Tails of the Old Republic

Chapter 045

Upper City Taris — Promised Land, part 1

Tails awoke from his third nightmare in two days, his teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut, muscles tense and fur matted with cold sweat. At least no phantom figure has snapped his neck this time, and no twisted caricatures of his friends had mocked him. He had spent enough energy mocking himself in that dream.


The boy panicked again when he realized Mission was snuggled against him for the second night in a row, his own tails wrapped like a sleeping bag around them both, but then he remembered he had given her specific permission to do so. Her presence made him feel so conflicted inside, and the girl's grip around his middle made his face flush. Really, everywhere her body was touching him made his skin tingle, and his male hormones were going bonkers in his brain. Fortunately, certain cybernetic subroutines were preventing his body from doing anything embarrassing. At least, for her part, Mission hadn't done anything mischievous with him. Tails wiggled his whiskers in frustration.


He lay there, motionless, as minutes passed. Sunlight filtered through the apartment window, but Tails couldn't summon the will to get out of bed. He could repair something, he could inspect some of the datapads they had collected, he could at least eat, stretch, and exercise, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. He wanted to sleep all day, and maybe meld with the mattress while he was at it. Even when Carth announced it was time to get up, Tails had little motivation to do so. The boy let Mission untangle herself from his tails and roll off the bed, but he himself sluggishly responded.


By the time Tails sat up on the edge of the bed, everyone else was already dressed (except for Zaalbar, who never wore anything). The boy's tails stung from their injuries, as did the barbeque stripe across his chest and stomach and the burn on his leg. Now that all the adrenalin had worn off from the duel and its aftermath, Tails' body really hurt like hell. After slipping his gloves and boots on, he sat there with a blank expression.


Mission took notice of him, and she asked, "Are you feeling OK?"


"Peachy."


"Aren't you going to finish getting dressed?"


"I am dressed," the boy grumbled.


"Where in the galaxy do shoes and gloves count as 'dressed'?"


"They do on my planet."


"Tails, you're naked," Mission deadpanned.


"No one cares that Zaalbar's naked," said Tails.


"No one tells a Wookiee what to wear if they value their limbs!" she hissed. "And besides... your fur is a lot shorter than his!"


"So?"


"You leave a lot less to the imagination, Tails!"


"Are you coming on to me?"


"Arrgh!"


Mission's face and lekku were bright pink by this point, and she stomped away in a huff. Tails felt a little guilty teasing her like that, but at least his mood lifted a little. He was just so terribly annoyed by others imposing their social phobias on him. Besides, the boy had been just as nude last night, and Mission had no qualms cuddling up to his naked body then!


Tails sighed.


'I should get ready for the day,' he thought. It was either that or keep company to his own demons.


He still didn't quite want to do anything, though, and we wasn't going to put the rest of his clothes on until he was ordered to. After getting up from the bed and drinking some water, Tails sat at the central table. He watched Carth and Bastila getting ready to go out, idly wondering why they weren't telling him to do anything yet.


"So," Tails said aloud, "Where are we headed today?"


Carth paused, grumbling. He turned to Tails and said, "Bastila and I are heading out. You're staying put.


"What? Why?" said the Mobian, confused.


"Because you're grounded."


It took Tails several seconds for that to sink in, and all his earlier negativity came flooding back.


“What do you mean, I’m grounded?”


“Precisely what it sounds like, Prower,” said Carth. “It means you’re temporarily relieved of duty.”


‘Grounded. Way to make me feel like a useless child, Carth!’


Tails looked pleadingly at Bastila, but she said, “Carth and I are in agreement. You’ll be staying put until we can get your behavioral anomalies properly investigated. We’re going out to follow a few leads we got last night, and we’ll return later this afternoon to take you back to the clinic.”


Tails groaned, and he clonked his forehead down on the table where he was sitting.


‘Oh, go stuff your anomalies, you two!’


“Hey — what about us?” asked Mission, gesturing to both herself and Zaalbar.


Carth sighed. “I can’t technically order you two to do anything. You can stay here, or you can choose to come with us, but if you do you need to do exactly as we tell you. After last night, we can’t afford to have any more attention drawn to us.”


Tails whimpered. ‘Why can’t I go back to fighting killer robots back home?’ he thought bitterly. ‘My life was simpler by Sonic’s side.’


