Mystic Ruins, Tails' Workshop, 06:42

A rapid beeping rang in an area crowded with various tools. On the floor, a cerulean sheet spasmed. A two-tailed fox jerked his body up with wide eyes.

"Eggman, you've gone too far," he shouted with his fists balled in front of him. "Peanut butter and cucumber sandwiches go against every moral principal of science!"

A creaking further added to his state of hysteria. He turned to his right to see a metal shelf of various heavy, power tools falling towards him. His baggy eyes lacked the strength to form a proper expression of shock.

"Ah, nuts and bolts…"

With multiple loud, clanking noises, the shelf relentlessly assaulted the poor, lumpy cerulean sheet.

What we are presented with here with is not a typical morning in a day in the life of boy genius Miles Prower, better known as "Tails" by pretty much everyone, including himself. Normally, he would wake up from a refreshing slumber, construct a filling breakfast using the ground-breaking bread and knife method, and get started on whatever project he could busy himself with for the remainder of the day. Sometimes, he would do maintenance on his biplane, the Tornado. On other occasions, he would go on deadly adventures with his best friend. Routinely, they would be joined by the world renown Freedom Fighters.

But on this most humble of mornings, he found himself at the behest of fatigue garnered by a little under five hours of sleep.

The beeping noise continued to ring throughout the workshop.

"Awwwwww, shut up," he said with a bitter and baggy look. Afterwards, the beeping stopped. He slightly pushed the shelf up and slid out from underneath it. He stood up and blankly stared at the scattered tools.

I'll fix that later, he thought while hunched forward and scratching his back. Or, just invent something to do it for me. But right now, I'm gonna fix me some breakfast.

Beneath the mess of tools, a shattered picture frame caught his attention. With an irritated groan, he bent over and picked it up with one hand.

In the photo, there was a smiling blue hedgehog that gave Tails bunny ears. He remembered noticing but pretending not to. In the foreground was a bald man with blue shades and a red jacket angrily shaking his fist amid a pile of metal wreckage.

Tails weakly smiled.

We sure had a blast that day. Sonic always knows how to have a good time…OK, he leans a little close to the property damage end, but it's usually Eggman so it's all good. Usually.

He took the picture and tossed the broken frame aside. He walked to a counter and picked a red pin from a jar holding colorful pins. He then pinned the picture to a wooden cabinet above him.

Then he opened the cabinet and grabbed a box of cereal titled "Treasure-Chests." The cover had a bowl that showed several beige rings along with closeups of yellow factory produced marshmallow rings and colorful gemstones. Under the logo, a rather voluptuous bat in a skimpy, archeologist's garb was seen leaning forward with a sultry smile and a hand on her hip. Whether this influenced the developing young boy's choice of purchase cannot be confirmed.

Tails grabbed a bowl further down and filled it up with the cereal. Then, he placed the bowl into the microwave. He pressed the "2" button once and the "0" button twice and then pressed the "OK" button located near the bottom of it. With a dinging sound, the microwave spun its contents.

He stepped back and folded his arms. With a tired look, he extended his arms in front of him and looked at the back of his hands.

I've got to stop sleeping naked. It's weird. Comfortable, but weird.

He flipped his hands forward and looked at them for a few more seconds. Afterwards he dropped them and stared forward. He tried to fight the sensation of his eyes getting heavy but he gave in and slowly shut them. Darkness filled his vision.

His eyes then shot open and he abruptly smacked the microwave's open button with the side of his fist. The door flung forward. Steam protruded from the bowl. Upon closer inspection, it was filled with a series of indistinguishable black shapes.

At least this would make for a great conversation.

Tails reached for the bowl and pulled it out of the microwave. Immediately afterwards, he yelped and dropped it. Then it fell on his foot, which made him lift knee to his chest and hop backwards. Then he backed up onto the sharp end of a screw driver. Then by propelling his tails, he flew up. Then his head hit the ceiling and he fell on his butt. Then that part of the ceiling fell onto of his head.

"YOU KNOW WHAT," he said loudly. "I HAVE HAD IT WITH TODAY, I HAVE HAD IT WITH TODAY'S MOTHER, I HAVE HAD IT WITH THAT SEXY DOLLAR STORE CEREAL. SCREW THIS!"

The angry young genius stomped over to his buried sheets and yanked them out from underneath the rubble. He picked up his pillow and walked to a corner on the far-right side of the room.

It's too early for these shenanigans. It's usually around 10:30 when I partake in any humorous and hazardous activities anyway.

