#pikos

His intense gaze is unwavering, his fur bristling slightly as he assesses the room, not the machine. It's not like he doesn’t trust her. But he's seen enough explosive-laden contraptions in his life to know that sometimes the most obvious solution is the least effective. That what she wished to do, was a complete and utter waste of there time and energy, these machines are cold, ruthless and dangerous, information would not be given, they would terminate themselves.

"We don’t have time for that. We need to keep moving."

The room they’re in is a stark contrast to the serene forest they’d just left. The air smells faintly of burnt metal and ozone. The walls are lined with screens, flickering with a strange blue light that casts eerie shadows across their faces. The silence is thick, only pierced by the occasional beep or whir from the damaged technology around them. It's a stark reminder of the world they’ve been thrust into—a world where danger is never far behind.

“I’ll give you three minutes.”

He rolls his eyes. He's heard that line before—about machines and information. They always claimed to have secrets to spill, but once you cracked their code, it was usually just a bunch of nonsense or a trap waiting to snap shut. Plus, they were on a tight schedule. The Eggman's forces wouldn’t be fooled by a simple detour for long. As he leans against the wall, arms folded, one foot resting against the stone and merely let’s her do what she wishes.

He just stands there for the moment, confused as he snaps around and his eyes meet hers with a silent, unreadable gaze. He's heard that one before. He's not one to be easily swayed by words, especially from her. But this time, he feels something different in her tone. It's not the usual playful banter they share. There's a tinge of seriousness, a hint of something deeper. He tilts his head slightly, his quills ruffling in the evening breeze. "I am trying to keep you alive. What's wrong?" he asks, his voice low and steady.

He looks at her, he can see that she hesitates, her expression a mix of frustration and vulnerability. She's been holding onto something, and the dam seems ready to break. "~If it is about working with me, then quit anytime you want." He says as he looking at her fidgeting with her fingers. "I know we're supposed to be a team, but… we're just going in circles. Your methods are too soft at times, your slowing us down" He glances around as if expecting someone to jump out and prove him wrong and there is nothing, he is not used to working with anyone at all.

As he breathes out a small sigh, his gaze never wavering from hers. The wind whispers through the grass around them, carrying with it the faint scent of adventure and danger. He understands her worries; they've been chasing shadows for days, following a trail that seems to lead to nothing but dead ends and empty promises. Yet, he feels a strange pull, something that tells him they're on the right path, no matter how convoluted it may seem. 

If she cannot go the distance with him, he can go alone.

He is caught off guard, and stumbles backward, his boots scraping against the pavement. He quickly regains his balance and glares at Amy, his sharp quills bristling with annoyance. But before he can say anything, a barrage of robotic arms shoots out from the nearby bushes, aiming straight for him. As his head quickly turns and his eyes narrow for the moment.

"What the—?" His eyes widen as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He rolls away just in time, narrowly dodging the metallic grasp with her aid in pushing him away. The arms retract, and the bushes rustle as a group of Egg Robots emerge, their red eyes glowing ominously in the fading light. He turns to Amy, who's already poised with her Hammer, ready for action.

"Thanks for the save," He grunts, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "But I can handle myself." He cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing through the quiet street. “Suppose I can give you a few for scrap.” As he cracks his head side to side and is more than ready to fight with her, against this horde of machines.

He rolls his eyes, his quills ruffling slightly with the gesture. He's heard that one before. The room is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the flickering neon sign outside the window, casting a red glow across the worn-out furniture. He's not in the mood for philosophy, not tonight. The air is thick with the scent of greasy pizza, a stark contrast to the usual sterile environments he's accustomed to in his line of work.

He does not need another lecture. He does not need her standing on her soap box. He does not need her telling him what is right and what is wrong.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, taking a sip from his drink, the carbonation bubbling against his lips. The TV in the corner blares out the latest news, the reporter's voice a droning background to his thoughts. The headline reads: 'City in Chaos: Mysterious Attacker Leaves Trail of Destruction'. He knows that trail all too well, but he can't help but feel a pang of doubt as he recalls the chaos he's been leaving behind lately. Is he really any better than the ones he's fighting?

He is fighting, he is always fighting. His entire life he has been fighting against everyone trying to use him. She has no idea what it is like.

The pizza box between them is half-empty, grease stains forming a odd pattern on the cardboard. The cheese has congealed into a gel-like substance, the pepperoni slices curled up at the edges like tiny, defeated soldiers. The silence stretches out, uncomfortable and sticky like the residue of a bad memory. As he glances away from her and huffs, what did she want from him, humans only know violence, you have to use it against them, there is no room to try and speak sense and reason to them, the soft approach leads to a cell and experiments and he is not going back to his prison.

His gaze lingers on the TV, watching the footage of buildings crumbling and fires raging. His heart races, a guilty throb in his chest. The chaos was his doing, a side effect of his vendetta. But it wasn't supposed to be like this. He was the hero, the one who brought order to the madness. Now, he's just another villain with a flashy coat of black and red fur.

“Everyone is my enemy, the world is against me, they don’t want me here.”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable behind his shadowy visor. He knew that she was trying to be positive, but he was never one for half measures. The mission was only halfway through, and there were still too many variables at play. The air had tension as they both sat on the rooftop of the abandoned building, looking out over the cityscape.

"You're not seeing the full picture, Amy," He finally said. His voice was firm, but there was an underlying concern in it that didn't usually show. "We've only just begun. There's still a long way to go before we can call this a success."

As he was trying so hard, he loathed the humans. He wanted nothing more than to crush them, end them, to be the one that brings them all down, to let them suffer. Let the made doctor that the world from them, as he has wanted to do for years, let the machines rule and slam humans into cages and abuse them, hurt them and tear them apart, as he stared forward at the city that had fallen into the doctor’s hands.

Machines, robots every single place you looked, humans scared and being captured, but was this what he wanted, to see a city fall to the machines and for the humans to be treated like that, it brought him nothing at all, he thought it would make him happy, he thought it would make him smile at least, but he just saw pain and suffering in them and it eats at whatever is left of his soul.