Tough. As. NAILS!

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Waking up in a hospital is never fun. Drifting in and out of consciousness as pain and painkillers warred across your body even less so. But it allowed me to catalogue my body without actually having to move much, because I could periodically feel my everything.

Which…

Well, either wasn't my original body, or whatever happened to me had driven me insane, but as weird as my sense of humor was, I liked to think of myself as being reasonably questionable sanity.

Not that this explained why I felt like someone had grafted functional batwings just under my shoulder blades and then beat them like drumskins.

Just like the rest of me—an abused drum set of aches, including an impressive set of sore boobs. And… lacking something else much lower. Whatever I was now, I was apparently either a eunuch or female, because there was something that just wasn't there anymore.

I'd worry or complain about that, but I just couldn't bring myself to care.

Too sore all over.

Also exhausted.

I let myself drift off to sleep again…

O o O o O​

Anti-Fiona moved quietly through the ward, clipboard in hand. The faint smell of antiseptic made her nose wrinkle, but she forced herself to focus. She wasn't a trained nurse—just a volunteer—but she could at least read vitals, take notes, and notice when something was wrong. That had to be enough.

The bat on the bed looked like she had been through a blender. Wings awkwardly splayed, fur mussed, ribs rising and falling unevenly with shallow breaths. Anti-Fiona paused, swallowing a sigh. Whoever had done this had not held back.

Not that it was hard to guess who had wiped out Anti-Rouge's gang. That the bat herself had survived the beatdown was a miracle. Many of the initial examples made as King Scourge reasserted his dominance over the newly renamed Moebius had not.

She leaned slightly closer; pen poised above the clipboard. Heart rate, temperature, breathing… all within acceptable ranges. Nothing she needed to call a nurse for; she was here to record, observe, and keep track. That was all she could do.

Her mind drifted. The decree from Scourge kept nagging at her: no more Anti-names. Not Anti-Sonic, not Anti-Rouge, not her. She had tried to think of something appropriate, something that sounded like her but wasn't… wrong. Nothing stuck. Each option felt hollow, or silly, or too serious. She had given up—at least for the moment.

Glancing back at the bat, she murmured under her breath, mostly to herself, "Stable… for now." The unconscious bat didn't know the chaos outside the clinic. She didn't know how quickly danger would come looking for her.

Anti-Fiona jotted down a few more notes, eyes flicking between numbers and the patient, hands steady even as her mind raced. There was only so much she could do here. Whatever came next, she would have to face it—and she would have to do it soon.

O o O o O​

"You, Young Lady, are very lucky to be alive," a looming skinny bald guy with a wild mustache and round-lensed glasses spoke to me the next time I woke up. He kinda reminded me of Jim Carrey for some reason that escaped me at the moment.

"Lucky? Heh," I croaked, testing my ribs with a cautious twist. Pain shot up like tiny, angry lightning bolts. "Sure. If surviving feels like being flattened by the world's worst percussion section, I guess I'm lucky."

Kintobor's round glasses slid slightly down his nose as he gave me a faint smile. "You are the only one from your group to make it through the initial sweep."

I blinked. The words hit harder than my ribs. "The only… one?"

He nodded solemnly, pen hovering over his clipboard. "Yes. Everyone else… didn't make it. You survived when no one else did."

I tried to sit up straighter, ignoring the chorus of pain radiating through my wings and torso. That… sounded pretty horrible, really. People died. Possibly people very close to whoever I was now. I didn't know, because all I got were vague impressions, blurry forms, and a general sense of camaraderie that was suddenly cut short.

I felt bad that I couldn't remember whoever they had been.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think he actually meant to kill anybody. He just hasn't gotten used to his new power yet."

Say what now? "Who?"

"King Scourge," the tall, bald, skinny guy informed me. "Although, come to think of it, you probably haven't heard his new name yet—or if you had, the concussion dislodged it from your short-term memory. You probably knew him better as Anti-Sonic… and blue, instead of green."

What the fuck!?

O o O o O​

Moebius…

Even a week later, it still threw me.

I was on the antithesis version of Mobius Prime, formerly known as Anti-Mobius. Now renamed Moebius, to better suit the aesthetic sensibilities of the same ass who had once decided that calling our world Anti-Mobius and slapping "Anti-" onto everyone's name was edgy and cool.

Gotta hand it to Doc Kintobor though. Pacifist he may be, he never went along with the Anti-movement. Just kept on keeping on, providing what health care he could to everyone he could, whether or not anyone actually appreciated it.

I appreciated it though, even if I'm not sure that Anti-Rouge, whose life I had apparently taken over, would have. I'm not sure how much of her is still in here with me. My memories of my other life were far more clear than my memories of this one.

Doc just put it down as an unfortunate side effect of the severe concussion I had suffered along with all of my other injuries I had received from the spiny green edgelord. I remembered some things from this life, but most of it was hazy and indistinct. Some places, a few names, a bit of my former attitude.

I'd been a thug.

A gang enforcer for a gang I couldn't even remember beyond the ache of knowing they were all dead now.

Doc called it Trauma Blocking.

I called it wrong.

Sure, we may not have been great. We may have thrown our weight around a bit because we could. But nobody in our territory suffered because of us.

Nobody went hungry.

We were, according to Buns Rabbot, actually one of the nicer gangs out there.

Or we had been.

I was the only one left now, and I couldn't even remember what Mobian subtypes any of them were, let alone their names. I couldn't even honor them properly.

And now this new decree Edgy McEdgelord had announced over the news.

The reason Buns was now Buns and no longer Anti-Bunnie.

No more Anti-names.

Fine then.

Just call me Cyan the Bat.

 

[Tangent]

TOUGH. AS. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

I was up and walking with a cane now. Mostly for stability rather than support, as my physiotherapy was going very well. Granted, part of that was just how resilient Mobian physiology tended to be, especially for anyone who had even a trace of special abilities.

Just like over in Prime, really, if anyone ever cared to think about it. Regular folk got hurt and took longer to recover, but if you had even a trace of special ability and you survived something? Odds were in favor of you pulling through and recovering faster.

It wasn't a guarantee, of course.

The crew I'd apparently been part of was dead after all, and gang or not, nobody who amounted to anything on Moebius rose above the apathy and ennui of our world without at least something special to push them past the lethargy of the system.

Which made the fact that I couldn't remember them as anything but hazy, nameless blobs all the more painful.

Oh, I had pictures and names, but those held no sense of recognition for me. No sense of connection.

Anti-Brass the Echidna (who looked enough like Knuckles to maybe be related, but not enough like him to be his Moebius analogue), had been the Boss. Burly, tough, lots of swagger, but with a soft spot for the kiddos. Apparently, it had been an open secret that he'd been working up the courage to woo Donna Vanilla.

Anti-Vickey Vulpine, a red fox who took Moebian casual to a whole new level by not wearing anything at all—not even shoes—had been Anti-Brass' lieutenant and the team's recon and infiltration specialist. My previous self's idea of B&E had apparently mostly involved smashing a Piko Piko Hammer into whatever got in the way, so having someone nimble and quiet was… actually useful.

Anti-Hammer the Bandicoot had been one of the other enforcers besides me. Big, burly, strong, came across as dim, but apparently did a lot of deep reading in his off time. According to witnesses, he died tanking a hit meant for Anti-Vickey—though somehow, both of them ended up dead despite his jumping in the way of Scourge's Spin-Dash of Death.

And Anti-Glitch the Ocelot, our communications and tech guy, who'd learned all he knew from some overlander foster brother named Anti-Heinz.

I'd have to find Anti-Heinz—or whatever he was calling himself now—to let him know his foster brother was dead. He was the only one besides Anti-Vickey whose family I had any clue about, and I had already let the Vulpines know.

Well, they already knew. Scourge hadn't exactly been quiet about his little grand reintroduction.

Asshole had her pelt delivered to them!

And her head, mouth wide open and stuffed with Anti-Hammer's…

Well, I suppose there was a reason no spin-off comic ever showed much of what Scourge actually did when he wasn't messing with the heroes on Prime.