He threw his pillow into the corner and then sat down. While holding onto the edge of the sheet, he whipped it into the air so that it would cover his entire body. He turned his head to the side and placed in onto the pillow. With a very angry expression, he closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible to himself. He then sighed.

Stupid alarm clock…I don't even remember what was soooo important that I had to wake up at…

Tails opened his eyes and stared at the analogue clock hung up close to the ceiling. The time read 6:46. Confused, he squinted his baggy eyes.

Wait a minute. Something's…off…It's only been 3 minutes and 48 seconds. And normally, I'd set the alarm either at the start of or halfway into the hour. There's no way that I've been awake for 17 minutes.

Tails slowly sat up and his eyes shifted around the room.

In fact, now that I think about it, I came home and fell right asleep. I didn't even eat anything. Even if I wanted to, I never got the chance to set an alarm. I'd have rather gotten my full eight hours so I could challenge the day with adequate energy levels.

After a few more seconds of pondering, Tails bloodshot eyes shot wide open.

If that wasn't the alarm, then it was—!

BTOOOOSH!

Before he could finish his thought, a loud explosion accompanied with the vibration of his workshop cut him off. Every article of glass in the room shattered. Tails bounced off the ground and instinctively placed a hand on the floor to stop himself from falling over. His already tired heart beating profusely.

The intruder alert!

"Securi…!" he said, but then stopped.

All the windows are broken. I don't want to let them know that I'm here. But who…?

"Sweet dreams are made of beeeeansssss," a youthful voice said in a melodic tone. "Who am I to disaaaagreeee?"

"It's 'are made of these'," said an exasperated man with Australian accent. "It's 'Sweet dreams are made of these.' Everyone knows that."

"W-what?! You mean this entire time, everything I've known up to this point has been nothing but a cleverly constructed lie?! Up is down?! Black is white?! The class system is a necessary evil to promote social order?!"

"Not even remotely close to what I said."

"Oh…"

There was a period of silence before the youthful voice continued.

"Sweet dreams are made of beeeeanssss…"

"Arghhh…Yo, fox boy!" Tails slightly jumped at that moniker. "We know you're in there! We're going on a tour and we think you'd make for a nice groupie! So, come on out nice and peaceful like and this can end on a high note!"

"But...we're not a band."

"It was a bloody metaphor."

"But I wonder what our name would be? 'Bean and the Mean Machines'? 'Bean Heartthrobs'? 'Sweet Beans'? Guys, you try coming up with some. This is a great mental exercise."

"You need a mental exorcism."

"Not what I said, and I'm pretty sure if I were possessed, I'd know." Bean then gasped. "Okay, rate these lyrics. 'Young Bean the Dynamite, he was just fourteen. When his parents built a very strange machine…"

Tails' already out of control heart skipped a beat.

I'd recognize that nonsensical line of thought anywhere. That's Bean the Dynamite…And the other one is Fang the Sniper. And even if he doesn't talk, I can only assume that Bark the Polar Bear is there, silently smiling besides himself…

Tails placed a hand over his mouth.

The Hooligans have arrived. I don't know what they want but I doubt it's any good. And whatever it is…

Tails' eyes narrowed. A cold sweat poured down the side of his head, dampening his fur.

It'll stop me from getting a full eight hours of sleep…

For a time, his thoughts ceased altogether. He was paralyzed. Completely immobile by the anticipation of the foreboding consequences pertaining to these circumstances. He felt a lump in his throat, causing discomfort that made him grit his teeth. He felt his cheeks flushing. A flood of tears attempted to force their way out.

But they never came.

Instead, the young boy swallowed. Then his brow scrunched together. A strength not seen yet that day appeared in his eyes. A scowl covered his face. He slowly stood up and clenched his fists.

These fiends must be stopped.

"You're awfully quiet," Fang said. "S'matter? No need t'be shy. You're in good company."

"I mean," Bean said. "I did kind throw a bomb onto his lawn, so he's understandably resistant."

"Have you never done a kidnapping before in your life?"

"Even though that's not something just ask, yes, I've taken naps at various points across my life regardless of my age."

"Shut up."

"Maybe he's doing a number two?"

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. Ain't no bomb in the world shiny enough to stop me from making a brown boom. Well, let me not talk crazy…"

"Bean."

"Fang."

Tails continued to contemplate.

The defense turrets were probably all destroyed in that explosion. Fang said they know I'm here, so either they've investigated my house and/or lab in Emerald City or they're just bluffing. Even if they are thieves, I can't exactly fault them for being liars. At least when it comes to breaking and entering...Regardless, the moment they come through that door, it's all over.

