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vendettaspathfanfic · 3 months

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Chapter 6

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

This evening, dinner was a simple affair, with only Sonic and his mother seated at the elaborately set table in the grand dining room, a familiar scene given his father's common late returns from the palace. He was a man of significant influence and stature, serving as the indispensable advisor to King Maximillian, a role that demanded much of his time. At seven years of age, Sonic found his father's endless discussions on the complexities of governance tediously dull, a stark contrast to the vibrant tales of his own day that his father rarely had the patience to entertain.

In the comforting presence of his mother, however, Sonic was able to talk as much as he wanted. He excitedly recounted the adventurous escapades from the latest installment of his beloved cartoon series, speaking with animated gestures while their longstanding family butler quietly placed plates of food before them. Unfortunately, tonight's dinner featured lobster, a dish that Sonic loathed.

The pungent aroma that wafted from the plate caused Sonic's face to contort in displeasure, his nose scrunching up as if to ward off the offending scent. He turned to his mother, seeking a compromise, only to find her gaze lingering on a cherished photograph adorning the wall. The image captured a moment of regal splendor, depicting her alongside her father and the other esteemed members of the Royal Court.

"Mom?" Sonic inquired softly, attempting to draw her attention. Receiving no immediate response, he pressed further, the word "mama" punctuated by a gentle nudge on her arm.

His mother momentarily snapped out of her reverie, her eyes refocusing with a slight flutter of her lashes as she angled her body to address her son with a soft “sorry, hun. What?”

Sonic's face contorted into a grimace, his voice dripping with distaste as he lamented, "I don’t want this again… it makes me wanna puke." His words elicited a disdainful huff from the butler, who promptly exited the room with a swirl of disappointment.

"It’s good for you, Sonic," she responded, her voice steady and reassuring, "besides, you remember what we’ve said about being wasteful."

Defiance etched itself into the young hedgehog's posture; he folded his arms across his chest like a barrier, slinking further into the embrace of his chair. His youthful face was wrinkled with obstinacy, as the furrow of his brow channeled the essence of his aversion. "But it's gross!" Sonic retorted, the fervor of his sentiment about the unwanted meal burning as brightly as ever.

"Just eat it, please?" The plea from his mother reached his ears as he turned his head away, embodying the spirit of rebellion. "If you do, we’ll get ice cream and candy."

The promise of such a sweet reward sparked curiosity in Sonic, and he swiveled his head back in her direction, catching the nascent smile blooming on her face, a signal of the incentive that awaited him.

With an effort that felt monumental to his young mind, the little blue hedgehog managed to ingest the detested lobster dish, the glazed carrots that accompanied it no less infamous in his eyes. Upon completing the ordeal, he beckoned for his mother's attention, which had drifted back to the photograph on the wall. She met his gaze with a smile that radiated pride and affection, a smile that could brighten the darkest of rooms. Sonic cherished that smile, for it was not just a mere curve of the lips; it was a symbol of his success in bringing her joy. That was a reward far greater than the promise of sweets.

"Good job, Scourge." The admiration in her voice was unmistakable as Sonic eagerly leaped from his seat to envelop her in a tight embrace. But as he held her close, an unsettling thought wormed its way into his consciousness, leaving him with an unnerving sense that releasing her from his arms could mean never being able to hug her again. It was an absurd notion, surely, for she was ever-present in his life, a constant in his home.

But, she’s never called him Scourge before.

Before he could ask where she heard that name, the space she occupied in his arms became empty. Darkness enveloped him, his world tipping into chaos as he tumbled into an abyss that seemed to have no end. A sense of vertigo overwhelmed him; his surroundings stripped away as if the earth itself had opened beneath him. He flailed, attempting to cry out, but found his voice trapped, his throat constricted by an unseen force.

In the midst of his panic, Sonic's efforts intensified, desperation fueling his struggle. His attempts finally culminated in a muffled, yet alarmed "mmh!" To his relief, the sensation of falling ceased abruptly, replaced by the oppressive reality of a worn, filthy mattress pressing against his back. Heat enveloped him, the summer's sweltering embrace untempered by the absence of air conditioning in the orphanage.