Mission frowned, and she looked back at Tails, who still had his face planted on the table. The boy was making an odd gesture with his tails, though no one seemed to know what it meant. Mission suddenly got the humorous thought he might be “giving the finger” with his namesakes!


Zaalbar broke his silence, and said, “I’m staying here with Tails.”


The Twi’lek girl turned to Zaalbar, nodded, then said, “Then I’m staying here, too!”


“Fine,” said Carth. He opened the apartment door, and after giving the hallway a quick sweep, he turned back and added, “Discourage him from doing anything dumb, please,” indicating the fox boy at the table. “He’s not to leave the apartment.”


Tails gave a low growl, but otherwise say or do anything else.


Carth and Bastila then left the apartment, and the door shut behind them.


Tails peeled his face off the table and slouched in his chair, resting his chin on one hand, staring blankly at a wall. The boy’s stomach rumbled, but he was the only one who didn’t seem to notice. Tails’ sudden apathy gave Mission some cause for concern. When minutes passed and the boy only became more distant and despondent, she decided to intervene.


“Hey,” she said softly. The girl scooted a chair closer to him and sat down beside the boy, while Zaalbar made his way toward the tiny kitchenette. Tails was still only wearing his shoes and gloves, and Mission had to resist the temptation to stare. She wasn’t entirely successful. The ragged, zig-zag pattern of discontinuities in his fur were enough to draw anyone’s eyes, even ignoring all the boy’s other details. Tails didn’t respond to her presence, even when she clasped her hand in his. “Are you all right?”


Tails didn’t say or do anything for nearly a minute. Mission was about to give up, when Tails said, “I can still see them. All of them.”


Mission blinked. “Who?”


His eyes still staring through the wall, he said, “Everyone I’ve killed. The Sith, the Gamorreans, the Vulkars — Bendak. Even the ones I just left horribly maimed — they won’t leave me alone.”


Mission noticed a tremble in Tails’ arm, and she squeezed his hand a bit tighter. “I’m sorry Tails,” she said. “It’s never easy taking a life, or thinking about it later. I’ve learned not to dwell too much on it — you just do the things you need to do.”


Tails finally focused his eyes onto the girl next to him.


“Long before you arrived, Tails,” said Mission, preempting the boy, “my brother Griff taught me lots of things on how to survive the Lower City. How to slice computers and bypass security, how to disappear from a scene before things got ugly — and how to use blaster or vibroblade when cornered.” She paused to collect her thoughts before continuing, “And I’ve had to use them. You don’t get to survive Taris without getting your hands dirty.”


The boy’s face returned to an ambiguously neutral frown, and he stared at the table. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about it,” he squeaked.


“No — maybe not,” said Mission. “But, you’re a soldier, right? That’s part of what you were trained for… isn’t it?”


The boy snorted. “Yeah… so I’ve been told.”


“Huh?”


“I’m not a soldier, Mission. I never have been,” said Tails. “I’ve been so lost since coming here. I don’t remember joining any stupid Republic — I don’t even remember leaving my own planet! This last week and a half, I’ve been playing up — rather pathetically — a dumb head wound to cover up why I don’t know anything about this place. Carth had to explain about the Republic, the Sith, the current war, the Mandalorian war before that — and I’m still lost. Carth Onasi, and another soldier I knew for all of twenty minutes, both told me I’m some super-gifted recruit for the “Republic”, and I needed to protect someone named Bastila; the “Sith” are our enemies, and our cause is just, blah blah blah.”


Tails sighed and his head sunk even lower. “And I killed for that cause. I feel like a puppet on a string.”


The room was quiet again. The blue Twi’lek didn’t know what to say; her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.


“You… don’t remember anything since crashing here?” she finally said, after a whole minute of silence.


“Since the space battle,” the fox boy said. “The Sith attacked, I woke up, and then I was fighting for my life. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t even know how long it’s been since I left Mobius.”


“And you haven’t told Carth or Bastila?” said Mission, raising her voice. It was actually a normal speaking volume, but compared to the hushed whispers of the last several minutes, she was practically shouting.


Tails shook his head. “Well, Carth knows I’m missing memories, given how much I’ve played up the ‘head injury’ thing. But, I didn’t tell him everything. I couldn’t tell him everything. I just…,” the boy trailed off, and he buried his face in his palms. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips curled and teeth exposed, and tears leaked down his face. Mission slipped her arms around Tails’ chest and squeezed him tight.