He bit his lip and stared at the floor.

It'll blow my cover, but I better put up the barrier. They can try all thy might but they won't be able to destroy my shock resistant shield unless they can muster an equal or greater amount of energy provided by the fake Emerald in the generator downstairs. And since it uses a feedback loop that essentially reuses a preset amount of Chaos Energy, it'll take a while before they can even put a scratch on it. Not that it'd stop them from trying anyway. They've got nothing better to do.

That should give me ample time to call for back up. Three on one seems a little out of my range, at least with their combined level of competence. But having Sonic here should turn the tides. I don't know how they found out where I live, but I'll worry about that later.

"Barrier on," he said.

A sound like fire being lit came from outside. A green light faintly shone on the inside of the workshop from a shattered windowpane high up.

Tails' turned his attention to the pile of power tools on the floor. He flew over to it and shifted his hands between them until he found an orange wrist watch like device.

I've gotta make a less itchy communicator. Sleeping with this thing on would save a lot of time.

He pressed a button on the side of it and a blue screen lit up.

"Call: Sonic."

A smiling mugshot of Sonic appeared on the screen. A second later, a picture of Tails appeared adjacent to it with an orange wi-fi signal pointing to it. Each bar became a brighter shade until it reached the third one, diming back down and repeating the cycle. This lasted for about two seconds. The wi-fi bar turned into a white cartoon thumbs up. A blue line appeared beneath both of their pictures. This would indicate the level of sound coming from the receiving end.

However, the screen abruptly went dark. In confusion, Tails raised an eyebrow.

Okay, I know for a fact that I changed the batteries on this thing.

He pressed down hard on the power button for a few seconds, but it changed nothing.

What sounded like the whirring of a machine powering down reached his ears. Tails turned head to the source of the noise, the top windowpane. The green light slowly faded.

What…?

"Neat little trick, right?" Fang said playfully. "We thought you might use your little nick knacks, so we brought one of our own. An Electric Magnetic Pulse grenade. I'm not a bomb nut like this looney toon here but even I'm starting to fall for this thing. She's a real beaut'. You should come on out and see for yourself. I'm sure you'd appreciate it a lot more than I ever could."

Tails bit down hard on his lip and squeezed on the side of his head. His brow bent awkwardly and it felt like a swarm of spiders were crawling on the inside of his heart.

An EMP?! Where did they get an EMP from?!

He exhaled. His expression then softened a bit.

Calm down. That's not important. Right now, I need to focus on the situation at hand. Plan A failed, so it's time for Plan B. Question is…where do I start?

With an inquisitive look, Tails placed his index finger and thumb under his chin.

I should address the greatest threat and work my way backwards. That'll increase the chances of my safety and only get easier from there. Worse case, they'll come in and assault me. I want to avoid a three on one battle. Aside from their combined skill level, I don't have enough energy to last a straight forward fight between them.

Suddenly, Tails raised an eyebrow.

But maybe I don't have to? If they wanted to rob or even kill me, they would have barged in by now. They've shown my defense systems are no match for them and they're also highly competent thieves. Overpowering me would be the easiest thing to do, but Fang seems to be leaning towards avoiding a direct confrontation. He wants me to come out without having to come in.

Based off that, they must see value in keeping me alive but also see value in maintaining the sanctity of my workshop.

Approximately 12.14 seconds passed since Fang spoke.

Me and my workshop. Those are the two key factors here. The value from me is my mind; my knowledge, which also fuels my ability to create. The value from my workshop are my inventions. But it doesn't matter where I am. If I have the right tools and resources, I can build whatever I want.

If they don't want my lab to be damaged, then there must be something else of value here. The Tornado seems out of the question since they've got a mode of transportation, one that Fang highly values, and they can just steal a plane if they want. They want me for my mind and they want my workshop because it's useful. The combination of those two directly leads to their objective. And what do you get when you put a genius in his workshop?

They must want me to invent something. And either they don't know where to acquire the necessary resources or they lack the means to create it. But they're betting on the chance that I do.

"If you're actually taking a dump," Fang said. "That's another thing. A deuce a day keeps the doctor away. We'll gladly wait a while. Besides, I don't want to be anywhere near that mess."

"If you're pooping," Bean said with his hands cupped around his bill. "Fart once for yes. Twice for no."