The Vulpines moved away. Not that anyone blamed them. A few other families followed suit, but most just bunkered in place and withdrew a little more from the world.

O o O o O​

Buns sighed as she steered the Omega Care Unit into the cafeteria of the free clinic she had agreed to be stationed at. When she had first been placed into it for its superior life support capability that allowed it to manage her NIDS she had, very briefly, considered just taking it and using it to get back into the good graces of the Freedom Suppression Squad.

KA-SHUNK KA-SHUNK

It would have been easy too, given that Doc Kintobor had armed the thing to the teeth with the singular goal of keeping the patient inside utterly safe, even from any member of the FSS, Anti-Sonic included.

But Anti-Brass' Irregulars found her abandoned on the edge of their territory. And Anti-Rouge - now Cyan the Bat - had been the one to fly her all the way to the clinic. This clinic.

Anti-Rouge could have dropped her at the nearest border and been done with it, but she had flown her all the way to this clinic. No stops. No complaining. No casual threats about how easy it would have been to just drop her and say "oopsie" like a brat pushing his cousin down the stairs (Uncle Beau had tanned Bucky's backside for that one).

For all the swagger and bravado…

For all the showboating and grandstanding…

For all the supposed oppression they carried out by obeying the King's Law and taking whatever they could get away with…

The people in their territory were safe. They never had nights where they had to choose who got to eat. They never had to give up their hard won Anti-Mobiums (now officially renamed as Moebiums) just because their protectors wanted more than just the service fee.

They didn't even raise a fuss when Donna Vanilla moved back into the estate her late husband had owned.

Which was odd, given that Donna Vanilla's territory was at least a forty-five-minute drive away.

But here in Anti-Brass' Irregular's territory, Donna Vanilla let her child run around outside to play and meet other children. She didn't do that in her own territory.

O o O o O​

Buns guided the Omega Care Unit to the cafeteria table, its servos humming quietly as it settled into place, setting her meal tray down and popping open the hatch of her life support mech.

Cyan sat nearby, wings folded, tail flicking, while Fiora leaned against the counter, quietly watching.

The binders lay open on the table, bursting with photographs, notes, and sketches. Faces of the bat she knew she had once been stared back at her — Some her current age, others younger, wilder, reckless. Anti-Rouge.

Cyan flipped a page showing a bat swinging a Piko Piko Hammer over crates. The image looked familiar, somehow… yet distant. "I don't… I know that's me, but I don't remember any of this," she murmured.

Fiora looked concerned and gestured at a selection of even younger pics of the bat she was sitting next to. Younger still and before the fall of the old Kingdom as far as Buns could tell. Buns could see the bat in every photo, but she saw other kids as well. A fox, who she guessed to be the one going through the photos with Cyan. A flying squirrel with yellow fur. A red armadillo.

"These are from before the Anti-Name policy, when you were just Rouge. You were so happy back then."

"I know who some of these people are," Cyan admitted. "Mighty. Ray. You. But I don't remember any of this. It's like it all happened to someone else."

Cyan reopened the same binder of photos and notes she had been staring at during meals for the better part of several weeks now. Her gaze swept over the gang she had belonged to. The red fox crouched on a roof, bare feet and all. The big bandicoot charging through a doorway. The ocelot fiddling with tech. Each page filled in fragments she couldn't place in memory.

"And these… I know their names now. Their faces," Cyan said softly, staring at the photo of the fox with a sly grin. "But I still don't remember anything about them at all. Not directly. Only photos, records, and what others can tell me about them."

Buns winced. She once ran with the asshole responsible for this. Scourge had ruined Cyan's own life so thoroughly that the bat couldn't even remember her own past. Couldn't remember her own friends except the ones from before the fall. And she knew from other meals that the bat had no recollection at all about her own family.

The bat who had saved her life had her own stolen from her so thoroughly that Scourge may as well have killed her.

He almost had.

Would have, if Buns hadn't gotten there in time, using the firepower of the Omega Care Unit to drive the now green hedgehog into retreating.

Buns had gone out to try to save Anti-Brass' Irregulars and the bat she owed so much to.

And she failed.

Even the one she managed to bring back to the clinic was only a ghost of her former self.

 

[Draconic fan]

Interesting... also fuck scourge

 

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

"So, what's the verdict, Doc?" I asked. "Will I ever be able to play the piano again?"

"I wasn't aware that you could play the piano before," Dr. Ovi Kintobor replied mildly as he finished reviewing the last of the scans. "Could you?"

"No idea," I said cheerfully.

That earned a quiet snort from him.

Honestly, I still had trouble not staring at the guy sometimes. He looked way too much like Jim Carrey for comfort.

There was even a movie where he had a bald head, round glasses and a giant mustache...

I knew there was.

And yet here I was, a full month after waking up in this mess, still drawing a complete blank on the title.

It reminded me of the time I forgot my own sister's name while introducing her to a friend.

Literally right after using it.

Took her three years to let me live that one down.

Not my proudest moment.

Also not especially relevant to my current life… except for the part where my memory apparently still worked like a colander.

"Still having memory issues?" Kintobor asked gently.

"Yeah," I admitted. "The photos and records help, but nothing's actually connecting. It feels less like remembering my life and more like reading somebody else's biography."

Kintobor sighed quietly.

"I was afraid that might be the case. Physically speaking you are completely healed. The scans show no structural damage."

"Meaning the problem's upstairs."

"Most likely psychological, yes."

"Trauma blocking?"

"A reasonable hypothesis."

"And outside your specialty."

"Quite."

He rubbed thoughtfully at his mustache.

"Unfortunately, Moebius is… not particularly well supplied with mental health specialists."

"Unless you're hooked on Anarchy Beryls," I said.

That got a grim look out of him.

"Yes," he admitted. "Those clinics unfortunately exist in abundance."

The stupid purple rocks were one of the few things both sets of my fragmented memories agreed on.

Burst of power.

Short term.

Wildly unstable.

"And let me guess," I said. "First-timers think they've discovered the secret to being a god."

"For several minutes, yes," Kintobor confirmed dryly.

"And then the crash hits."

"Violently."

He ticked the symptoms off on his fingers.

"Nausea. Neurological backlash. Muscular failure. In severe cases, organ stress."

"Right," I muttered. "Borrow tomorrow's energy and then pay it back with interest."

"An apt analogy."

The really scary part was that the rush was apparently worth it to some people.

For those few moments?

You felt unstoppable.

Invincible.

Like you could take on the whole world and win.

Right up until the crash hit and you were puking hard enough to regret every meal you'd eaten that week.

"And yet people still use the things," I said.

"Addiction rarely concerns itself with long-term consequences," Kintobor replied.

The things weren't even safe to use as machine power sources. Too volatile.

But that didn't stop people.

It especially didn't stop people who wanted that feeling of invincibility again.

"Funny thing," I said after a moment. "One of the few legitimately good things King Scourge ever did was finish his father's project of getting rid of most of the Beryls."

Kintobor raised an eyebrow.

"You consider that a positive development?"

"Hey, credit where it's due. Those stupid rocks used to be everywhere."

I paused.

"…Granted, I'm also pretty sure he keeps a private stash of them stuffed into his throne back at Castle Acorn."

Kintobor stared at me.

"You are certain of that?"

"Nope," I said cheerfully. "But it sounds like exactly the kind of dumb contingency a paranoid tyrant would keep."

That got a reluctant huff of amusement out of him.

"At least he doesn't seem to use the stuff casually," I added. "More like an emergency 'break glass in case of rampage' option."

"Comforting," Kintobor said flatly.

"Right?"

I rubbed the back of my head.

Which reminded me…

"…Speaking of potential disasters, I should probably check on Rosie."

Kintobor blinked.

"Rosie the Rascal?"

"Yeah."

Another of those half-memories stirred uneasily in the back of my skull. Not a full scene. Just impressions.

Rosie pacing like an angry tiger.

Someone shouting.

Myself stepping between her and somebody she very much wanted to hurt.

Kintobor studied me carefully.

"You believe she may cause trouble."

"That's Rosie's default setting."

"True."