As his eyes snapped open, he lay there, drenched in sweat, his heart racing as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him. He struggled to ground himself back in reality, but it soon became clear that once again, he was a sixteen-year-old green hedgehog named Scourge.

Thankfully, when he awoke with a start, his sudden movement and noise didn't disturb Fiona, who was lying on her side, facing him, lost in deep slumber. The moon's soft glow streamed into the room through the slightly ajar window, casting moonlight gently on her beautiful face. As she dreamt what he hoped was a peaceful dream, her delicate eyelids fluttered.

The faint sheen on her soft, heart-shaped lips revealed the lingering touch of the chapstick she had applied before bed, adding an extra allure to her serene visage. With great care not to disturb her, he turned onto his side to face her, tenderly running his fingers through the fur on the exposed side of her muzzle, relishing the softness and finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment. A sense of calm washed over him, slowing his racing heart and quieting his restless thoughts as he took in every detail of his girlfriend, peacefully asleep before him. In that hushed stillness, he found a rare and precious moment to simply appreciate the beauty and peacefulness of his lover.

Realizing that sleep would elude him for the time being, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before quietly rising out of bed. Descending the stairs, he made his way to the kitchen, where he reached for a water bottle resting on the counter.

As the lukewarm liquid flowed down his throat, a distinct thumping noise echoed from downstairs, instantly seizing his attention. The source was unmistakable—it emanated from the direction of the freezer.

With a sense of urgency, he hastily replaced the bottle's lid, a quiet “fuck,” escaping his lips as the realization struck that they had neglected to assign someone to keep watch over the freezer that held Miles. Carelessly tossing the bottle on the counter, he grabbed and lit a lantern and dashed down to the freezer, swiftly unlocking it and wrenching the door open.

Thankfully, Miles had made only minimal headway in his attempts to free himself. The most significant achievement was toppling his chair to the ground and making almost no progress in loosening the ropes covered with duct tape.

Amused by the sight that greeted him, Scourge placed the lantern on a mildew-covered shelf and shut the freezer door behind him. "Are you enjoying yourself there, Miles?" he inquired, his tone tinged with condescension.

Miles continued to struggle against his bindings, clearly disoriented from the head injury he had suffered earlier. His mouth muffled by the tape, he could only respond with garbled, indiscernible words.

"I'm sure whatever you just said would have been so terribly hurtful," Scourge began in a mockingly sorrowful tone as he righted the chair. "But it's nothing compared to what you're going to get if you don't tell me what I want to know." With a swift motion, he tore the tape from Miles' mouth, inadvertently pulling away a thin layer of fur from around his muzzle in the process.

Grimacing in pain, Miles averted his gaze from Scourge, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled against the dizziness and the throbbing ache in his head.

"Now I can see you renovated the castle a lot since you screwed me over and got me thrown in jail," Scourge remarked, leaning casually against a nearby shelf. "looks real nice, but I’m sure in the process you souped up the security, right? So, if I were to try to waltz in and take back what you took from me, I’d be screwed wouldn’t I? So, either you tell me how to get past security, or you’ll end up getting more than just a punch."

Miles steadied his breath, slowly turning his head to meet Scourge's aiming gaze. With gritted teeth, he growled, "You can't."

Grasping the chair that held Miles, Scourge cocked his head, a grin of amusement playing on his lips. "Well, I doubt that's true. They told us we couldn't escape from Zone Jail, yet here we are. Even the tightest ship can spring a leak."

Miles' widened gaze shifted between both of Scourge's eyes as he swallowed thickly. "Not this ship, you fool. Every doorway, hallway, and corner is monitored by scanning posts. And unlike the ones attached to police lines, this system doesn't just sound an alarm. Every entrance and exit is impenetrable to anyone lacking clearance. Not even rats could infiltrate the sewers. And all of that's hardly a fraction of our security measures."

Impressed, Scourge raised his brows, emitting a low whistle of astonishment. "You've really built an airtight system there, my friend. It almost seems... desperate?"

"With the rapid advancements in technology and cybernetic implants, we can't afford to leave any vulnerability unaddressed," Miles retorted, narrowing his eyes as he regarded Scourge with undisguised contempt, as though he were less than the dirt on his shoes. "As I mentioned before, nothing I can say will aid you in the slightest."

