Work Text:
Its head hurts. Pupils dilated. Eyes closed. Breathing unsteadily.
The rope bindings dig into soft skin. Not the first time. There's blood in its fur.
Just its blood. For now.
Faking unconsciousness. Recover before attacking. Don’t let them exploit your weakness.
More war. A curse. A thief. A freak.
They know it’s awake. It won't be coming back from this.
“You deserve this.”
-
Miles woke, breathing ragged and tears in his eyes. Not from the nightmare, those are too common for any conscious reaction anymore, but because his paws were gripping the blanket like it was the edge of a cliff. The pain shooting and pulsing through his right paw and arm finally becomes unbearable enough that his sleep-paralysed body relinquishes his grip. But like a stubbed toe, the pain doesn’t stop for a good few minutes.
It’s always the same dream when he wakes like this. Every other horror behind his eyes, he can deal with their phantom pains: sharp stabbing pain through a tail, laser blasts burning like steel wool, or the phantom flames licking up his feet to his knees can be forced away by stimulating the nerves, reliving the memory. But this pain isn’t just a memory from the past, it’s still here - crying out - any time he tries to grip anything heavier than a few pounds with his digits.
Chaos, I miss them.
It’s 6:30 am in the Wachowski household, when Tom enters groggily into the kitchen. Blinking open slightly crusty eyes, he spots a fresh, still steaming coffee sitting on the island. His wife wasn’t in bed; she probably left earlier than he did. Maddie must have made him a cup before leaving. What a loving marriage. Not thinking twice, he grabs the cup and takes a gulp, only to realise his mistake as soon as the flavour hits his tongue.
Mint.
Putting the cup back down slowly, Tom tries to back away before sustaining serious bodily harm, only to step on something long and bushy and growling. The cryptid lets out a loud yip at the weight on his slightly blue tail, withdrawing it at violent speeds, quick enough to knock the man down in the doorway. Groaning slightly from the fall, Tom’s eyes shoot open when a weight drops onto his stomach, only to be met with a faded red and blue face of his youngest son, ears pinned back, mouth wide and gekkering at the fool who disturbs his territory.
Luckily, Tom has been training for this.
“G’mornin kiddo, how’s my favourite inventor doing?” The reaction is immediate as Tails’ vocalisations quieten and his ears raise slightly from their pinned position, hackles still raised but willing to listen to his father. “I can see the dye is almost out, too. I’m glad, yellow is my favourite colour.”
His tails relax slightly, wagging intermittently as his ears rotate towards the human he sits on. Tom, feeling brave enough to win this conflict, reaches slowly towards Tails’ head. His ears flop to the side as Tom makes contact, tails fully relaxed and wagging, as the now bleping fox flops down onto his father’s chest. Tom takes the chance to apologise, “Sorry for drinking your coffee.”
“Mmm…” is all the response Tails can muster through his purring as Tom pushes his hackles back down with one hand, the other ruffling the kit’s bangs. A minute later, Tom moves to stand, causing Tails to grip with his claws and releasing a second later, whining from the sudden pain.
“Aww, c’mere, bud.” The human lifts Tails to sit on his hip and brings him to the leftover coffee mug. “You know I wasn’t letting you go, no point whining about it. Want your coffee? I didn’t drink it all.”
“M’kay.” The fox grabs the mug and takes many rapid sniffs of the scent before gulping down the dregs.
Tom walks over to the coffee machine to pour himself a cup, as the wisps of his adrenaline aren’t helping his alertness anymore. He feels the fox palming at his side and makes the grave mistake of looking down at Tails. The pitiful gaze of the vulpine’s wide blue eyes stops the chance of Tom ever being able to say no to the boy’s next request, “Can I have another cup?”
Luckily, Maddie walks into the kitchen at this moment, “One cup is plenty. You’re lucky you can even drink coffee,” effortlessly shutting down Tails’ attempts to overdose on caffeine before noon. Maddie doesn’t make the mistake of looking towards Tails, feeling his eyes looking for a weakness in her defence. He pouts briefly before focusing on the aroma instead.
“Hey, babe, I thought you left already. You weren’t there when I woke up.” Tom grabs another mug from the cupboard - for his wife, not his son.