“Tails,” she said, “Maybe you don’t know why or how you got here, but you seem like a good person who’s been thrust into a bad situation. Yes, you’ve had to hurt people. Either to defend yourself, or to rescue some in danger — or to prevent future harm. And, soldier or not, you really do try to help people in need. You’ve helped me and Zaalbar, you’ve helped those Outcast people, and you’ve helped rescue Bastila. And, no matter how much it hurts inside — I don’t think those are things you should be ashamed of.”


The increasingly fragile boy didn’t respond, but he sat there with Mission, trying to sort out all his thoughts and feelings and reconcile his actions with his morals. Even with the girl’s encouragement, it proved depressingly difficult. After several more minutes, Tails’ tremors diminished, his breathing became smoother and shallower, and the tears stopped flowing. The boy slowly relaxed his posture, and at last, he removed his hands from his face. His eyes were still red and misty, but at least he no longer looked like he was no longer struggling to hold on to his sanity.


Fortunately, Tails’ stomach grumbled again, cutting some of the tension in the room. With one last squeeze on the boy’s hand, Mission left her seat. “Come on, let’s get something to eat,” she said. “I see Big Z’s already ahead of us in that quest!”


For his part, the big Wookiee was standing like a silent statue, eating cold leftovers by the kitchenette. He had a faraway look on his face, but he hadn’t been ignoring them. Zaalbar just didn’t quite know what to add to the conversation.


For Mission and Tails, breakfast consisted of their remaining military rations as well as food that had been purchased in the cantina. Despite having little appetite still, Tails made himself eat, knowing his body needed it. He pecked at his food at first, but as he filled his stomach, he felt his hunger return in force, and he soon ate with vigor.


Mission could only stare as the ravenous fox inhaled food like a vacuum cleaner, and his normally flat and muscular stomach rounded out from internal pressure! The girl wondered if Tails had any actual organs in there, and his gut wasn’t just an empty elastic sack for storing food! Even Zaalbar looked amused, and impressed that someone half his height could eat as much as he did. Even more amazingly, Tails’ stomach bulge was only half as big as it rightfully should have been — just where did he put it all? Was his stomach bigger on the inside?


Eventually the spectacle came to an end, and Tails settled back into his chair. His mood had improved significantly after eating, and he looked more than a little pleased with himself after patting his belly. But his face soon reverted to a blank, neutral expression, his eyes focused far away and lost in thought. Mission started snickering.


The boy looked her way and raised an eyebrow. “…What?” he asked wearily.


“I’ve just never seen anyone who could eat so much in one sitting. It’s — it’s funny!”


“Hmph!” Tails snorted. A wisp of a smile returned, and he added, “Glad I could be a source of amusement.”


“Heh, well,” said Mission, adjusting her seat. “I guess you need to eat a lot — are your cybernetics powered by your metabolism?”


Tails jolted upright instantly. “HOW’D?!” he gasped, then in a calmer voice, “…do you think I have anything like that?”


Mentally, the boy slapped himself. With an outburst like that, and such a terrible save afterward, he knew he had lost all plausible deniability.


‘Yay, I blew up Sonic again! Great going, motor mouth!’


“Wow, smooth,” chided Mission. “Um, Tails, you had surgery at the Bek base, remember? Their equipment might be obsolete compared to what Zelka has, but they gave you a full medical scan before they started. They had to work around all your implants, and when they were done, they shared your medical report with us after they wheeled you into Recovery.”


“You — you know?” Tails squeaked, his eyes wide as saucers. He looked like Mission had just shot him. “All of you — even Carth and Bastila?”


“I dunno about Jedi Lady,” the girl said. “But, yeah, Carth and Z and I have known since the big swoop race.”


Tails stared at her incredulously, jaw hung open. Then, for the second time in the same morning, he headdesked the table.


“ARRRRRRRRRRRGH!!”


“Tails, what’s wrong?” asked Mission. “You’re acting like you’re ashamed of having cybernetics, or something. Why? Not everyone has implants, but lots of people do — I do, Big Z does, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Carth or Bastila had one.”


Tails groaned. “You don’t understand, Mission. I’ve kept those hidden from everyone — for years. Even my closest friends!”


“But… why?”


The boy sighed, and he picked his face off the tabletop. “Because — because they remind me of how weak and fragile I am compared to my friends back home. My augmentations are meant — were meant — to help bridge the gap between me and my friends, and keep me alive longer in extended combat.  They’re meant to keep me from being completely useless on team missions, even as my friends kept pulling further ahead of me, and I got further outclassed by my enemies.”