"The bigger problem," I continued, "is that the people who usually keep her from escalating are currently dead."

Kintobor's expression sharpened.

"You mean the Irregulars."

"Part of them, yeah."

I counted on my fingers.

"Anti-Vickey could usually calm her down. Anti-Hammer was good at redirecting her when she already had a target."

"And you?"

I shrugged.

"Apparently I was the one who could get her to stop long enough to think."

Kintobor leaned back slightly.

"…I see."

"Which means right now," I continued, "Rosie's running around in a region that just lost most of the people who could talk her down."

"And you believe you can," Kintobor said.

"Sometimes."

His eyebrow climbed higher.

"Rosie the Rascal is not generally known for her receptiveness to reason."

"True," I admitted. "But three of my Piko Piko Hammers used to be hers."

Kintobor blinked.

"You stole them from her?"

"Confiscated," I corrected. "Indefinitely."

I shrugged again.

"Sure, she's strong enough to use them, but I'm the one who actually trained. Makes all the difference when all other factors are equal and all you need to do is disarm somebody."

Kintobor studied me for a moment.

"…You are telling me that your preferred strategy for handling Rosie the Rascal is to take away her hammer."

"Doc," I said patiently, "that's basically step one."

"And step two?"

"Run like hell until she cools down. Or fly. It's not like Piko Piko Hammers are so heavy that I can't fly with two of them."

He adjusted his glasses.

"…I see."

A pause.

"That is somehow both reassuring and deeply alarming."

"Doc, this is Moebius," I said. "That's practically a best-case scenario."

 

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Victor stomped down the district's main street, claws scraping cobblestones, eyes scanning for anyone who might resist. "Listen up, furballs!" he bellowed, shoving a terrified shopkeeper against a wall. "This alley, this street, this whole district… ours now! Pay up—or get flattened!"

Moxie buzzed overhead, wings thrumming as he swooped low to herd civilians into corners. His stinger flicked dangerously close to anyone trying to flee. He nodded in approval of Victor's statement. The crocodile was louder, so the initial declaration of intent was assigned to him. Still, some clarification was now in order. "That's right! This is the Misftiz' turf now! Whatever you were paying the other guys - that goes to us now! Put up or pay double! Resist and by boys start breaking things and you all pay double anyway!"

Cammo crouched along a rooftop, chameleon skin rippling to match the brickwork. Knife ready, tail flicking with impatience. "No one left to stop us. Let's finish this."

"Victor! Cammo! Keep these furballs contained!" Moxie laughed, cutting off an attempted escape.

"Got it, Moxie!" Victor kicked over a fruit cart. Apples scattered across the cobblestones as the cart itself blocked an alley.

Chaos spread down the street—until a massive CRUNCH split the air.

The Misfitz spun toward the sound, eyes wide. Smoke hissed from the transport van at the far end of the courtyard, metal folding like paper. And there she was: Cyan the Bat, standing casually in the middle of the rubble, hammer coming to a rest across her shoulders like it weighed nothing, grin manic and wide.

"Loose engine," she called. "Might want to see to that… before I see to you."

Silence hung for a moment.

Victor's claws scraped slowly against the pavement as he turned toward her fully.

Moxie dropped a little lower in the air.

Cammo shifted his stance on the rooftop, knife angled downward.

Because standing in front of them -

was one of the Irregulars.

Victor stepped forward first.

Slow. Measuring.

Cyan didn't move.

Her grin widened.

Victor lunged, forearm aiming to swipe - but Cyan pivoted, bringing her Piko Piko Hammer off of her shoulders with a wide swing that knocked his naturally armored forearm to the side even as she delivered a powerful kick straight into his now unprotected gut, driving the wind out of him. He stumbled, startled. He was no stranger to pain being part of fights, but damn both of those hurt!

Victor staggered back, coughing.

Moxie dove instantly.

His wings shrieked as he accelerated toward Cyan's back, stinger aimed to impale.

Cyan's ears twitched.

She didn't look up—but she heard the pitch of his wings change.

She jumped.

Her wings snapped open just enough to lift her out of the strike as Moxie blasted beneath her.

He pulled up sharply to avoid slamming into the pavement.

At the same instant—

Cammo dropped from the rooftop.

His knife slashed down toward where Cyan should have landed.

But Cyan twisted mid-descent, sonar mapping the motion around her in quick pulses. The blade cut empty air as she rolled away and landed lightly a few steps off.

"You boys might want a team huddle," she said cheerfully. "Or, you know… a new career. Or have you forgotten that I go toe to toe with Rosie the Rascal on the regular?"

Sure, it was a bit of an exaggeration - Cyan was mostly remembering scraps of Anti-Rouge's time with the Irregulars - but she had the muscle memory and combat instincts to back it up, so why not lean into the bravado?

Moxie climbed back into the air.

"Together," he growled.

Victor straightened slowly, one hand briefly pressing his gut.

Cammo melted into the brickwork again as his camouflage rippled across his body.

Victor advanced carefully, armored forearms raised.

Cyan watched all three of them.

Her ears flicked slightly.

Listening.

Moxie attacked first again.

He dropped into a shallow dive, angling across Cyan's line of sight to herd her toward Victor.

At the same time, Cammo executed a feint.

A loose brick clattered off the rooftop behind Cyan—just loud enough to pull attention.

Cyan's ears twitched.

She didn't turn.

Instead she side-stepped the opposite direction just as Cammo's knife flashed out of invisibility from the other side.

CLANG.

Her hammer intercepted the strike.

Cammo recoiled in surprise.

Victor charged immediately to capitalize.

Cyan sprang sideways - wings snapping open as she lifted briefly into the air - and her hammer vanished from her grip with a whispering shff.

Moxie overshot again beneath her.

Cammo slashed upward—

—and Cyan's hammer whispered back into existence as she twisted midair to intercept.

CLANG.

The impact knocked Cammo's arm wide.

Victor barreled in.

Cyan dropped to the pavement just in time to meet him.

Victor's armored forearms slammed against the hammer's haft as he blocked.

PIKO!!!

The impact rattled through his bones as he skidded backwards on his, barely remaining upright.

He grimaced.

Natural leathery armor or not, that hammer hit like a wrecking ball.

Moxie looped around for another pass.

Cammo scrambled back up the wall again.

Victor pressed forward with a series of heavy blows, trying to pin Cyan down while the others repositioned.

Cyan slipped between them like smoke - dodging, pivoting, letting Victor's momentum work against him while her ears tracked the pitch of Moxie's wings and the faint scrape of Cammo's claws on brick.

Then the ground trembled.

Moxie noticed first.

His wings faltered mid-hover.

"…uh…"

Victor paused.

Cammo's tail flicked.

"…you guys feel that?"

A heavy metallic KA-SHUNK echoed down the street.

Another.

Measured.

Deliberate.

The Omega Care Unit stepped around the corner- built on the same broad armored frame as E-123 Omega, only light blue where its Prime counterpart was bright red.

It walked forward with slow mechanical certainty.

Hydraulics hissed.

Servos whined.

The machine stopped a short distance behind Cyan.

Its head rotated.

Optics locking onto Team Misfitz.

The right arm lifted.

A weapon system extended with a sharp mechanical Ka-CHACK.

Victor slowly turned his head.

"…oh."

Cyan spun her hammer once and rested it back across her shoulders.

Her grin widened.

"And that, boys," she said brightly, "is why you always bring a friend bigger than your attitude."

The realization hit Team Misfitz all at once.

The Irregulars weren't gone.

Not all of them.

And they had just picked a fight in the middle of their territory.

 

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Stacks of ledgers littered the floor.

Loose Moebium coins clinked in chaotic piles.

Cyan was staring at a column of numbers like they had personally insulted her.

"Okay," she said slowly. "If the King's Cut is twenty percent—"

"Twenty-five," Buns corrected from inside the Omega Care Unit.

Cyan's wings twitched. "Twenty-five?!"

Buns winced from where she was sitting in the Omega Care Unit's open cockpit. "That was the number in the tax notice the courier dropped off yesterday."

