Amy Rose awoke to a light tapping on her head that grew into a moderate thumping, then finally climaxed as one final, heavy slam on her thick skull, issued by an impatient white hoof of the gallant figure presiding over her.
"Please wake up, child," a gentle voice pleaded. "It isn't safe for outsiders to be here."
Amy was dazed, and her vision blurry. Partially from her fall, but also largely due to the repeated head trauma incurred by Toriel, whose white fur looked more blue and whose horns were identical to spikes in the severely love-struck head-struck teen. "Sonic, is that you?" She buried her face into Toriel's robes, stroking the plush fur underneath, without waiting for a confirmation. "Did you get that song I tried to send you? You know, the Real Love cover?"
Toriel pushed her away softly, but it was clear that she was offended by the upfront gesture. "I promise you all the slices of snail pie in the Underground if you never touch me like that ever again."
In case you were wondering, it was at around this time that Miles "Tails" Prower the chronically obese fox leaned forward in his chair so that he could scratch his titanic two-tailed ass. From the comfort of an air-conditioned RV installed with radar tracking equipment and external protective laser-based security system of his own design, he was becoming suspicious of the growing degree of separation between the blue and red dots on the radar display, which indicated that Sonic and Knuckles were splitting off in two completely different directions. The RV was parked close enough to the entrance of the cavernous pit that Tails could keep an eye on things in a strictly superficial sense, and provide backup should the need arise and should he be able to muster enough energy to do so in his current sorry state of physical fitness.
Walky-talky in hand, he tried to reach them. "Guys, what the fuck is going on down there?"
Both of the explorers were incapacitated: Knuckle's own walky-talky was still fixed to his knapsack that was left on the shore of the underground river after he smoked one too many sand crystals and did a swan dive into the rushing water. Sonic, meanwhile, with his walky-talky attached firmly to his left shoe, was being ferried across a highway of web stretched across an ocean of lava by the spiders (as quickly as possible without putting the structural integrity of their catch at risk) while he was still under the affects of their powerful neurotoxins. Tails brushed it off as a minor change in strategy, though, and was about to go to the freezer for his third Philly Cheese Steak flavor Hot Pocket that day when a loud knocking came at the door of the RV.
Tails was not expecting any visitors to that remote location in the outer woodlands surrounding Central City, and certainly not the three he saw via the feed of the camera situated above the door. The black hedgehog among them snorted with laughter. "We're here to give you another wedgie, FAILS," he said, the specific insult harking back to Tails's horrible High School experience as a chubby nerd that still peed his bed from time to time, which showed not only in the awkward way he related to others but also in the actual, still present stench of piss that followed him everywhere. Today, however, he was determined to make a stand.
"Activate the security lasers," he commanded the security system A.I, hoping the RV's advanced anti-shithead technology would be enough to turn the confirmed shithead bullies away.
"Imma firin' ma lazor!" The interface declared non-ironically as a confirmation of the order, as Tails rubbed his hands together and cackled in maniacal merriment at the miraculous moment of magnificent comeuppance.