“Yeah, I remember you telling me a bit about your home and your childhood, now,” said Mission. “I guess I see why you’d want to augment yourself, but — that doesn’t explain why you’re so keen on keeping it a secret.”


“You don’t know my homeworld, Mission. Every day for the last ten years has been a struggle for survival against Ivo Robotnik and his machine empire. And, those of us he didn’t kill were captured and turned into machines, cyborgs, or AI constructs programmed to do his bidding. And there lies the entire problem: the surviving population is terrified of any machine that can think for itself, and of being captured and roboticized. A few AIs and cyborgs are tolerated, like NICOLE and Bunnie Robbot, but are still treated with deep suspicion and don’t interact with the general public.


“And, here you’ve got me, world-class Freedom Fighter… and self-made cyborg. I’m practically half-machine now, though I’m still blessed with most of my squishy bits. If the general public found out what I had done to myself, like I’ve gone and willing got myself roboticized, the fallout would be catastrophic! My close friends might still accept me, but the public wouldn’t. I’d never be allowed within ten miles of another Mobian! Then, there’d be the accusations that I was actually a double-agent for Robotnik, and…!”


Tails buried his face in his hands again. “And — I don’t want to think about all that again. Not now.”


Mission sighed, and she clasped her hands around Tails’ arm. “I’m sorry Tails,” she whispered in his ear. “I didn’t mean to dredge all that up.”


“No,” the boy replied, “It’s not your fault. Zelka found out when he first scanned me, days ago, and I was a fool to think I could keep my augs hidden for much longer. On Mobius, I could delay and defer medical examinations as needed, so my secret would stay safe. I just never had that level of control here.”


“Well, Tails, I can assure you don’t need to be ashamed of your cybernetics here. Even if the extent of your augmentations raises a few eyebrows, nobody in the galaxy is going to make a huge fuss over them. When the Beks were doing surgery on you, the only complaint they had was that all your implants were non-standard, which made their job harder, putting you back together.”


Tails got a blank look on his face, and he sighed. “Yeah, that’s one of the first things Zelka brought up,” he said. “All my augmentations are self-installed. I had no ‘standard’ to guide me through the planning and engineering stages, or even the operations. I got NICOLE to help, but otherwise I was completely on my own. NICOLE — she’s the AI that I mentioned — is the only person on Mobius who knows my secret. In addition to my cybernetics, she also helped design my bio-augmentations.”


“Self-installed?!” gasped Mission. She suddenly got the mental image of Tails cutting himself open with kitchen knives and stuffing metal bits into his body with his hands. “You — how — what — guh?! You did all that on your own, and didn’t kill yourself?”


“Not completely alone,” Tails protested. “I had robot aides do the surgery, and they were controlled by NICOLE while I was unconscious. Geez, I’m not stupid!”


“Even still,” Mission said, “Republic standards exist for a reason. They help ensure nothing goes catastrophically wrong, and that implants can be easily repaired and replaced with no lasting repercussions to your body. While I’m sure you and your AI made the best designs you could…,” after trailing off, she found herself unable to complete that line of thought. “Well, I’m just glad you made it through OK.”


“I know what you’re saying, Mission,” said the boy. “But I felt I had no choice. Desperate measures, and all that. I have to make up the rules as I go.”


The girl sighed. “I keep forgetting what you’ve told me about your home. I can’t see how anybody could… change themselves to such a degree without a good reason.”


“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to, Mission. There are times I have to remind myself that I’m still me, and not… some other creature with my memories. The day I had my first implants installed was the most terrifying day of my life. Especially since I knew the procedure could easily kill me, or leave me crippled or brain-dead. There were just so many unknowns.”


There was another pause, and for the first time that morning, Tails noticed Mission was touching him. His face flushed with heat, and he wondered how long her arm had been there!


“What exactly is the extent of your augmentations?” asked Mission. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, I’m just… curious, that’s all.”


Tails sighed. He felt so pent up, he might as well blab everything.