Cyan's ears flattened. "There's a tax notice?! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because I thought you already knew!" Buns said, raising her hands.

Cyan slumped forward and buried her face in her arms. "That's it. We're annexing ourselves to Donna Vanilla." Things had been going so well - right up until the locals in the Irregulars' territory started sending in their protection payments again, basically acknowledging her as being the Boss of the region rather than let anyone else assume that the territory was open like Team Misfitz had the other day.

A polite cough came from the doorway.

They all looked up.

Dr. Ovi Kintobor stood there, calm as ever.

Behind him, a small hedgehog in a crisp vest and skirt stepped lightly into the room, hands folded neatly in front of her. She moved with precision, her gaze sweeping over the scattered ledgers as though she'd done this hundreds of times.

She inclined her head politely.

Behind her, two obviously robotic assistants shuffled in: a floating cyan sphere and a waddling blue cube. Both of which unfolded once it became clear that they had reached their destination. This revealed their arms from inside their shells and also enabled them to turn their heads.

Ballbot's optics flicked across the room. "Assessment: chaotic."

Boxbot nodded vigorously. "Affirmative! Catalog classifies as mess."

Cyan slowly lifted her head. "...Doc. Did you bring an accountant?"

"I brought someone better," Kintobor said with a faint smile.

Breezie stepped forward. "I specialize in logistics, payroll management, tax compliance, and municipal infrastructure budgeting."

She glanced at the ledgers, tilting her head slightly. "...oh dear."

Ballbot leaned toward Boxbot. "Should we tell them about the King's Cut discrepancy?"

Boxbot whispered loudly. "No! Dramatic reveal later!"

Cyan groaned.

Buns peeked over the edge of the Omega Care Unit. "You… you want this job?"

"I volunteered for reassignment," Breezie said simply. "Doctor Kintobor doesn't need me anymore, now that he has Ballbot and Boxbot."

Her eyes scanned the room, noting the mismatched ledgers, scattered coins, and scribbled notes.

"Your territory currently manages food distribution for roughly eight hundred residents.

Sanitation and road maintenance funding is misallocated.

Payroll is behind schedule.

I would like to help you fix that."

Cyan blinked. "...okay. You're hired."

O o O o O​

Breezie moved through the scattered ledgers, flipping pages and making notes with a grace that made every motion seem effortless.

Numbers and calculations streamed past her gaze faster than Cyan or Buns could track.

"Uh… okay," Cyan muttered, squinting at a sheet of paper. "Do I even want to know what's happening?"

Buns peeked over the edge of the Omega Care Unit. "She's… fast."

Breezie paused briefly. "You have enough revenue to run the entire district comfortably - assuming, of course, you stop accidentally paying the garbage collectors twice, and adjust the fruit vendor levies by 3.7 percent for seasonal output."

Cyan's eyebrow twitched. "Wait. We've been paying the garbage collectors twice?"

"Yes," Breezie replied evenly, tilting her head slightly, "and the misallocation has persisted for approximately eight billing cycles."

Cyan buried her face in her hands. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no."

Buns tried not to laugh, failing.

Then Cyan froze mid-sigh.

Her super-sensitive hearing picked up something—or rather, didn't.

Breezie's chest rose and fell in a completely natural rhythm, but… there was no faint heartbeat underneath.

No subtle thrum, no pulse.

Her ears twitched.

Cyan slowly looked up. "...Doc."

Kintobor tilted his head. "Yes?"

"Why… why doesn't she have a heartbeat?" Cyan asked, a mixture of awe and exasperation in her voice. "...Buns, she's… definitely a robot, isn't she?"

Buns blinked. "Well… that explains a lot."

Cyan flopped her wings dramatically. "...And you didn't even think to give her a pseudo-heartbeat? Or, you know, a little auditory trick to make her not… terrifyingly perfect?"

Kintobor shrugged. "It didn't occur to me at the time? She was designed to function as a personal assistant—efficient, competent, and unobtrusive. I didn't think anyone would notice the absence of a heartbeat. Most people simply don't have that level of auditory sensitivity."

Cyan groaned, resting her head on the table. "...Bats and foxes, Doc. Bats and foxes. She just calmly told me we've been screwing up everything for months, and I… I can't even be mad because she's so competent. It's… scary how competent she is."

Ballbot floated forward, zigzagging slightly. "Observation: Cyan is panicking."

Boxbot beeped indignantly. "Confirming: chaos levels have increased by 73 percent since Breezie's arrival."

Cyan groaned again. "...Yes! That is exactly what is happening!"

Breezie continued scanning the ledgers with effortless efficiency. "Adjusting payroll allocations… correcting municipal service funding… recalculating King's Cut… error detection complete."

Cyan could only stare, wings twitching helplessly. "...I… am not ready for this level of adulthood."

Buns smirked. "Good thing you've got a hedgehog in a suit to babysit you, then."

Cyan groaned once more. "...Yes. Yes, thank the Striders."

O o O o O​

It was much later, after Breezie had squared away all of the accounting errors and set everything up to be as hassle free as possible, that Cyan went back to the clinic to thank Dr. Kintobor.

"I really can't thank you enough, Doc," Cyan said as she casually continued to stretch out after a day of sitting and going over way too much paperwork. "Breezie is just who we needed."

"You're very welcome," Dr. Kintobor replied, pleased that it had gone over well despite the heartbeat discrepancy that Cyan had alerted him to.

"Still, don't you still need a…" Cyan tried to think of a way to phrase this politely.

"A client friendly public facing interface?" Dr. Kintobor suggested with a grin, anticipating her question. "No need. Fiora gave me permission to use her image as a base for my next personal assistant model, this time with a proper pseudo heartbeat simulator for the sharp of hearing. Also, I hired an actual receptionist."

"You mean the goth wolf sitting behind the front desk back by the entrance?" Cyan asked, tilting her head.

"Yes, that's her," Dr. Kintobor agreed.

From behind the front desk, a goth wolf barely glanced up from her solitaire game, giving Cyan a quick, perfectly timed scowl before returning to her cards.

"She flipped me off when I told her I was here to see you," Cyan muttered, tilting her head. "Then went right back to ignoring me."

"I'll have a word with her," Kintobor said with a faint smile. "In the meantime, please try to be patient. Loona's had a rough life."

"Hasn't everyone?" Cyan asked rhetorically, shrugging and letting the matter drop.

 

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Miles Prower frowned at the ledger.

Alicia watched his expression shift from mild curiosity to something sharper. "What is it?" she asked.

Miles turned the page around so she could see it. "The King's Cut from the Irregulars' district."

Alicia glanced over the numbers. "Exact."

"Exactly exact," Miles said. "No rounding errors, no delays, no skimming, no bribe offsets. Not even the little inconsistencies Anti-Brass' crew used to leave when they rushed their paperwork."

Alicia's ears tilted. "That district should still be in chaos after Scourge's Grand Return."

"Right. Instead, it's behaving like a well-regulated territory." Miles tapped the ledger again. "The money itself isn't the problem. The problem is that nothing about this matches the pattern we know."

Alicia leaned back slightly. "So, something else is happening in that district."

"Exactly," Miles said. "Which means we start looking."

O o O o O​

The first step was reconstructing what had happened to the Irregulars.

That part wasn't difficult. Scourge had made sure everyone knew.

"Anti-Vickey and Anti-Hammer," Alicia said quietly, reviewing the reports.

Miles grimaced. "Yeah. Scourge made a spectacle of those."

There wasn't much ambiguity involved. Their deaths had been deliberately public, grotesquely theatrical in the way Scourge favored when he wanted the whole city to feel it.

Alicia closed the file. "So, two of the three people who had their own ways of handling Rosie the Rascal are confirmed dead."

Miles nodded slowly. "That leaves one."

They didn't even need to say the name yet.

The deduction hung in the air between them.

Alicia spoke first. "Anti-Rouge."

Miles nodded again. "If Rosie's still in that district and not tearing the place apart, the only Irregular left who could plausibly keep her in line is Anti-Rouge."

He opened another set of records. "Let's see if the registries confirm it."