“I was in the bathroom when I heard growling, a thud and gekkers. I wasn’t getting involved in that.” Maddie replies, putting the milk on the counter.
Tom leans in towards his wife, “Good to know. If I’m ever in danger, I’m the sacrifice.”
“Mhm, you’re the best looking bait I’ve seen.” She responds, closing the gap for a kiss.
Tails, still on Tom’s hip, watches the coffee pour into the mug below the spout and grabs for it as soon as the flow stops. The officer swats away his paws before a sip could be rightfully taken by the kit, “Ah, ah, ah. You little thief, get your claws off your mother’s bean juice.”
Thief.
“W-What? Me, thief? No, never.” Tails chuckles nervously at being caught so easily.
Maddie slides gracefully towards the cup, adding some milk and breathing in the earthy smell before taking a long gulp. “Thanks for making this, I’m gonna need it today. I wasn’t planning on going in so soon, but I got a call about a declawed cat. Poor thing’s gonna be in pain for the rest of its life.”
Tails flinches empathetically for the cat. “Human medicine is quite advanced, right? Is there any way to help it?”
“Yes, but not permanently,” The woman recounts somberly with a sigh, “We're going to give her an X-ray to see if there are any bone fragments still in there, but even then she will need medicine for infections short-term and neuropathic drugs long-term. Not to mention walking will be a struggle either way, anything too hard will put pressure on the site and hurt.”
“God, I could never imagine something like that. I’m just glad you are all strong enough to stay safe from that.” Tom responds sympathetically, flattening Tails’ hackles again.
“What about some form of prosthesis? Replace the claws with metal ones, or something?” The fox asks, voice cracking slightly.
“Well, that might work, but it's never been done before. We would also need bespoke claws for each cat, and no company would ever pay for that. They would see it as a waste of money.”
“...I see.”
-
MP Log Start: [unnamedGroup_03#01]
[Sound: Lab Door Locking] This is entryyy… #276, by my Miles Electric’s count. Weird, feels like that's a lot higher and lower than it should be at the same time. Anyway, something came up earlier this morning when I was talking to Tom and Maddie, and it piqued my interest, so I’ll do some preliminary investigations to see if I deem this branch of research eligible. Gaia, I sure hope it's eligible…
[Sound: Cough] R-Right, onto the topic at hand, there’s a cat at the vet currently that has been declawed. Similar punishments can be found in history books back on Mobius, usually reserved for crimes that fit the punishment. Speak badly about the monarchy, and you lose your tongue. Stuff like that.
Hmm …I wonder how it’s done on Earth. Back on Mobius, declawing was forbidden by a majority of governments across the board, annnnnd… [Sound: Tablet Interfacing] From my searches on the internet here, it seems to be illegal, too… [Sound: Tablet Interfacing] But they don’t really investigate stuff like this… It seems the only times humans get punished for this is when the criminal is handed to the law enforcement on a silver platter. I suppose that makes sense - the animals with claws on this planet aren't sentient like humans or mobians… I'd posit an equivalent crime would be debeaking a flicky - morally wrong and illegal, but not a priority like murder or high-profile other felonies.
Anyway, onto the important part of this log, I had a question for Maddie about whether a prosthesis could help the cat at all… I suppose I could call it a ‘bio-enhancement’ or something… I’ll think of a better name later, at the same time I name this log group I’m making… I hope it doesn’t end as a bust, but I feel like I may be working against the grain here…
Okay. Breakdown of my plan. Step one: Find the kitten’s claws. Maddie stated that the prosthesis would have to be bespoke, meaning the claw couldn’t just come straight off a large-scale assembly line. The reason is quite simple, I mean, how would a human walk with a random big toe instead of their… The smallest one? What do they call that? …A pinky toe? Weird. Why pinky and not, like, bluey?
Urgh, off track. Example: If you get a replacement toe, you would want it to be the same size and shape as your old one. Does that make sense? …I don’t know why I’m explaining this; it’s not like someone will listen to these logs other than me. You get it, though, right, future me?