If they do enter, they're going to avoid a fight. They'd try to intimidate me to do their bidding with their strength in numbers. All the windows face the exit so escape's not an option. The garage door is electric powered and too noisy and slow anyway, never mind that it'd only take one of them to stop me from leaving through there. And the Tornado's combat functions are all electrically powered, so I can't just blow the door and fly away, also dangerous in my condition. It'll only be a matter of time before they decide to barge in.

I can't call for back up and now my electronic powered weapons don't work. Hiding is pointless since this place is so small that they'd eventually find me if they tried hard enough. There's nothing I can do to avoid a direct confrontation.

Tails tightly squeezed the muscles in his arms.

Then that's exactly what I'll give them.

Between Fang, Bean, and Bark, the biggest threat is Bean. It goes without saying that bombs and an eight-year old's body don't make great dance partners. He can seemingly produce an infinite number of bombs. Although I'm not entirely sure how many he can make at once, he can cover the greatest distance of destruction. The only weaknesses in his attacks are the fact that they don't explode instantly and that he's not immune to them. Even if I'm kind of pooped, I should be fast enough to avoid them.

Not that it matters. If the fight takes place inside, he won't even bother with them, if not to avoid blowing up the lab then to avoid blowing up his partners. And his hand to hand is…looney to say the least but he's nothing I can't handle. Since he'd be at the biggest disadvantage indoors, he'd probably be blocking the exit to keep me from escaping when they aren't looking.

Bark is another story entirely. He's a very strong, seasoned boxer. He's probably been doing that longer than I've been alive. A straightforward fight with him in my current condition will end badly. The only thing I can use against him is his size. I'll have to keep him at a distance. But then we have another problem.

Fang's quicker with a handgun than anything I've ever seen. He even forces Sonic to get a little creative sometimes, and I'm nowhere near his top speed or agility. A direct shot from a bullet won't kill me but enough of them would knock me out. His hand to hand's not too bad either.

They've got each other's weaknesses covered and I'm in a terrible state to fight.

Tails looked around his workshop. Beneath the various tools, a blow torch and a nail gun caught his attention. He flew over to them and grabbed them. He then walked over to his sneakers placed near the door.

He covered his mouth with the inside of his elbow and yawned.

If I'm gonna act, I better do it fast.

Fang the Sniper stood and his arms folded. A revolver hung from the underneath his left side. He had on a scowl. On his left, Bean spun a black, canon ball like bomb on his finger. On his right, Bark stood stoically with his arms folded as well, his muzzle hidden under a green scarf.

"Alright," Fang said. "We're going in."

Bean stopped twirling the bomb on his finger and it dropped to the ground. He stared at his leader with a cautious look.

"But," he said. "I thought you wanted to avoid the heinous stench of a prepubescent's bowl movements."

"Don't care anymore. We've been out here long enough and I'm missing my soaps. Go up top and stand by. Bark, with me."

"Rodger dodger, codger."

Bark nodded. He and Bean walked to the stairs leading to the front door. After Bark lowered his right arm to the ground, Bean stepped on his palm. Bark whipped his arm up, launching the green duck a few meters above the roof of the workshop. With a light thud, he landed right on a round part of the roof with a series of broken windows.

Fang lowered his gun and swiftly tip toed up the stairs. He pressed his back against the left side of the door. Bark did the same on the right and put his fists up.

"Last chance, fox boy," Fang shouted. "Three seconds then we're coming in."

Holding up his three middle fingers at Bark, Fang lowered each finger with a passing second starting with his ring finger. After his hand was balled up, he released it and chopped the space in front of him. Bark rotated parallel to the door, swung his right arm back, and propelled it forward. With a loud crash, the door was knocked down. He paced in a few feet with his hands up towards the right with Fang following, aiming his gun to the left.

The two surveyed the room for a few seconds, staring at every corner within their field of vision. Directly in front of them was a series of cabinets connected to the ceiling, a counter, a sink, more cabinets under the sink, and a fridge. On Bark's right, a fallen shelf with various tools and nails lied about. Nothing of importance was in Fang's direction aside from a table covered by a cerulean cover and few feet of empty space.

"Don't make this harder on yourself. We just came her for a little negotiation. We don't want no trouble and if you help us, we'll be on our merry little way." He turned his head to Bark's direction and whispered. "Check the fridge and the shelves. Little bugger looks tiny enough to fit in any of them."

With his fists still held up in front of him, Bark swiftly tip toed to the fridge. Fang aimed his gun at his back. Bark stopped and the entrance and lightly gripped the handle with his right hand. He stepped to the side to put the door within shooting range and held out his left arm in an L shape towards Fang. After two seconds, he quickly swung it down and stepped to the side, yanking the door open.