O o O o O​

The records took a little longer to sort through.

The No Anti-Names decree had forced a lot of people to register replacements, but not everyone had bothered.

Miles finally stopped scrolling. "Here we go."

Alicia leaned over.

"Registered name change," Miles said. "Formerly Anti-Rouge." He turned the screen. "Current name: Cyan."

Alicia considered that. "So, she survived."

"And she's active," Miles added. "Otherwise, the district wouldn't be this stable, and Donna Vanilla would have moved back into her own district."

O o O o O​

Once they knew who they were looking for, other reports started lining up.

Courier logs. Neighborhood watch chatter. A few scattered enforcement reports.

One incident stood out.

Miles pulled it up. "Huh."

"What is it?" Alicia asked.

"Looks like Cyan wasn't working alone." He rotated the screen again. "Couple weeks ago, Team Misfitz tried to move into the district."

"And?"

Miles smiled faintly. "They were expelled."

Alicia scanned the report. "By Cyan and… Buns?"

"Apparently," Miles said.

Alicia frowned slightly. "Buns was one of us. Before Boomer raised a fuss and forced us to kick her out. I went along with it because her deteriorating health would have gotten her killed."

"Looks like Kintober solved that issue," Miles said. "That's the mech Scourge was complaining about a month ago."

O o O o O​

Alicia folded her hands. "So, the picture we have now is this:" She ticked points off one finger at a time. "Anti-Vickey - confirmed dead. Anti-Hammer - confirmed dead. Anti-Rouge - alive, now going by Cyan."

Miles nodded. "And working with Buns to keep the district under control."

Alicia continued. "That leaves two unaccounted for."

Miles already had the names ready. "Anti-Brass."

"And Anti-Glitch," Alicia said.

Miles leaned back in his chair. "No registered name updates for either of them since the No Anti-Names decree."

Alicia nodded slowly. "So, they are either dead… or alive and staying off the books."

Miles glanced again at the ledger that had started the whole thing. "The King's Cut told us something strange was happening."

He closed the file. "Turns out it wasn't the money."

Alicia allowed herself a small smile. "It was the fact that someone survived."

Miles smirked. "A Perfect Cut though. That's not submission."

Alicia grinned. "That's defiance."

Miles' smirk bloomed into a grin of his own. "And that is exactly what we need!"

 

[Tangent]

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Buns was getting used to how Cyan ran things in her district, and wondered if this was close to how things were under Regent Jules before his own son killed him and pulled down practically every system that had been in place during the Great Peace.

She didn't really know. She had been too young when the Kingdom fell, and while Uncle Beauregard had tried to look after her along with her cousins, even she could admit that she had been a bit of a brat when the rules went away. Partly out of self-defense due to how often Cousin Jeb's little "oopsies" had almost killed her over the years (she still hadn't forgiven him for that "accidental" bump that had sent her tumbling down a flight of stairs, but that wasn't the only incident). And partly because acting out gave her a sense of control.

Buns was, quite frankly, amazed that Doc Kintobor had agreed to treat her at all, given that she had trashed one of his early Doc-on-the-Spot roving automated clinics a few years ago. Scourge, then Sonic as he had yet to implement the Anti-name decree, had come across her in the middle of wrecking the thing and had recruited her into the Freedom Suppression Squad on the spot.

Accepting the offer had been one of the big mistakes in her life, Buns could see that now. Sure, at the time it had given her a sense of purpose and control, but…

Here, in the Irregulars' territory as an Irregular…

People on the street smiled at her as she patrolled the streets in the Omega Care Unit.

Smiled at her with no fear in their eyes.

Children ran around playing outside without a care in the world.

A little girl who reminded Buns enough of Donna Vanilla to wonder if they were related had just given her a flower crown that she had just woven from daisies picked from the park.

The Irregulars ran things differently in their district.

Had done so even before Scourge had killed most of them off.

If Buns hadn't used the Omega Care Unit to drive Scourge off, not even Cyan would have been left to pick up the pieces.

Buns hadn't really expected Cyan to step up after losing literally everything.

But she had.

Cyan had stepped up and, as far as Buns could tell, was somehow running things even better than Anti-Brass had. Despite the fact that it was fairly obvious that the bat was feeling a bit out of her depth.

The people in this district weren't just getting by slightly better than their neighbors anymore.

They were thriving.

They had hope.

This was…

Dangerous.

And, for the life of her, Buns found herself resolved to defend this hope, even if she had to follow Cyan into Hell itself.

O o O o O​

I smiled and occasionally waved back at people as I walked the streets.

I had spent the early part of the day introducing various business owners (who I barely remembered) to Breezie, who was now handling the Irregulars' accounts.

And, for the most part, everyone seemed to be okay with that, because Breezie wasn't making any unnecessary changes. Okay, so the sanitation guys were a bit unhappy that they were no longer being double paid, but they settled down when I told them that they didn't have to give any of the money back - they just had to accept that they were only getting paid their normal wages once per period from now on instead of twice.

I didn't even have to punch one of their foremen more than once. Don… something. Big burly ape with a tie. Who seemed familiar for some reason that escaped me at the moment.

Just a punch to the gut, leaving him on the ground, gasping for breath.

I didn't even have to use my Piko Piko Hammer.

I did not bother kicking him while he was down. I just waited for him to get his breathing in order and stand up.

When he got up again, I simply told him that what I said still held. Neither he nor anyone else had to pay back the extra money they had been getting, but the double payments were stopping now.

There was respect in Don's eyes when we shook on it.

And then I had simply left, as no more examples had to be made.

That had been a few days ago.

So there I was, idly snacking on a bunch of grapes I had just bought (yes, I paid for them - I'm an enforcer, not a thief!) when I hear a scream and the distinct sound of a Piko Piko Hammer hitting infrastructure from far enough away that I could barely register which direction the sounds were coming from.

Rosey the Rascal had wandered into town again.

I guess it's time to add another Piko Piko Hammer to my collection…

O o O o O​

The street sign came off clean this time.

Rosie giggled as the bent metal pole clanged against the pavement, then brought her Piko Piko Hammer down on it again just to hear the sound.

PIKO.

Oh, that was a good one.

She spun on her heel and skipped forward, dragging the hammer behind her for a few steps before swinging it up again. A mailbox exploded into scrap under the next hit, letters scattering like startled birds.

Someone screamed and Rosie's grin widened.

There—down the street. A couple of people scrambling, trying to get inside before she reached them.

"Oh no no no no—don't run yet!" Rosie sang, already bounding forward. "I just got here!"

She swung.

They ducked—good reflexes!—and the hammer cratered the wall behind them instead, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the brick. Dust puffed into the air.

Rosie pouted for half a second.

Then she laughed again.

This was better.

This was fun.

She didn't come to this town very often. Not since Anti-Vickey died. Rosie didn't have many people she counted as friends, but Anti-Vickey had been one of them. Enough that, after the Vulpines moved away, she had slipped into town to retrieve Anti-Vickey's pelt and head from their home and brought them back to display at her place. She wasn't sure how Anti-Vickey would feel about having Anti-Hammer's… stuff… still in her mouth, so she'd cleaned it out and tossed it. Brushed her teeth. Now Anti-Vickey was all smiles again.

Not that anyone else knew. Rosie had kept the visit quiet, and nobody had seen the display yet: the pelt on the floor by the fireplace, the smiling head on the mantle beside a cluster of broken blue quills from when Scourgey still went by Anti-Sonic.

Still, Anti-Vickey's town was quiet. Tidy. People walking around like they didn't have anything to be afraid of.

Like they'd forgotten how things worked.

Like they'd forgotten her.

Her grip tightened around the hammer.

Not for long.

She skipped forward again, humming under her breath, eyes flicking from alley to rooftop to street. Most of them were hiding now.

Smart.

Still disappointing.

Rosie dragged the hammer head along the ground again, sparks flickering where it scraped against exposed stone.

"Come ooooon," she called out, sing-song. "I know you're in there!"

No answer.

Rosie's smile thinned.

Boring.

She lifted the hammer again—

—and paused.

There was a shift in the air.

Subtle.