“My cybernetics came first. I have organ monitoring and regulatory systems implanted throughout my entire body. I have a synthetic neural network threaded in parallel to my organic nervous system. Inside my skull are my neural implants, which provide additional 3D mapping, sensory processing and data storage, and regulate everything else. Rounding out my cybernetic upgrade package are my nanomachines, and all combined they facilitate healing, immune defense, digestion and respiration, and basically ensure everything inside me runs smoothly. One goal I’ve had is to engineer Chaos-reactive circuitry to pull useful power out of my tails, but that’s proven difficult.


“My bio-augs were trickier to engineer. Most of my tissues are genetically modified in some way, but I was unwilling to tamper with my chromosomal DNA. So, I designed cellular plasmids, separate from my cells’ nuclei, to manufacture the biochemical compounds I wanted them to. Their job is to keep my body in peak physical condition and maximize my strength, stamina, and reflexes. Lastly, my skeleton is almost completely synthetic. A liquid-sintered, graphene-reinforced silicon-aluminum oxynitride ceramic makes up most of my bone mass. The composite structure has about twenty times the fracture resistance of natural bone, and it can even heal itself. Just enough natural bone mineral and marrow is left to provide necessary biological functions.


"Even my muscles have been upgraded: about eight percent of my myofibrils are made of a twisted-nanotube electropolymer that, gram for gram, are a hundred times stronger than Mobian muscle tissue. They wear out quickly, are annoyingly difficult to repair, and they require direct current to work, but the end result is that I now have seven to eight times the strength the typical Mobian. That probably sounds more impressive than it is, though... when the average Mobian weighs only twenty to thirty kilos, our natural strength sometimes doesn't count for much. Still, I can lift about twelve times my own body mass for a single rep, or about six hundred kilos. Realistic loads are much less than that, of course.


“The down side to all this, besides the mind-numbing complexity to it all, is the high energy and nutrient requirements necessary to support my augmentations. My body burns through a megajoule of energy per hour at rest, and I can’t exactly plug myself into a wall outlet to ‘charge up’. All the excess heat produced makes my body run hot, like I’m continuously running a mild fever. It sucks, but I deal with it. And, there’s the fact that while my upgrade package pushes my Mobian body to its limits, it still has limits. They didn’t give me any real superpowers I wasn’t already born with, and those are all still attached to my butt. Well — now you know why I eat so much, and one more reason why I detest clothing!”


For embarrassment's sake, the fox left out how his cybernetics kept his teenage sex drive actively suppressed, his hormones be damned.


“Geez, Tails!” Mission exclaimed. “That’s a lot to take in. I'm not sure I really understand all that, though. But you can lift six hundred kilos? I knew you were strong, just not that strong. Big Z can still lift about one standard ton, though, so he still has you beat there. Heh.


‘Wow, Zaalbar must be able to lift four to five times his own weight without synthetic augs. That's pretty impressive,’ thought Tails, and he cast a glance in Big Z's direction. The Wookiee just stood relaxed with his arms crossed over his chest, and a oddly smug smirk on his face.


“Anyway,” said Mission, “that’s pretty impressive you were able to do all that by yourself. How long ago did you do this?”


“Um, about a month after my thirteenth birthday, so, about a year and a half ago,” said Tails. “Everything’s ran pretty well, so far. I started planning back when I was ten, so I had plenty of design and engineering time to work the bugs out in pre-production.”


The boy went silent again, and nobody else had anything to say at that moment. The only sounds in the room were from their breathing, and random gurgling noises from Tails’ slowly shrinking gut.


“So, what now?” Mission asked suddenly.


“I don’t know,” said Tails, sighing. “I want to look at some of our datapads, but otherwise I have nothing to do until Admiral Bug-Up-His-Duct and Lady I’m-Better-Than-You come back.”


Mission started sputtering, tried to stifle it, but broke into giggles. Cracking a smile, Tails joined her.


The morning was still young, and Tails gathered up the half-dozen datapads still in the apartment. The boy noticed both the ones holding the party’s money, and the one holding their Sith security pass were missing; Tails had three guesses who was carrying them, but he only needed one.


The boy focused on the two pads that were broken and inoperable, likely picked up in the Undercity by the rust and residue on them. With any luck, he’d be able to get them working again, or at least recover whatever data they held. He had nothing better to do. With tools in hand, he set about repairing them.


After an hour had passed, the boy’s belly had flattened to the point his abs were visible again, though there was still a noticeable curve to it. Mission and Zaalbar, who also had nothing better to do, started playing cards. Tails noticed the game they were playing, Pazaak, was a common time waster in the cantinas they had visited. When Tails wasn’t focused on the datapads, he watched them play, and was mildly surprised to observe both the Wookiee and Twi’lek appeared evenly matched, with Mission holding just a slight edge in wins. Zaalbar was a silent enigma to Tails; he hoped there was more to the big throw rug than just his muscles and loyalty.