Scourge sighed and shook his head. "That really sucks, man," he said as he exited the freezer, closing the door behind him and ignoring Miles' inquiries about his destination.

Hurrying upstairs to his and Fiona's room, he knelt beside her bag to retrieve her combat knife. Startled by the sound of someone rummaging through her belongings, Fiona's eyes flew open, and she sat up, her expression softening as she recognized Scourge's silhouette, relieved that it was him and not an intruder.

"Jeez, you scared me," Fiona sighed, sleepiness evident in her voice as she rubbed her face. "Are you lookin’ for cigarettes or something?"

"Nope," Scourge replied, revealing the knife he had acquired. "Miles is awake and refusing to talk."

"I'll accompany you," Fiona offered, stifling a yawn as she retrieved her bag from his reach, pulling out a pen and an old receipt. "I can write down what he says while you take care of the dirty work."

"Attagirl," Scourge praised, grinning as he affectionately tousled her hair. "Let's go."

Guiding her through the dimly lit building, they traversed downstairs to the freezer, where Miles continued to struggle to escape.

"Why's she here?" Miles grunted, straining against the duct tape and rope binding his wrists.

"If you happen to come up with a way for us to get through, she'll take note of it. If not, well, then you're of no use to us. And we can't exactly release you since you know too much, so it seems the next step is to kill you," Scourge chuckled, delighting in the horror that washed over Miles' face. "But don't worry. I'll make it nice and slow, giving you time to reconsider and perhaps change my mind about doing it. However, first..." His gaze shifted to his tails, tightly bound together with rope and duct tape. "We need to make sure that you won't have any chances of flying away. Fiona, you might want to fetch the first aid kit. Can't risk him bleeding out before he has the chance to speak."

"W-wait! No! Please don't do this!" Miles cried out, his breaths quickening into hyperventilation as he watched Fiona obediently exit the freezer.

"Listen, I didn't want it to come to this, but much like you, my hands are tied," Scourge said, his voice laced with feigned sympathy as he leaned against a shelf, crossing his arms.

"No! I can help you gain entry! You won't be able to do it without me!" he screamed, his wide eyes blinded by fear.

Scourge's expression transformed into a wide, menacing grin as he slowly uncrossed his arms and straightened up to his full height.

“Really?” The smug green hedgehog asked, striding over to the young two-tailed fox and looming over him, leaning in close as he jabbed his forefinger against his chest. “Well, it’s a good thing you remembered. You could’ve been killed.” His smug grin suddenly gave way to a menacing glare. In a swift motion, he withdrew his hand from Miles’ chest and delivered a harsh slap across his face, causing the chair to wobble and splitting his lip. Scourge quickly steadied the chair and grasped Miles’ chin, forcing him to meet his intense gaze. “Don’t you fucking lie to me again, Miles,” he growled, baring his sharp teeth, sending shivers down Miles’ spine.

When Fiona returned, Scourge briefed her on their change of plans. She took the pen they had previously acquired and began to write finely on the back of the receipt.

The success of their mission hinged on having the right technology at their disposal. Miles, the primary designer of the security system, was indispensable to their plans. Their first objective would be to hack the body scan post for entry, a task that required a neural link to connect to Miles, allowing him to access necessary technology through the eyes of the person with the implant. However, due to the Destructix's distrust of him, he would have to be guarded and sequestered away from the castle to prevent any potential betrayal.

To bypass the body scan post, one would need optical implants that would allow them to scan the post, enabling Miles to use the neural link to hack into it and grant every individual passing through with clearance. Yet, this was only part of the larger challenge— the entire security system needed to recognize the Destructix members as authorized personnel. To achieve this, someone would require an interface plug, a wired implant located at the back of the head, along with a neural interface chip. When the wire was extended and connected to specific machinery, it would grant the individual the capability to hack into the technology.

Once someone was plugged into an access point with the interface, Miles could then proceed to hack the entire security system. This would provide the Destructix with unhindered movement throughout the castle, enabling them to locate the remaining members of the Suppression Squad and eliminate them, ultimately allowing the Destructix to seize control of the throne.