A plastic bag holding sliced blueberry bread, orange juice, butter, cheese, milk, a carton of eggs, lettuce, cupped ramen noodles, a ¾ filled bottle of ketchup, and two bagels. These were the contents of the refrigerator. However, there was a distinct lack of prepubescent two-tailed fox within the premises.

"Little bugger likes to eat healthy, I see," Fang noted out loud. "We should take some cues, Bean."

"You cannot defeat my feelings for genetically modified canned assortments," spat out Bean.

Bark rolled his eyes and lightly shut the fridge door. He walked over to the cabinets on his left. He slowly brought his hands to the top shelves at the farthest right corner. As his hands neared the round handles, he quickly extended them and yanked open the doors. His eyes widened.

All he saw was a red tool box and box of cereal with a picture of a scantily dressed archeologist bat girl. He stepped to the left and put his hands to the next shelf.

Being an expert marksman comes with many implications about one's visual abilities. One being that they are excellent when it comes to paying attention to even the finest of details. The other is that they almost never miss something they set their sights on. Even on their own, either would seem like highly desirable skills. However, the addition of a fast processing mind would turn the possessor of said skills into a whole other monster.

Fang is such person. One could call him a genius in the sense that he possessed a highly refined competence, that being his very precise aim. To illustrate his feats, he once shot a hole through a leaf from over seventy yards away. This was with the addition of several obstacles including a tire wheel, glass bottles, and a child playing with arsenics.

This was also done in .35 of a second. More specifically, he pulled out his revolver and took precise aim in slightly over 1/3 of a second. He did it five more times, bolstering through the center of all the glass bottles lined up and the apple of the aforementioned arsenic loving boy's head. Additionally, he is capable of fully reloading his revolver manually, that is placing a bullet in the six round-chamber by hand, in approximately 1.236 seconds on average.

The mental faculties required to achieve these feats would place Fang among one of the, technically, most intelligent people on the planet. Intelligence is, after all, the ability to acquire and apply knowledge and skills. This would also apply to the breadth which you can apply said knowledge and skills. It is also worth noting that Fang is self-taught.

Among other factors, a genius is characterized by a fast processing mind, which is known as smarts. That in and of itself does not signify notable intelligence as fast processing can be achieved by simply thinking several shallow thoughts in succession, which impressive, is something any idiot can and will do. What separates the smart and the dumb however is the speed at which one can process information. In other words, being smart is akin to being able to fire an automatic machine gun with precise aim with little to no margin of error. Simply being able to fire a bunch of bullets at once is not only not impressive but can also likely get you killed if you're not attentive over your surroundings.

It is simply not enough to have ammunition, nor does it matter if you have it in abundance. A million bullets that miss are infinitely inferior to one that hit its target. The ultimate form of a genius is one who possess a keen aptitude for intelligence and smartness.

However, there exists many types of bullets in this world. Ergo, there are also abundance of guns as well. Life may be a singular term, but it encapsulates a plethora of experiences available to one's senses. It is a one that carries all.

But all for one is not necessarily the same thing as one for all.

Capturing several branches of information while calculating numerous possibilities, Fang's eyes scour one side of the workshop in seconds.

Characteristic of genius is the ability to filter out unnecessary information from the environment. In and of itself, it is no trial feat. Concentration is a necessary component of life. What is more important however is the degree to which one can harness that concentration. The mind can only process so much at any given time, so it would stand to say that the more intelligent are better able to extract information regardless of their surroundings.

While the environment may contain many occurrences, simply put, not everything you see has relevance. From an objective view point, it is inaccurate to assume that every bit of information readily available has importance. This is further evident by perception, which is by definition what one can perceive using their senses.

Senses are limited. By design, life is only allowed a certain vestige to their surroundings. To gain more, you must search more. However, that does not change the fact that it is simply better to be wise with what is available to you.

Intelligence is the torch that allows you to walk through a dark chasm. With time, the torch will eventually die out. Higher intelligence is the ability to determine the best of benefits within the shortest amount of time. Genius is being able to do it with a lack of effort.

Omnipotence is doing so without the need of a torch, but that is another topic.

By design, we are not omnipotent. By design, we need a light to function through the darkness. One might carry a powerful torch, but no one carries a torch powerful enough to light the entire labyrinth.