But there.

Rosie's ears twitched.

Then her grin came back, slow and sharp.

"Tsk… Rosie Rosie Rosie," an all too familiar voice called out from behind her.

She turned.

And there she was.

Cyan stood at the far end of the street, tossing a paper bag onto a crate. "I thought I made it clear last time - if you want to come into town, you have to behave."

"You know I don't do the goody-goody thing, Cyan. Not since…"

"I know. I miss them too. But I can't have you in town making a mess of things."

Then the hammer came out.

Another Piko Piko Hammer—clean, solid, already in the bat's grip like it had always belonged there.

Rosie's eye twitched.

Then her grin snapped wide.

"HA!" her voice rang out, bright and sharp and just a little too loud. "Oh, this is perfect," she said, bouncing on her heels. "This is perfect." Her hammer spun once in her hands, faster and faster until it blurred. "You know how many you've taken from me?" Rosie demanded. "Do you? Do you even keep count?!"

"Four, so far," Cyan answered drily, resting the hammer against her shoulder.

Waiting.

Rosie's grin sharpened.

"Hrmph," she huffed. "Well then, I'll just take yours this time!"

She lunged.

The distance vanished in an instant, her hammer coming down in a crushing overhead arc.

Cyan moved—

—and met it.

P-PIKO!

The two hammers collided mid-swing, the impact snapping through the street like a gunshot.

The shock ran up Rosie's arms—

—and she laughed.

"Oh, you're actually playing today!"

She twisted, rolling the impact into a follow-up strike, sweeping low for Cyan's legs.

Cyan pivoted.

Her hammer came down—not to crush—but to intercept.

P-PIKO!

The strike deflected just enough to throw Rosie's aim off, the head skidding into the pavement instead of bone.

Rosie spun with it, momentum carrying her into another swing, faster now, chaining attacks together in a wild, relentless rhythm.

Cyan matched her.

Not strength for strength.

Angle for angle.

Every time Rosie committed, Cyan's hammer was already there:

Deflecting.

Redirecting.

Interrupting.

Never quite hitting back.

Rosie's grin stretched tighter.

"Oh, I see what you're doing," she sang, though her breath was starting to hitch. "You think you're clever—"

She feinted high—

then snapped the hammer sideways in a brutal, close-range strike.

Cyan stepped in.

Inside the arc.

Their shoulders nearly collided—

—and Cyan's hammer hooked under Rosie's.

For a split second—

Rosie felt it.

That pull.

That angle.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh no."

She yanked back hard, breaking the contact before Cyan could complete the motion.

The hammers separated with a sharp CLACK.

Rosie stumbled back a step, clutching her weapon tighter.

Cyan reset immediately.

Balanced.

Ready.

Watching.

Always watching.

Rosie's grin flickered.

She knew this.

This wasn't just blocking.

This wasn't just defense.

This was—

"Don't," Rosie said, a little sharper now.

Cyan said nothing.

She just shifted her grip slightly.

Inviting the next strike.

Rosie lunged again, faster, more aggressive—overhead, spin, reverse, slam—

PIKO.
PIKO.
THUD.

Each impact met resistance.

Each strike got turned.

Each movement pulled her just a little further off-line.

A little more extended.

A little more—

Rosie's breath hitched.

Her grin thinned.

She saw it now.

The pattern.

The way Cyan's hammer kept meeting hers just so—

Not to stop it.

To guide it.

To line it up.

To—

Cyan stepped in again.

Closer.

Too close.

Her hammer slid along Rosie's shaft—

Rosie jerked back on instinct, ripping the weapon free before the leverage could complete.

"Nope!"

She jumped back, putting space between them, hugging the hammer close.

"Nope nope nope!"

Cyan didn't chase.

That was worse.

Rosie's grin snapped back into place, but it felt thinner now, stretched over something sharper underneath.

"You almost had it," she said, forcing a laugh. "That was cute."

Cyan just stood there.

Hammer ready.

Waiting.

Rosie's grip tightened.

She could feel it.

Another exchange or two—

one bad angle—

one moment too slow—

—and it would be gone again.

Not this one.

Not this one.

She liked this one.

Her grin widened again, bright and wild.

"Y'know what?" she chirped. "I think I'll save this for later!"

She pointed the hammer at Cyan.

"Don't go anywhere!"

And then she turned—

—and ran.

Gone down the street in seconds, vanishing around the corner before Cyan could follow.

O o O o O​

Rosie didn't stop until she was three districts over.

Then she slowed, panting, clutching the hammer tight against her chest.

"Not this one," she muttered.

Her grin crept back.

"Not this one."

Then she giggled.

O o O o O​

Buns sighed in relief as she finally arrived on scene in her Omega Care Unit.

Cyan was okay.

The people of the neighborhood were okay too, and in the process of cleaning up and starting repairs, but the important thing to Buns was that Cyan was okay.

"Hi, Buns," the bat greeted her, still looking off in the distance. Not accusatory, which somehow made it worse.

"Ah came over as soon as I got word that Rosie was back in town."

"Probably just as well that you didn't get here until after Rosie was gone, really," Cyan stated. "Rosie's not one to back down from intimidation."

"Worried that I'd get hurt?"

"She might have given you a few dents before you put her down," Cyan replied, shaking her head. "It's more the collateral damage that would have happened before then."

"Then what is it? You seem to be a bit distracted."

"Rosie broke off her attack and ran away."

"So? That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes… But she didn't do it because she was afraid of me. She picked up on the fact that I was setting up to disarm her again. Twice. She broke off and ran away because she didn't want to lose another hammer to me."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Rosie's learning. I'm trained and she isn't, but she's learning."

 

[Tangent]

I just got informed by the wound center to check myself into the emergency room. The last time this happened, I went in expecting to be sent home with antibiotics to take for a while, so I just went in as a walk-in with no preparations for the week-long stay it ended up being. This time, I am packing clothes, my CPAP (Continuous Positive Air Pressure), and my laptop in case I am able to use it there. However, in case I am not able to get online there, I am going to go ahead and post the last written chapter of Tough As NAILS.

Tough. As. NAILS!
Yet another SI fic by Tangent.
This time as Anti-Rouge!

O o O o O​

Donna Vanilla watched the bat sitting beside Cream on the opposite seat, shoulders tense, fingers lightly drumming against her knees. Cyan's eyes were fixed out the window, but the set of her jaw told Vanilla everything she needed to know: the mood in the limo was heavy.

Cream, for her part, was quiet - far quieter than usual - and that alone was enough to make Vanilla's chest tighten. Cyan's somber mood was, however unintentionally, weighing on her daughter's normally cheerful demeanor, even though Cream had barely known any of the Irregulars before… the incident.

In fact, to Vanilla's knowledge, Cyan - then Anti-Rouge - had been the only member of the Irregulars Cream had met more than once. It wasn't that they were friends, exactly. Cyan was simply… good with children. Friendly without being false, firm without being cruel.

And Cream had noticed.

She had looked up to that - someone who could be tough and cool without being mean about it.

Vanilla wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Her daughter's innocence wasn't ignorance. It was… something sharper. Something aware. Poised on the edge of disillusionment without ever quite tipping over, where so many others eventually did.

Vanilla, meanwhile, was still trying to find the balance herself - between what she needed to be as the Boss of a territory, and what she wanted to be as Cream's mother.

The Irregulars had made that balance look easy.

Which was why reclaiming her late husband's estate within their district had been more than sentiment. It had been… instructive. A chance to observe, to learn, and - carefully - to adapt what worked.

They were finally on their way to Dansville to deliver the remainder of Anti-Glitch's effects to his foster brother, Heinz Doofenshmirtz. From what Vanilla understood, Cyan had already informed Heinz of the loss; this trip was simply passing along what the Ocelot family deemed appropriate for their foster son.

Vanilla had offered Cyan a ride - Dansville was only a small detour on the way back to her own territory, and she wanted to check in on Perry while she was out that way. It was the practical thing to do.

It was also, she suspected, the kind one.

Heinz might be "evil-light," even by Moebian standards, but anyone who could openly call their business Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated—and make it stick—was worth keeping an eye on.