Before Scourge and Fiona could explain the plan to the Destructix in the morning, they found themselves contending with the aftermath of Predator, Lightning, and Flying's excessive drinking the previous night.

"Well, I don't know why you drank so much of that crap, but I hope it made you happy," Simon grumbled with a scoff as he entered through the front door, carrying a tray of to-go cups from a nearby coffee shop.

"Mmmm'kay. Shut up, Simon," Predator groaned, his eyes tightly shut as he sat hunched over in a nearby chair, nursing his throbbing head.

With a roll of his eyes, Simon handed Predator a cup of black coffee, scoffing, "drink up." He then turned his attention to Flying, who was slouched against a nearby wall, struggling to keep his eyes open as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. "Got some for you too, Flying," Simon said, prompting Flying's eyes to sluggishly roll toward him, blinking one at a time.

"Is that coffee-tea-fre-" Flying began, before a sudden wave of nausea overtook him, causing his eyes to bulge as he clamped a hand over his mouth and gagged. He scrambled to his feet, dashed toward a nearby window, flung it open, and retched outside.

Simon groaned in disgust and called out, "I'll put this in the kitchen, then..." before handing Scourge his coffee.

"Thanks, man," Scourge said with a courteous nod.

"Thanks for not drinking as much as these idiots," Simon remarked, his disdain evident in his voice. "Have you seen Lightning, Fiona, and Toxic?"

“Lightning’s probably still asleep cause I haven’t seen him yet. Fiona’s giving Toxic a haircut so she looks less like her wanted picture and also we saw a daddy long leg crawl out of one of the mats in her hair.” Scourge said, casually drinking his coffee.

Simon blinked a few times in surprise before muttering, “go figure… Well, if you see the girls, let ‘em know they got drinks with their name on them in the kitchen. I’m gonna wake up Lightning.”

As expected, Simon located Lightning, who was sprawled out on a set of child-sized mattresses, emitting loud snores. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Simon set aside Lightning’s coffee, knelt down, and nudged Lightning's shoulder, attempting to rouse him. When his efforts failed, Simon noticed that Lightning still had water in his bottle. He unscrewed the cap, tossed it aside, and emptied the remaining contents onto Lightning's head.

Lightning groaned and attempted to turn his face away as the water splashed against his forehead. Without opening his eyes, he managed to mumble out a slurred, "hello?" before some water entered his mouth, causing him to choke and erupt into a fit of coughing as he hastily sat up.

"Hello, Lightning. Coffee's here," Simon said with annoyance, standing up.

As Lightning recovered from the coughing fit, he grumbled and shook his head in an attempt to rid his fur of the water, groaning as the motion exacerbated his headache and nausea.

"You didn’t have to waterboard me, Simon," he groaned, squinting as the bright light aggravated his newly awakened eyes.

"Don’t be so dramatic. You gotta get straightened up. Fiona and Scourge got Miles to talk, and they’ve got a plan they want to tell us," Simon responded, offering Lightning his coffee.

"I don’t want anything else in my stomach right now…" Lightning groaned, the scent of the coffee in his hand intensifying his nausea.

"Well, if you get sick, either puke out a window, or if you do it in here, you're cleaning it. This place is filthy enough without three drunk bastards making it worse," Simon declared firmly, his distaste unwavering.

"Agh… Fuck off…" Lightning slurred, his struggle evident as he fought to keep the vomit down. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the window, grappling with it in his disoriented state.

"For crying out loud…" Simon growled, stepping in to open the window for Lightning, who leaned out and threw up.

As he left Lightning to deal with his hangover, Simon muttered bitterly, "it’s like a house full of toddlers. Hell, today I haven’t even had a problem with the actual toddler here.”

After a wait that spanned several hours, the group finally regained enough composure to gather and listen to Scourge and Fiona outline the plan they had devised. They arranged their seats into a communal circle within the same room where they had convened the night before.

“How can we trust Miles to do what we say?” Predator questioned, his voice tinged with doubt.

“He doesn’t have a choice. I know from experience he’s a coward that’ll do anything to live. One of ya will need to stay with him while we work and be ready to gut him if he makes even one wrong move,” Scourge replied, his arms extending in a languid stretch as he reclined back in his chair with an air of nonchalance.