Without really thinking too deeply, something caught Fang's attention in .23 seconds. Fang had encountered Tails in various altercations. With his attention to detail and functioning memory, he should be able to recognize what the young boy looks like down to the slightest detail. The amount of strands on his forehead, the number of whiskers on his mouth.

The rounded shape of the tip of his sneakers.

From a distance, Fang held his gun with both hands at the cerulean sheet. A cold and calculating grimace appeared across his face.

Kid's about two eight. The only way he could fully fit under that table was if he was slightly crouched down. I can't tell what his position is with what I see. If I could visualize what it was, I could just hit him in a spot that won't hurt him enough to not be able to work but I don't want to waste bullets. I could fire a warning shot to lure him out, but that'd be meaningless.

The point is to scare him into doing what we want. Little bugger's already frightened, hence why he's gone into hiding in the first place. No need to overkill. Just lure him out with that ol' sharp with of yours.

"Nice hiding spot, kid," Fang said sarcastically with a smile. "But the jig is up. You can come on out now."

A few second passed. Bark continued to open and close cabinets as Fang blankly stared at the sheet.

"Come on, at this point it's just embarrassing. I can see the bloody tip of your shoe. You're surrounded and your gadgets don't work. None of your bosom buddies are coming to save you and this isn't your last stand. Don't romanticize your rebellion for the sake of it. You'll cut yourself on that edge."

More time passed. Bark looked aside after closing another cabinet. He looked forward and moved over to the left to continue.

"Maybe he's shy," Bean shouted.

Fang slowly squinted.

"Not buying it…" he said almost to himself.

With loud footsteps, he walked over to the cerulean sheet. He reached out with his left hand and left his revolver pointed away from himself. He forcefully yanked off the cover. The sound of it flapping through the air was heard.

"Aha!"

Fang stared at the table. Bark's head turned and his eyes narrowed.

Sitting atop it was a tool box filled with a wrench, a power drill, and a screw driver. Underneath was just a pair of white sneakers with red heels.

Bark's gaze widened. He quickly turned his head back around and yanked open the final top cabinet. Nothing but plates were seen. He quickly arched his head to the cabinet directly below him. He squatted and pulled it open so hard that he ripped the door off. The hinges and the screws connecting them flew off in different directions.

BANG!

Almost immediately afterwards, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his right knee. His eyes narrowed as he stumbled backwards. As he reached for his injured leg, his right eye focused shifted to the source of his pain.

A two-tailed fox holding a nail gun somersaulted out of the far-right hand cabinet.

The moment he heard the Bark open the cabinet, Fang swung his body around. His gun was already aimed forward.

Got you. The cover was obviously a trap taken out of every action movie ever. You had to be in one of those cabinets. You knew that Bark would be the one to search them by hand since he's unarmed. Bark's got strength, size, and hand-to-hand over you. As a search dog, Bean simply isn't as effective. He's the most logical choice for lookout. If you tried to brush past him, you'd be shot down as I noticed you.

Plus, in the off chance you did escape, you know he'd send a field of bombs your way. The only exits here face the front yard, keeping you in all our sights. Even if you slipped passed any one of us, you would at the very least be spotted by another.

Since I have a ranged weapon, it'd be best if I searched for signs of you from a distance while supporting Bark in case he found you and only acting independently once I confirmed your location. You could tell which one of us was closer and where we were judging by the vibrations of our footsteps and the sounds of our voices. I knew where you were general location was the moment I saw your sneakers, but if you heard me approaching you would have moved to where Bark was to avoid getting shot.

I just wish I would have spotted those bloody clown shoes sooner, but oh well. No one's perfect.

From the sound of it, you hopped out of the far-right cabinet. That should put you right about…

Fang quickly brought his left hand on top of his revolver. His gun was already pointed in Tails' general direction. Taking proper aim was only a few fractions of a second away. He set his sights forward and adjusted his body to meet the requirements for his precise shooting.

However, all he saw was Bark's large backside.

"Bark," Fang shouted with an angry look. "Outta the way!"

Upon command, Bark sluggishly hopped to the side using his functional leg. However, the space of the cabinet close to the fridge was empty.

Bloody hell, he jumped with him!

Tails swung up the nail gun and aimed it at Bark's face. The husky polar bear brought his arms up and lowered his chin. Five rounds of nails bounced off his forearms, hitting the walls, sink, and cabinets on either side. A stray nail grazed Tails' right cheek just under his eye, whipping his head to the side and causing him to stumble back. A surge of electricity fired up within Bark's brain, opening the many possibilities that became available to him in that moment.

