How much longer were Sonic and Tails going to take? Stylus glanced between the rabbit, the hedgehog, and the other organic, then to his stuff.
Stylus asked "Has anyone looked through my stuff yet?"
"Not yet," the pink one replied. "Once they come back, we will."
"And how much longer will that take?" Stylus asked.
"How long have they been gone?"
"About two hours," the rabbit replied after looking at a clock above the sofa.
The chained-up robot stretched its neck joints for the third time within the two hours. It was getting pretty boring.
Fortunately, the sound of air ship engines creeped into the ears of everyone else. It appears the jet- what was it, Tornado? It had returned.
Sonic and the fox walked up the stairs across the room again, with what appeared to be a strange-looking... what the hell was that, a robot in a rubber suit? Stylus gave a weird look, but it was hidden behind his helmet... Wait, why didn't they take off his helmet?
Ah well, it didn't matter. The rubber-suit robot was carrying a television. On the screen was a mustached man. Stylus rose his head with a gaping mouth.
Robotnik? No, it couldn't be. This guy looks much too different. The shaved head was a different shape entirely. The man also looked too young. after all, considering Patrick's lifespan and how long it's been since Patrick passed on, that's easily forty years difference.
"Doc?" Stylus asked.
"Who's this?" The man in the television asked.
"That's what we want to know, Eggman."
Eggman shrugged. "I'm not going to lie to you, even though I thoroughly enjoy it. I don't know this one."
"Unit 25? Stylus Long-range trooper? I was sent to kill RELIC."
Eggman slowly shook his head. "Never heard of any of that... Wait, why am I siding with my arch-nemesis for something as bland as this? I had a point to this call. Sonic, I'd bore you to death with another speech about how you must give up the Chaos Emeralds, but I'm going to just beat you to the punch for once. Bring them to Station Square tomorrow, or I will blow up the entire universe!"
Stylus looked to Sonic and Tails, who seemed unamused. The pink hedgehog had put on a pair of stylized earmuffs, obviously not really caring.
"Fine! But you know what I mean!" Eggman shouted before the screen cut to black. The rubber-suit robot tossed the TV to Sonic- which then exploded in Sonic's face. Rubber-suit got the hell out of there using its jet pack. The whole scene looked abrupt, comical, and out of place.
Stylus was scared for his life. He wanted to get out of here. Damn chains, too tough to muscle out of. It was currently impossible to break out. Sonic shook his head to regain his senses from the tiny explosion. "Still, that doesn't mean we're through with you. What was your name, Unit 25?"
"Folks just call me Stylus," the robot replied.
"What sort of folks?" Sonic asked.
"Friends."
"A robot? Friends?"
Stylus nodded, then spotted Tails picking up the backpack, bringing it to a table next to Stylus' tabletop prison. On the front strap, a knife was concealed- hidden to all but those who look closely. It was a relatively small knife, considering standard-issue sizes for combat personnel.
The knife was the first to be produced from the backpack, placed on the small table Stylus had the knife ever since his first assignment, and despite the obvious aging, he had kept the knife in excellent condition.
"Care to tell us what this is for?" Sonic asked, obviously and unsurprisingly thinking that Stylus used it for more untoward things.
Stylus would need to find a way around the corrupted memory bits in order to explain these belongings in detail.
"Wood carving, mostly. Hunting the rest of the time."
"Wood carving? Sonic asked as Tails produced a small ornate-looking wooden sword. It was much too small to be considered a knife. Hell, it looked like the perfect size for the rabbit's chao.
Said rabbit approached, while the chao stared intently at the wooden sword placed next to the larger carving knife.
"I assume it's one of your pieces?"
"I made it for Patrick."
"Your chao?" The rabbit asked.
Tails produced pieces of firearms. Pieces for a sniper rifle and a pistol, as well as a few mags for each.
"There's no ammunition," Stylus said, "Over the years, I ran dry."
All of the pieces were sloppily piled up on one side of the table. This was later followed by a crapload of spare parts- mostly folded-up materials that matched Stylus' armour. These spare parts were also sloppily piled next to the other sloppy pile. Tails then produced what looked like a small aquamarine.
"That was also Patrick's," Stylus confessed.
"You mean you actually raised chao?" The pink one asked.
"That's what I said earlier," Stylus replied, now staring at the roof.