At last, one of the datapads came back to life. The screen had a web of cracks running through it, but at least he could see text and graphics beneath. As Tails studied it, he realized it contained a series of maps of the Undercity of Taris and a host of geological surveys. Someone had charted over a hundred thousand square kilometers of Taris’ unforgiving surface, sewers, and subterranean caverns. What’s more, the Outcast Village they had visited was a repeated reference point, and the notes referenced something called a ‘Promised Land’.


‘Wait a minute,’ Tails thought. He recognized that term — someone from the village mentioned it. He scanned through the pages and pages of notes, and occasionally saw the notes signed with the name Malya.


‘This is what Rukil wanted me to find,’ he thought. ‘The notes of his apprentice, sadly missing the apprentice herself.’


 The power cells to the decrepit datapad were nearly spent, so Tails quickly hooked up a newer one and started copying the data before it could be lost. He worked on the second old datapad, but the device was in even worse shape than the first. Eventually, the boy got it operable again, and its data too was copied to the newer pad. Much of the data was garbled and corrupt, but when it combined with the notes and maps of the first, Tails was astounded by what he saw.


“What it this?” he muttered.


The notes from both datapads told of a self-sufficient colony beneath Taris’ surface that had its own power and food supply, tended to by machine servants which would tend to the colonists’ needs. It sounded downright mythical, considering what the Undercity was really like, but both these datapads corroborated each other’s findings. Their previous owners both covered very different areas in their search, but there was still considerable overlap, and they both pointed to the same region as this ‘Promised Land’s purported location.


“What’chya looking at, there?”


“GYAAA!”


Mission tried not to laugh at Tails, the poor boy looked like his heart stopped for a second.


“I’m sorry, Tails,” she said playfully. “You were so focused on those contraptions, and your face was all scrunched up like a kinrath pup.”


Tails glared daggers at her, but that only made her start to crack up.


“I’m sorry, but the ‘Death Glare of Adorable Cuteness’ isn’t going to strike fear into your enemies, dear boy!”


Tails groaned, and then he said, “I think I found something.”


“Like what?”


The boy looked at the datapad, then back at Mission. “Hope,” he said. “Something I don’t think the Outcasts have had in a very long time.”


“Guwuh?”


Tails explained to her what he found. Mission was incredulous, and he agreed it was farfetched. The boy still believed the Outcasts should have this data.


“So, what do you intend to do about it?” the girl asked.


“Simple,” the boy replied. “I’m going to give it to them.”


“Are you crazy? You heard what Carth said!”


“Yes, I know what Captain Grumpypants said. I’m electing to ignore him.”


Mission sighed. “All right, how do you intend to get down there?”


“The same way Carth and I got there the first time. Unless you know how to get there faster.”


Tails pulled his shirt, pants, and jacket out of storage and threw them on.


“Carth’s gonna strangle you when we get back — if we get back!”


The boy looked over his shoulder and smirked a bit. “So you’re coming, then?”


Mission threw her hands into the air. “Someone’s gotta keep you from getting killed!”


“Zalbaar?”


“I am bound to you forever and always, Tails,” the big Wookiee said. He was already securing his bowcaster and vibroblade to his red suspender-harness. “Wherever you lead, I will follow.”


“So, what’s the plan?” the girl asked. “Dash to the Undercity at top speed, and hope no one notices?”


“We’ll swing by the cantina, the Emporium, and Zelka’s office first,” Tails replied. “Say — how much do the two of you weigh?”


“Wha…?” said Mission. Then, with an amused look on her face, “You know, it’s rude to ask a girl what she weighs!”


Tails rolled his eyes. “Oh, can it. You’re at least fifty percent heavier than I am, and you’re built like a high school gymnast.”


“Oh, fine. Seventy-five kilos, and Big Z’s two-twenty-five… ish. What do you want our weights for?”


“Ideas,” Tails said, smirking. “Though our combined mass might be too much for what I had in mind.”


Mission sighed, and said, “Going to the Undercity is a stupid idea chasing a stupid fable and we’re all probably going to die stupid deaths. Welp, I discouraged you! Let’s go!”