“I volunteer-steer-beer!” Flying burst out with gusto, only to wince as his booming, obnoxious voice aggravated his pounding headache.

“Alright, knock yourself out,” Scourge casually responded with a dismissive shrug, now leaning forward in his seat, his fingers weaving together in front of him.

“Who's getting the implants?” inquired Lightning, downing some ibuprofen that Fiona had supplied to ease his discomfort.

“All of us. We never know what we’ll run into. Can’t leave any stones unturned,” Fiona declared, her voice firm and decisive.

“Me too?” Toxic chimed in, twirling one of the short pigtails Fiona had fashioned in her hair.

“No way, kid,” Scourge stated adamantly with a shake of his head. “Cybernetics aren’t good for you when you’re that little.”

“I’m taller than Ren!” Toxic contended, climbing onto her chair and stretching to her tiptoes in an attempt to demonstrate her height.

“Tough. You’re still barely taller than a fire hydrant,” Scourge teased, his mocking tone evident. “You gotta wait til you're older.”

“Sit down before you fall and crack your head open,” Simon commanded, his tone authoritative, directed at the young blue hedgehog.

With a scowl of indignation and a growl meant to convey ferocity, Toxic reluctantly descended from her perch and slouched back into her seat, her arms folded in a tight cross.

“Save it,” Fiona interjected with an eye roll, “anyways, Simon, Lightning, and Predator; you guys are going in first. Grab some uniforms from the guard locker room and you’ll easily pass as one of the guards. They know Scourge and I too well, so we’ll wait until the security system is down and you find Patch and Alicia to storm in and join the fight.”

“But what do I do?” Toxic mused aloud, now reclining sideways in her chair, her legs swinging idly over the edge.

“You’ll help Flying guard Miles,” Fiona replied, her tone conveying confidence that this modest assignment would satisfy Toxic’s desire to contribute.

“But before all of this, we gotta remember implants cost money that we don’t got. So…” Scourge began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through him, his hands eagerly rubbing together, “We’ll be ‘borrowing’ some money from a bank out of town.”

This infectious excitement quickly rippled through the group, with members exchanging eager grins and approving murmurs.

"It's in a pretty wealthy neighborhood. And hey, even you can join us, Toxic," Fiona said, her arms crossed, a hint of pride in her voice as she gauged the group's reactions.

"I can?" Toxic gasped, her voice lifting with excitement as she bounded out of her chair and approached Fiona, her tail wagging like a flag of enthusiasm.

"She can?" Scourge echoed, his tone a mixture of surprise and concern, unsure of involving someone so young in such a dangerous activity.

"Yes," Fiona confirmed, assuring the group with a calm authority, "like I said, it’ll be an easy heist. She can help us take out security. We’ve all seen how she can kick ass. Simon, you can train her on a pistol."

Simon, looking somewhat resigned, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "If you insist, ma’am," he conceded, albeit with heavy reluctance.

"Babe, are you nuts? She’s four years old!" Scourge protested vehemently, his arms thrown up in disbelief.

"So what? Don’t be a fucking dickface!" Toxic retorted sharply, flipping Scourge off with her ring finger. Scourge responded in kind, sneering as he mirrored her gesture.

Pulling Scourge aside from the rest of the group, Fiona's voice dropped to a hushed, persuasive tone. "Look, we made a deal with her that if she didn’t do what we told her she’d be rat food and clearly it’s been working. This is part of that deal, hun. Besides, if she managed to put us through that much hell at first, imagine what she’d do to plain ol’ guards."

"How is it worth the risk?" Scourge pressed, his apprehension evident as he pondered the unpredictable nature of their youngest member.

"It’s like I said, if we broke out of Zone Jail of all things, we can rob a fucking bank even with your crackhead sister tagging along. Besides, we need everyone from the gang there to do different things, and do you really wanna leave her alone? She could wander off and a bounty hunter would snatch her. Then what? Game over," Fiona argued, her logic resonating with the risks they faced.

Scourge's jaw tightened, the truthfulness of Fiona's words sinking in, especially the part about leaving Toxic alone. With a heavy exhale of resignation, he muttered, "this better work."