Out of all of them, he chose to extend his left leg, drilling into the ground with the ball of his foot. Proper punching form would mandate that one put weight into both legs to maximize the flow of power into one's fist. However, straining his injured leg would only make him stumble, leaving him stunned long enough for a counter attack. To compensate, he simply raised his right leg into the air. It wouldn't be as powerful, but this method allowed him to attack quickly enough to avoid being hit and give Fang enough time to close in and immobilize Tails.

Assuming the punch didn't immediately knock out the eight-year-old boy, that is.

Bark cocked his left side back and twisted it forward. With a devastating spring like motion, his arm rocketed towards Tails' chin.

A dull noise of flesh being pounded rang about.

Tails' head flew backwards. His sight became nothing but a colorful blur.

He barely had any time to process what happened.

Bark's fist shot through the air. His eyes widened for a moment.

Still traveling forward, Bark lowered his head. Time seemed to slow down.

He saw the baggy eyed grimace of a tired boy leaning above the floor. Using his left tail, Tails managed to avoid being struck by swinging his body backwards and stopping himself before hitting the floor. In the same motion, he swung his other tail against the second cabinet door. He whipped his body to the left, bending his right leg backwards and clenching all his muscles.

Bark's massive frame was launched diagonally by a devastating side kick to his ribs.

With his weight already poured into his foot, Fang's eyes widened.

Oh FU—

"Urk?!"

A white flashed filled his vision.

With a cracking noise, a dense, pale yellow elbow sunk into his nose. Bark's body crashed into table, the back of his head being bashed into the tool box, slamming Fang's back against the wall and pinning down. His thoughts scattered, his concentration shattered.

"Wuh-oh," Bean said to himself from the roof. He kicked passed some remaining shards of glass from the broken window and slid inside. With a thud, he landed about two feet behind Tails. The young fox's brow scrunched in a frustrated surprise. He began to swing his body back, his head only catching a glimpse of the green duck. By that point, Bean had already pressed his left foot into the floor and pressed off his left. From a low angle, he fluidly carried his bent right arm to Tails' face.

With a surprisingly flawless form and an eerie smirk, Bean positioned himself to deliver an uppercut.

The sound of air being sliced filled the area. Then the smacking of flesh immediately followed.

This time, Tails could not avoid being hit. He grunted as he stumbled to the right.

"Urgh!"

He was, however, able to turn his body fast enough to whip his tails across Bean's abdomen. Like a child throwing a rubber ball, Bean's body effortlessly flew backwards and crashed into the wall. He then slid to the floor.

Bean gripped the wall with an unsteady left hand to lift himself up. He looked forward with his right eye barely open. He could barely make out Tails regained aiming his nail gun at his face. His eye widened.

Three bangs.

Three nails pinned Bean to wall by his red handkerchief.

Tails swung his body around and started running towards the immobilized Bark. Fang managed to lift the polar bear's heavy arm with his right wrist and left hand. But Tails already had his nail gun pointed aimed at him.

Then something else caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. There was a factor that had no place in this battle. In fact, it was very specifically mentioned that it was not allowed to take form in the fight unless it escalated up to a certain point. Otherwise, it would defeat the purpose of the entire operation.

A black canon ball with a small, lit fuse on top was airborne a few feet behind Tails.

"Bean," Fang quickly shouted. "Not indoors!"

With a not so embarrassed look, Bean scratched his chin with his right index finger.

"Uh," he said. "Whoops…"

Tails then dived to the ground and reached for his back with his left hand.

The lit bomb was headed right towards Bark and Fang, the former who was still recovering from being disorientated. It was only about four feet away from them. An incredible strength shot through Fang's left arm along with a surge of circulation. He lifted Bark's arm.

That thing explodes on rough contact!

With a nervous look and an awkward position, he took steady aim at bomb heading his way.

BANG!

Fang's arm shot up due to recoil. As a result, Bark's arm slipped from his grasp and blocked half his vision.

A bullet shot through the air and hit a spot a foot above Bean's head. In the process, it snuffed out the fuse.

Then the bomb stopped moving midflight.

Confused, Fang raised an eyebrow. He poured his entire upper body strength into both arms to lift Bark's thick forearm.

He only caught the last few seconds of it.

The young genius known as Miles "Tails" Prower smiled pridefully at him. It portrayed the kind of pride one displayed when they had the odds totally worked out in their favor.

As he laid on his stomach, he held the bomb above his head between his two tails. From his left hand, something was pointing at it. Fang traced his sight across his skinny, orange arm.