Perry was just the platypus for the job.

O o O o O​

~Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated~

My ears twitched as the all-too-familiar jingle kicked in the moment I stepped into the lobby.

…Right.

This was worse than Doc Kintobor looking like Jim Carrey. Worse than Don the Ape setting off that vague, nagging sense of déjà vu I couldn't quite place.

This?

This was blatant Archie Sonicverse nonsense.

The building existed.

The town was full of overlanders.

And his name was actually Doofenshmirtz.

Of course it was.

The jingle was on autoplay.

For Striders' sake, the jingle was on autoplay.

What's next?

Am I going to see a bunch of choreographed performers heading out for their coffee break?

…

I paused.

Nope.

Didn't see that.

Absolutely did not just see a group of employees in stage costumes march past in perfect synchronization on their way out.

That didn't happen.

Nothing is going to convince me otherwise.

I shifted the weight of the case holding Anti-Glitch's things and walked up to the reception desk like a perfectly sane person.

Because I am a perfectly sane person.

And that definitely didn't happen.

O o O o O​

"A platypus - oh. Wait, you're not Perry," Doofenshmirtz said, lowering his arm mid-gesture as a bat stepped out of the elevator, a case slung over her shoulder.

"Well. That's probably for the best," he continued, nodding to himself. "I had this whole musical number prepared and everything, but the performers are on break right now. Union rules. Very strict."

He paused, tilting his head as the bat twitched.

"…Huh."

Odd.

Was she… afraid of stage performers?

"I'm Cyan the Bat. I called a while ago to let you know that Anti-Glitch had died…"

"Glitch."

"Excuse me?"

"My foster family and I had a discussion about it - what with the whole No More Anti-Names decree - and it was decided to just drop the 'Anti' from all of our names. Even Glitch's."

"…Fair enough."

"So! You are the infamous Cyan the Bat, leader of the new Irregulars?"

"I literally just told you that."

"Yes, but now I am formally acknowledging it. Very important distinction."

"You know, you are really throwing off the usual pattern here," he continued, gesturing vaguely. "Showing up when my performers are on break. Not engaging in the standard pro forma…"

"I'm just trying to drop off what Glitch left for you."

"And that is appreciated!" Heinz said, perking up immediately. "Very thoughtful. Very considerate. But it is still no excuse for not following proper villain lair etiquette."

"I could go back out and smash my way in with my Piko Piko Hammer."

"No, no," he said quickly, waving his hands. "It's far too late to fix things now. The moment is gone." He sighed. "A tragedy, really."

He brightened a moment later.

"Good idea, though! You should definitely keep that in mind for your next visit."

"So, where do you want this?" Cyan asked, indicating the case still slung over her shoulder.

"Just set it down on that conveniently empty countertop over there," Heinz said, pointing. "The other countertops have traps around them for when Perry visits."

"Why am I not surprised?" Cyan sighed.

"I don't know," Heinz replied, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Do you happen to know anyone else who routinely booby-traps their own lair?"

"…Fair."

He paused.

"…Actually, no, wait - that does sound like something other people might do."

Cyan stepped over and set the case down on the indicated countertop, carefully avoiding the others.

There was a soft click as it settled into place.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Heinz stepped forward.

He didn't reach for it immediately.

"…You know," he said, a little quieter than before, "usually when someone brings me a mysterious case, it is either a trap… or an opportunity for dramatic irony."

Cyan didn't respond.

After a second, Heinz let out a small breath and flipped the latches open.

The case clicked, then lifted.

He looked inside.

And went still.

The shift was subtle—but absolute.

"Oh."

No theatrics.

No rambling.

Just that.

He reached in, slower now, and picked up the first item with a care that didn't quite match the man from a moment ago.

"…He always did have terrible taste in organizing things," Heinz murmured, almost absently. Then, after a beat—quieter—"I told him that. Repeatedly."

His grip tightened slightly.

"…He never listened."

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then Heinz cleared his throat, straightened, and just like that—

the moment snapped.

"Well! Yes. Very good. Thank you for bringing this," he said, just a bit too quickly, setting the item back down with deliberate care. "Very efficient. Very professional. Excellent tragic backstory delivery."

He nodded to himself.

"…I will, uh—process this appropriately."

O o O o O​

I ended up staying longer than I'd planned.

Not because I had to.

Just…

Because leaving felt rude.

Heinz made tea. Actual tea. Not from a ray or an -inator, just… tea. And sandwiches. Slightly uneven ones, like he'd made them himself instead of delegating to whatever passes for henchmen around here.

He talked.

A lot.

About Glitch.

About growing up. About things that were - apparently - "not terrible," which, coming from him, seemed to qualify as high praise.

I got the impression he didn't get many chances to talk about that part.

So I let him.

Didn't interrupt. Didn't correct. Didn't… do anything, really.

Just listened.

…It felt like the right thing to do.

Eventually, there wasn't really anything left to say.

So I left.

And as I stepped out of the building -

~Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated~

- I froze.

A line of performers in full stage costume marched past me in perfect synchronization, heading inside like they hadn't just completely upended my sense of reality earlier.

I stared at them.

They stared straight ahead.

Nobody acknowledged anything.

…

I turned and walked away.

That didn't happen.

That is not a thing that is happening.

Striders…

It's going to be days before that silly jingle stops echoing through my memories...

O o O o O​

Cream stared at her mother, taking in the slightly frazzled look, the hair out of place, the faint hint of exhaustion in her eyes.

"Is Perry going to be my new Daddy?"

"No."

"Uhuh…"

Vanilla blinked at that. She'd expected protest, questions, maybe even a philosophical debate on family dynamics. Instead, Cream just nodded like she'd been handed a fact of life she didn't particularly care to argue with.

"Well, that's… comforting," Vanilla muttered, sinking into the seat. She tugged her jacket straight and tried to look vaguely composed. She failed.

Cream leaned back, twirling a strand of her own hair. "Does this mean you got into a fight with someone today?"

"Something like that," Vanilla said vaguely, knowing better than to explain the details. Some things were just too ridiculous for anyone to believe — and some things were better left unexamined.

Cream hummed in understanding, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. Vanilla, for her part, just let out a long, slow sigh.

Some days, survival was enough. Some days, that was all that counted.

 

[Draconic fan]

Hope everything turns out ok

 

[Tangent]

Doc Kintobor's Care Unit Force
To be expanded as needed...

Doc-on-the-Spot mobile Field Clinic Pods:
Originally conceived as a way for Doc Kintobor to extend needed medical care to a much wider area than he could easily and safely reach himself. Unfortunately, few Moebians trusted them enough to climb into them to be treated, and many of them were vandalized. Sometimes just by someone wanting to break something, and sometimes for the presumed drugs and high value parts they contained. There are not many Doc-on-the-Spot units left, as Doc Kintobor has learned from the experience and has discontinued production of these for now.

Motobud:
Designed to be friendly, nonthreatening therapy companions and medic alert devices, Motobuds were not only freely given to some patients, but a large number were also released out into Moebius where they tend to be found and adopted as toys, pets, and friendly little assistants. While some have still been destroyed by vandals, most survive due to being considered to be beneath the notice of anyone looking for something important looking to wreck or raid.

Honey Comber (Aerial Search and Signal Unit):
Designed as a search-and-signal support unit, Honey Combers are aerial drones modeled after large, friendly honeybees, intended to locate lost or injured individuals in open environments such as forests, plains, and coastal regions. Equipped with sensors capable of detecting heat signatures, movement irregularities, and distress signals, they excel at wide-area scanning and rapid identification of individuals in need of assistance. Once a target is located, Honey Combers relay positional data to nearby Care Units and can remain on-site to monitor the individual until help arrives. While their non-threatening design was meant to encourage trust, reactions vary—some Moebians accept their presence, while others remain wary of airborne machines, occasionally avoiding them despite needing aid.

