on top of a giant magical rock. No, the Master Emerald's hardness against his tush was just the price of professionalism. But the fox was just different enough to Tails at a glance to be disconcerting. And they just kept smiling, dangling the pink hedgehog behind them almost casually, blue eyes never blinking as they looked at him, heedless of the guns trained on them from all directions.

"I am observer unit Seven, Grandfather, designation Reason Robotnik."

Well, he didn't hate the alliteration.

"I don't even know where to start with that one." Eggman sneered, rolling the Chaos Emerald the fox had provided him between his gloved fingers. "You're the wrong species, for a start."

"Affirmative, Grandfather, I am a ninth generation clone of Miles Prower, manufactured on board Death Egg Mark Two. Lady Robotnik is my creator and tertiary genetic donor."

Eggman snapped his fingers, a drone slipped out of a compartment in his throne, buzzing as a green scanning beam swept over the fox. Data rapidly flashed across the lens of his glasses.

"So it's true." Eggman rubbed his chin again. "Except I don't have a daughter, fox girl."

"Affirmative, Grandfather. Lady Robotnik has not yet been been manufactured aboard Death Egg Mark Two, and has already expired. As the sole Robotnik in this time period I am at your command."

Ugh. Time travel. He hated time travel. And manufactured? Figured. Nobody appreciated his stunning physique or keen mind it seemed.

"Were you responsible for Tails' disappearance?"

"Negative, Grandfather. I was assigned to infiltration and passive observation of subject Sonic the Hedgehog in the absence of Miles Prower. Your order "Hand over the emerald with nobody getting hurt" has been completed. No operations are currently in place. Please assign further orders."

"Ugh…" The pink hedgehog stirred, gazing blearily about herself. "Tails… what- Eggman?!"

"Ah, excellent timing." Eggman steepled his fingers with a dark grin. "Unit Seven, kill her."

The fox blinked for the first time.

"Please confirm order, Grandfather."

"Grandfather? What?" Amy Rose wriggled against the fox's tails coiled around her. "Let me go! Tails!"

"Why are you hesitating? Do it now!"

"Confirmed, Grandfather. Terminating Unit Eight."

"Tails, ple-gk!" The pink hedgehog could do nothing as gloved hands slipped around her throat.

"Wait, unit eight?"

"Affirmative, grandfather." Reason loosened her grip, still smiling. The hedgehog gasped in a wheezing breath. "A neurological override chip was installed in this hedgehog during the invasion of Little Planet by Lady Robotnik to aid in future operations. Her support and assistance were vital to the success of my infiltration."

She pressed her hands once more to the hedgehog's throat.

Eggman frowned. This was usually the point that he was successfully calling the do-gooder's bluff, not watching a child strangle someone to death with a smile on their face.

"Stop."

"Affirmative, Grandfather." Reason released the hedgehog's throat. Her head lolled limply to one side. "Please assign further orders."

Eggman stared at her, frowning as that placid blue gaze stared at him. She... wasn't his style. This calm, emotionless killer…

"I'm too busy for this. I have a planet to conquer." He rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "Escort them to a cell, I'll deal with them later."

"Affirmative, Grandfather." Reason stiffened, then turned away.

"No! I mean you, too! Ugh. Eggpawns! Go!"

He shook his head with a sigh. Even his daughter would have trouble making decent minions, it seemed.


In all of history, sapient or otherwise, flight was one of the single most important achievements of any species since creatures first clambered out of the ancient seas to the land above.

Flight allowed a creature to reclaim the advantage of its watery forebears, to supplement a largely two dimensional existence with the third dimension once more. Simply being able to fly was such an advantage that it single-handedly redefined warfare, propelled species towards the top of the ecosystem, and permitted totally unique strategies to exist.

As Miles rode the back of a moth ten times his size and burning with as many different types of fire as he could stick to it, batting aside swarms of transforming bat-humans and flying orbs that turned into aviatic blenders the moment they came close, he was forced to conclude that this advantage was generally at its best when the airspace wasn't saturated with murder.

Then again… the shadowy corruption below crawled with mostly human horrors, insect-heads throwing flasks of burning acid, pig-heads with whirring chainsaws that roared futilely up at him, undead mutants with eyes or mechanical components, scraggly haired children crawling on all fours…

And scythe wielding horrors that were, if not ghosts, close enough to leave knots in his stomach.

Miles flicked his wrist, rapier leaving rainbow trails through the air as he sliced through the moth's wings and into a stabby ball, slicing cleanly through the metal exterior to leave it as so much burning confetti around him. He flew on, a bat that had the temerity to turn into a human in his path turning into scorched paste.

He couldn't stay out here. He hadn't noticed any obvious changes so far, but with the way the moon tracked the sun through the sky unlike any ordinary eclipse that meant that there was something grimly unnatural about this event, and that likely meant corruptive in some way or other.

A laser blast from a zombie with a giant eye for a head scorched from the earth below. Miles retaliated with the Whammer, swinging it directly into its "skull" to smash it to chunks before swooping low, rapier tearing through the crowds of monstrous humanoids with ease as he slipped into the comparative shelter of the catacombs entrance, dragging cubes of dirt from wall to wall in an instant makeshift barricade before stumbling in through the door, a scythe blade cleaved through both a moment later, ignoring such mundane physical barriers entirely. Miles cleaved the spectre asunder with a surprised yell.

Thankfully they lacked the unstoppable nature of his ghosts. He could rationalise them as some kind of specialised hologram or something. Still not a good sign. It might be safe from the moon's taint in here, but if anything bigger than these things could phase through the walls then he'd be a sitting-

A masked figure, previously unseen, slipped from the shadows, blade shrieking metal on metal through his armour. Miles screamed, tearing the knife from the human's grip as he twisted to bring his rapier up. Two flaming halves flopped to the floor and sizzled away.

That did it. Miles yanked the blade out with a grimace, dousing the wound with honey with now well-practised movements and headed for the stairs down into the depths once more.