[Sound: Tablet Interfacing] Okay, I’m going to the vet with Maddie to collect the scent of this cat, hopefully its blood too, since declawing hurts and bleeds… a LOT. Then I’m gonna trace its steps from where they picked the cat up. Probably hacking into their database for that. Or I could ask… Might be a weird question though, like, ‘Hey, receptionist and/or worker, you know that declawed cat? Where did you find it so I can find its claws?’
But yeah, that's step one of my plan, and I need to get my gear together before Maddie leaves without me, so I’ll update later with other parts of my plan.
Prower out.
MP Log End: [unnamedGroup_03#01]
Maddie and Tails leave the house before Tom finishes getting ready for his job. The walk to the veterinary office only takes about 40 minutes, so mother and son can enjoy the early morning atmosphere together. The sun hasn’t risen yet, still being too early for that in late autumn, so without the bright rays of sunlight keeping Maddie warm, the skin under her scarf and coat is getting bitten by the sharp chills of frost.
Tails, fluffy as he is, took to wearing his cargo shorts held up by a tool belt, an open bomber jacket concealing a secondary belt across his shoulder to waist, and goggles under his yellow beanie. What used to be a perfect colour match with his fur is broken up by the remnants of blue and red dye covering his head, arms, legs and tails.
“Why did you bring your whole getup, pumpkin?” Maddie questions the fox floating beside her; the breeze Tails’ flight picks up, not helping her stay warm at all.
“Oh, I don’t plan on being at your work the whole day.” Tails answers, being interrupted by Maddie grabbing the fox out of flight and carrying him on her front. He takes to speaking into her ear from this new vantage point, “I’ll probably end up at the library, people tend to want me to fix things when I’m there. In fact, they started bringing their appliances there in hopes that I would come by.”
“Well, aren’t you a little handyman. You could make a poster for your services. Or maybe you can set up some office hours at your lab.” Maddie suggests, getting a little bounce in her step from pride.
The bounce forces Tails to grip harder with his paws, his wince hidden by Maddie’s coat and neck, “Well, if it’s something heavy like a car, they can’t really carry it to the lab. And as funny as it would be to turn Knuckles into my personal mailman for this, I’d rather show up at their door if they call. Helps with the elderly, too.”
“My little genius, already thinking of better ways to help the town.” She states proudly, before thinking a bit deeper about Tails’ seemingly endless expertise, “Although I would ask that you try not to overlap the businesses already here, since that could lead to animosity towards you. I don’t want people seeing you that way.”
Curse. Freak.
“...I think I'll just stick to helping out sometimes in the library.”
Arriving at the clinic, Maddie is forced into motion instantly, depositing Tails at the reception desk with instructions to the worker that he can go to the shelter wing, departing in the opposite direction to assist with the cat’s treatment. A brief chat and walk with the receptionist ends with him supervised from a distance by an interning vet, surrounded by varying levels of skittish animals. The awe in the intern’s eyes makes Tails himself a little skittish, but he can’t feel any malice in his gaze.
-
MP Log Start: [unnamedGroup_03#02]
This is entry #277, by my Miles Electric’s count. Normally, I wouldn’t do back-to-back updates in the same groups, but it has only been an hour since I last did anything sciency, and this just so happens to be somewhat time-sensitive. Also, I’m forced to type instead of dictate, since I’m not in the privacy of my lab like last time. I wish I could type faster, but I guess this experiment, if it works, will hopefully allow me to get more than 40 words per minute without causing pain for the subsequent hour.
We just got to the clinic, so I can’t sniff out the cat currently. That would require going into the surgical suite while it's occupied, and I’m not selfish enough to put my own needs above the cat’s recovery. Although I suppose I could just wander in… But people would notice my displacement, especially the intern watching over me. I hypothesise he is new to the area. Just wait until he learns I’m his boss's kid.
Do I really ramble when typing, too? I’m worse than Sonic.
I’m going to spend the next, I don’t know, 30 minutes here? That will give me ample time to ‘hack’ into the database for locational info, and get an idea of the topology I'll be dealing with in my exploration later today. Assuming that they are doing a full workup of the cat before treatment, that will also give ample time for the scent to collect and not be swept away by their antiseptics.