"It will. You’ll see," Fiona reassured him with a confidence that bordered on certainty, punctuating her promise with a light kiss on his cheek before returning to the group. "We’ll start preppin’ tomorrow. Get all the equipment we need." She turned to address Lightning, Flying, and Predator, her face scrunching in disgust as the pungent smell of vomit and alcohol reached her. "For now, there’s a gym with showers not far from here. Let’s make it reek a little less around the place, hm?"

Nodding in silent accord, the gang made their way to the gym, their footsteps echoing against the pavement as they traversed a desolate stretch of the neighborhood. The eerie stillness of the area hinted at its sparse population, offering them a cloak of anonymity that would aid in evading any potential bounty hunters on the prowl for Toxic.

Upon reaching the gym, they made a beeline for the bathroom and obtained the much-needed cleaning supplies from the dispensers, the clinking of coins and the soft hum of the machines filling the otherwise quiet space. As they each cleaned up in their respective shower stalls, the sound of water cascading down in rivulets served as a welcome reminder of the simple luxury they hadn’t had since their escape from prison.

Despite Scourge's usual indifference to cleanliness, he found solace in the sensation of grime washing away from his body as he stood beneath the shower's stream. Closing his eyes, he allowed the water to cleanse not just his physical form, but also his spirit, feeling the weight of his troubles slowly dissolve and disappear down the drain. During his time in prison, he had been constantly on edge, his natural strength and agility restrained by a control collar that left him vulnerable and exposed to frequent beatings. However, as the water flowed over his face and quills, he realized that despite the lingering risks, he was finally beginning to believe that everything would ultimately be alright. He resolved to face whatever challenges lay ahead with newfound determination and resilience.

After everyone had completed their showers, they returned to the orphanage. While some members of their group were still recovering from the effects of the previous night's revelry, Simon took Toxic to the backyard to teach her how to shoot empty beer bottles off the fence using a silenced pistol.

"Keep one hand on the bottom, Toxic, and don't touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep your finger to the side, like this," Simon instructed, kneeling beside her and guiding her small hands to demonstrate the proper way to hold the firearm.

"Okay," Toxic responded with an eager nod. "Can I shoot now?"

"Not yet. First, aim at the space between the two small bumps and make sure it's pointed at what you want to shoot," Simon advised.

"Okay," Toxic responded, her small hands adjusting her grip on the pistol with determination. "Now can I shoot?"

"Go ahead," Simon replied with a nod.

Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, and the sharp crack of the gunshot was followed by the satisfying shatter of the bottle.

Toxic gasped in amazement and giggled, her eyes sparkling with pride as she beamed at Simon. "I fuckin’ gotted it!"

"You sure did," Simon said with a soft chuckle. "Now take out the rest of them."

Leaning against the weathered wall of the building, Scourge and Fiona observed as Toxic skillfully shot several more bottles, her focus unyielding and her aim true.

"Not bad. She's a natural marksman in the making," Fiona remarked with a lopsided grin.

"Good thing she's only shooting bottles," Scourge snidely remarked, retrieving a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket. Fiona signaled for one, holding two fingers in his direction, and Scourge obliged, lighting both of their cigarettes. As they inhaled, Scourge wrapped his arm around Fiona, the sun casting a warm glow over them as it descended toward the horizon.

"Do you think we should check on Miles?" Scourge asked, a sudden pang of concern causing his heart to skip a beat.

"I'll feed him later, but there's no way he's getting out. Simon and I tested that padlock we got earier, and it's secure," she replied confidently, referring to the heavy duty lock lock they had obtained during their earlier supply run.

Scourge smirked with pride, imagining the futile attempts Miles might be making to escape, a sense of control and satisfaction washing over him.

"Not much longer," Fiona began after blowing a cloud of smoke out of her mouth, the wisps curling and dissipating in the air, creating a momentary haze around her. Her eyes, filled with a determined glint, scanned the horizon as if envisioning the future. "We'll rule this world again. We'll bring everything under our control, just like it used to be."

"Fiona," Scourge chuckled softly, the sound mixing with the rustle of the wind, and dropped his spent cigarette, the feeble embers flickering before he snuffed them out under the sole of his shoe, his eyes fixed on his lover's with an intense yet tender gaze. "We already do."

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