A small, blue flame shot out. The sound of a fuse shortening soon followed.

Tsssssssssssssss…

Fang's pupils shrunk. He felt sweat pouring down his snout and the sides of his head.

Get real!

Even so, he held his revolver forward. But by the time he did so, the bomb was already tossed out of sight. Tails had intentionally flung it at Bark, whose body blocked off a majority of Fang's sight from the left.

With savage strength fueled by adrenaline and a smidgen of professionalism, Fang elbowed Bark in the ribs, shifting his upper body to the side. The bomb was again in his sight. More importantly, the fuse was still long enough for him to hit. It was even closer to him than it was before. Despite his fear, he shifted his body to the right and swung his arm.

He fired his gun. The bullet struck the round top of the sink.

Bloody hell…you've gotta be pulling my flippin' tail…

But he missed.

Sweat had poured into his left eye and startled him. This caused him to shift his body at the last second. His most refined aim was disbalanced because of a minor adjustment.

Out of the corner of his open eye, he looked at Tails once again. That smug smile sunk deep into his persona.

Un-flippin-real. There's no way he could have known that'd happen. It had to be dumb luck…

No.

"?!"

Fang swung his head around. He was surrounded by an endless pitch black. Suddenly, a large, fox head with glowing red eyes appeared.

"It's simple," he said with a smug smirk. He suddenly moved in closer at an alarming speed. This motivated Fang to get up. He ran at top speed. He huffed and puffed, expelling a white steam with each breath. But it wasn't because he was tired.

He turned his head around. The head seemed to slowly close in on him with each step. He turned back around and reached speeds he never thought possible. He turned his head back around only to see that the massive head sped up as well.

Then he tripped.

He turned around and crawled backwards. The fox head slowed down as he approached him. Fang whipped his arm in front of him.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Every bullet swerved around the giant head.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

"Dammmmiiiiiiiit…"

With a frustrated look and on the brink of tears, Fang nervously reached into his holster and grabbed a handful of bullets. He gripped one between his index finger and thumb but his hand shook so much that he ended up dropping everything. He crawled forward and reached out to it.

He heard a light gasp. Something slapped his hand away.

"The devil…?"

The revolver sprouted a shapely pair of pale, feminine legs with red heels. It stood up and turned around. A girly pair of eyes appeared above the chamber.

"Sorry," she said in a tone that could be called condescending. "I only let guys who can aim right hold me. Come on, kids. We're going back to live with uncle Clint."

With a youthful hurrah, Fang's bullets sprouted stubby legs of their own and jumped out of his holster. They followed the sultry revolver into the eternal nothingness. Even after they were long out of sight, Fang continued to stare at the empty space where his one true love once stood.

The giant fox head's gaze returned to the paralyzed sharp shooter.

"Dude," he said. "You've got issues. Seriously, that was some totally f* #ed $#*%."

Fang's head shot up. Tears began flowing from his eyes. He gritted his teeth and shouted.

"What the hell just happened?!"

"Oh." The fox head looked aside as if it had just remembered something. "About that…"

It zoomed into the frightened weasel's face. With a smug smile and a half open eyes, it spoke.

"You just missed your target."

The bomb closed in on them. The fuse wasn't even visible anymore. Fang angrily screamed at the top of his lungs.

Then Bark swung his fist. Soon after, the bomb hit him in the abdomen with a loud smack. It rolled into his lap. But an explosion never came. Confused, Fang narrowed his eyes.

Fang's screaming seemed to bring Bark back to his senses. Immediately after, Bark threw a cross just above the bomb, blowing out the fuse with the turbulence.

Tails propelled his tails at high speed to lift himself into the air. He started to aim the nail gun down, but two bullets knocked it and the blow torch out of his hands.

A third bullet struck him in the chest, knocking him across the floor with a thud. Soon after, Bean yanked his body off the wall with a loud ripping noise. Bark then hoisted himself up a lightly placed his foot on Tails' stomach. He struggled and kicked about, and even swung his fists against it. But Bark simply stood there, staring at him with an indifferent gaze. Bean walked over and leaned down with a goofy smirk.

A pair of footsteps approached him and stood between the two. The look on Fang's face was one of spiteful, quite rage. He looked at the unfazed young boy's scowl for a few seconds. Then he slowly raised his revolver. He aimed it at his forehead. He cocked the chamber back with his thumb.

He only said one thing. It seeped out of his mouth like one's breath a chilly day.

"Bang."