Bat Scan (Subterranean Search and Signal Unit):
Bat Scan units are specialized search-and-signal drones designed for operation in caves, mines, tunnels, and other low-light or enclosed environments, taking the form of large, friendly bats. Utilizing advanced echolocation systems, they can navigate complex underground terrain, detect structural hazards, and locate individuals through sound-based physiological cues such as breathing and movement. Once a subject is identified, Bat Scans transmit location data and environmental information to responding Care Units while maintaining proximity to the individual. Their quiet operation and suitability for confined spaces make them highly effective in subterranean rescue scenarios, though they can still provoke startled or defensive reactions when encountered unexpectedly in the dark.

Catterpillow (Extreme Terrain Mobile Care Gurney Unit):
Designed as an all-terrain medical transport platform, Catterpillows are self-mobile gurney units modeled after large, friendly caterpillars, capable of traversing rough terrain such as debris fields, forests, and collapsed structures while keeping patients stable and supported. Their segmented bodies incorporate adaptive suspension and soft, impact-absorbing materials, allowing for comfortable and low-risk transport even in hazardous conditions. Intended to encourage patient compliance through a non-threatening, approachable design, Catterpillows can also perform basic monitoring while en route to safer locations or additional care. However, their softness and comfort have led to frequent civilian appropriation, with many units being captured and repurposed as personal beds or loungers, limiting their availability for their intended medical role despite their effectiveness.

Care Unit Jay (Fox-Type Care Unit - male):
Care Unit Jay units are general-purpose medical responders designed to function as nurses, paramedics, and field medics as needed. Like all Care Units, Jay models are fully capable of patient stabilization, transport assistance, emergency treatment, and basic diagnostics. Where they differ is in their low light vision and enhanced auditory processing, allowing them to detect breathing irregularities, heart rhythms, and subtle physiological distress signals at short range. This makes them particularly effective in low-visibility conditions, crowded environments, or situations where patients are unable to communicate clearly.

Care Unit Emma (Humanoid-Type Care Unit - female):
Care Unit Emma is a thus far unique general-purpose medical responder designed to function as a nurse, paramedic, and field medic as needed. Like all Care Units, Emma is fully capable of patient stabilization, emergency treatment, rescue support, and basic diagnostics. Where she differs is in her expanded processing capacity and advanced medical database, allowing for faster diagnostic evaluation, more complex treatment planning in the field, and coordinating other Care Units operating in the same region. Her human-like design improves patient comfort and cooperation in areas with a high overlander population, while still retaining the same broad operational flexibility as other Care Units. Emma's overlander appearance may also be a subconscious sign of the possibility that Doc Kintobor might desire a daughter while being too busy to actually settle down and get married to produce one in the more traditional manner...

Care Unit Gigi (Avian-Type Care Unit - female):
Care Unit Gigi units are general-purpose medical responders designed to function as nurses, paramedics, and field medics as needed. Like all Care Units, Gigi models are fully capable of patient stabilization, emergency treatment, rescue operations, and basic diagnostics. Where they differ is in their lightweight construction and flight capability, allowing them to reach patients quickly in obstructed, vertical, or densely built environments where ground-based units may be delayed. Their smaller size and expressive design make them particularly effective at approaching distressed civilians, but they remain fully capable of continuing care until additional support arrives or the situation is resolved.

Care Unit Fiora (Fox-Type Care Unit - female):
Care Unit Fiora units are general-purpose medical responders designed to function as nurses, paramedics, and field medics as needed. Like all Care Units, Fiora models are fully capable of patient stabilization, emergency treatment, rescue support, and basic diagnostics. Where they differ is in their low light vision and enhanced auditory processing and low-light vision, allowing them to monitor heartbeats, breathing patterns, and subtle physiological changes at short range. Fiora units are also the first to incorporate a simulated heartbeat system, improving comfort for species sensitive to its absence. Their design emphasizes approachability in public-facing roles while retaining full field capability.

Spoiler: Medic Unit M (Moebius Counterpart to Metal Sonic):

Medic Unit M—sometimes referred to simply as "Metal"—is a specialized medical Care Unit created by Dr. Ovi Kintobor. Its design was modeled on the pre-green version of Scourge the Hedgehog (Anti-Sonic), intentionally crafted to resemble a familiar but non-threatening silhouette. The goal was to create a visually reassuring medical presence, allowing patients and civilians to trust the unit without fear. Medic Unit M retains full medical functionality, including stabilization, emergency treatment, and patient transport, with behaviors optimized for calm, controlled interactions.

In practice, Medic Unit M initially succeeded in its mission: with Anti-Sonic absent from Anti-Mobius, the public accepted and trusted the unit, and Kintobor's design philosophy was validated by outcomes. Its appearance and demeanor encouraged compliance and facilitated care, reinforcing the effectiveness of identity-focused medical robotics.

However, Scourge's return to Moebius in his green, rampaging form dramatically undermined this design logic. The green coloration that was once "safe" now became associated with danger, turning Medic Unit M into a visual trigger for fear, despite its non-hostile programming. Civilians instinctively reacted to him as they would to Scourge, creating obstacles for treatment, complicating operations, and forcing the unit to contend with unintended social consequences.

Medic Unit M therefore operates as a walking contradiction: a tool built to heal and reassure that now evokes fear and mistrust. This makes him a unique narrative instrument within the setting, embodying the conflict between design intent and chaotic reality.

Medic Unit M – Design Philosophy Note
Medic Unit M represents a deliberate inversion of the concept behind Metal Sonic. Where Metal Sonic was designed as a weaponized reflection of Sonic, purpose-built for domination and superiority, Medic Unit M was created as a humanitarian analogue, designed to provide aid and stability while shaping identity around trust. Its core philosophy emphasizes:

Identity First, Function Second – Medic Unit M's appearance and demeanor were engineered to communicate reassurance, with performance shaped around maintaining public confidence.

Systems vs. Chaos – The unit embodies Kintobor's approach to good-faith engineering: rational, ethical, and context-aware, yet vulnerable to unpredictable actors like Scourge, whose actions retroactively invalidate otherwise sound design choices.

Intent ≠ Outcome – Medic Unit M demonstrates that even well-planned interventions can fail when external conditions shift. Its continued operation post-Scourge's return makes it a living reminder that good design can collide tragically with reality.

Omega Care Unit (Unique):
The Omega Care Unit is a one-of-a-kind Care Unit variant whose primary function is generating a localized stasis field capable of halting the progression of severe medical conditions, such as Buns' N.I.D.S., while actively supporting the patient's immune system. Like all Care Units, it retains full general-purpose medical capabilities, including stabilization, emergency treatment, and rescue support.

At Buns' insistence, Dr. Ovi Kintobor reluctantly incorporated defensive and mobility enhancements: quick-hardening riot foam, disorienting sonic emitters, enhanced physical strength, and integrated rocket boosters for rapid response and extraction. Additional offensive modifications were later installed by Glitch, after it became clear that Buns intended to operate within the Irregulars' territory as a defender without disrupting any of their operations. These upgrades proved decisive when Buns used the unit to drive off Scourge and rescue Cyan. While Dr. Kintobor remains deeply uncomfortable with Omega's expanded arsenal, he has agreed to maintain it—on the condition that Buns exercises restraint.

Omega Care Unit – Design Philosophy Note:
The Omega Care Unit is an intentional outlier within the Care Unit Force, both in function and philosophy. Unlike standard units—designed primarily for rapid emergency response, stabilization, and rescue—Omega's architecture prioritizes chronic condition management above all else. Its stasis field and immune-support systems are optimized not for immediate triage but for sustained patient care, capable of halting long-term, degenerative conditions like Buns' N.I.D.S. This prioritization sets Omega apart, marking a subtle yet profound shift in the Force's approach: a machine designed to preserve life over speed of intervention.

At the same time, Omega is the only Care Unit to cross into combat-capable territory under duress. Defensive and offensive modifications—riot foam, sonic emitters, strength augmentation, and rocket boosters—were never part of its core design and exist in tension with its medical-first ethos. Its further weaponization has only deepened Dr. Kintobor's reluctance to mass-produce this model, ensuring that the Omega Care Unit remains unique… for now.

Spoiler: Buns and the Omega Care Unit