…Are they even aware of how strong that stuff smells? [Log Paused: 89 Seconds] Turns out, no. Their senses are worse than mine with a stuffy snout. Speaking of enhanced senses, I have a better idea. Instead of guesstimating when their surgery will start, I’ll just wait within hearing range and walk in just before they start disinfecting. That would lower the chance of me contaminating a wound, allow the scent to build up plenty, and they won’t have used the antiseptic yet.
I know their preliminary examination takes longer than 15 minutes, thanks to my own experience here, so that gives me ample time to… Either mess with the intern or play with some strays. Haven’t decided yet.
Prower out.
MP Log End: [unnamedGroup_03#02]
-
Tails is sitting in a puppy enclosure, surrounded by various breeds with varying dispositions towards him. Some of the younger pups are swatting and nipping at his tails, but he moves the tails away from their jaws before any dog catches them. Another dog, golden in colour, decides his lap is an excellent place for a quick rest, lying across crossed knees and wagging slowly at the minimal engagement Tails is showing them. All the while, the intern is just watching, still in awe at the juvenile kit acting like a typical human.
Tails closes his logbook application, switching to a wireless network access terminal to intercept packets travelling from the surgical suite to the server. He accesses the locational information of the file before bringing up his backdoor access to the vet’s server. The benefit of being the town’s resident technological expert is that everyone trusts what you’re doing when it works. Opening the cat’s file, he reads through the actively updating chart, seeing X-rays and other medical jargon being filled in live from the floor in the kennel.
A statement in the notes box towards the end of the file catches his eye. ‘Cat found on side of road, blood trail leading into bushes. Found outside of Green Hills, heading east. Cat left at Police Station, brought in by Wade.’ Not a coordinate map Tails was hoping for, but enough to go off of for a start. Collecting a smell profile of the cat will help him identify the exact location where to start his search.
The nervous tapping of the intern’s foot, reminiscent of a super slow Sonic, stops as he finally builds the courage to talk to the cryptid on his floor, “...H-Hey, are you like… A fox?”
“Woof woof.”
“...That was a very enunciated ‘woof’,” The intern provides, monologuing his confusion at what is sitting in front of him.
Well, it’s not like Tails wasn’t planning on messing with the intern eventually. Tails, freed from the lap dog’s clutches a few minutes earlier due to its lack of pets, turns on the intern with violent speed and screams at him. The poor intern falls backwards from shock at the creature in front of him, before crawling backwards and hitting his back against the wall opposite the dog kennel’s fence.
Tails, being the little shit he is, jumps onto the bars, perched like a gargoyle looking down at his next victim. The intern watches as the predator’s eyes narrow into slits, how his lips peel back to reveal the sharpened fangs from textbooks he used to study, sitting in horror as menacing gekkers fly out of the mobian’s throat.
This time, it's not Tails who screams.
The sound of hurried footsteps, followed by the panic-stricken face of the receptionist, notices the intern’s nearly comatose state, looking around in the chorus of barking dogs to spot Tails, plastered with a cheeky grin, and sitting on the fence separating the corridor and the dog pen.
“What do you think you’re doing, Tails?” She calls out to the mobian.
“I was just introducing myself to the intern! Mom didn’t tell me there was…” Tails pauses dramatically to take a long sniff, tongue running across his lips, fangs and nostrils, while he turns back to the boy on the ground, taking on a deeper baritone to finish his sentence, “fresh meat.”
“Aggressive fox behaviour: ears pinned back, piloerection, stiff tail, open mouth, bared teeth, staring, gekkering, screaming. Fox diet: omnivores, usually eating small rodents but sometimes carcasses.” The intern lets out a squeak as he finishes reciting the information from a veterinary book, “Oh my God, I’m gonna be a carcass!”
The receptionist levels an unamused glare at Tails, ignoring the hyperventilating teenage boy on the ground for now.
“I really don’t see the issue, Mrs Graves. I did this for real this morning, and my dad was totally fine. I thought he could use some hands-on experience in fox biology. It's handy if he wants to be a vet; not being able to handle a threat that won't actually be followed up on like that... he’s gonna need to shape up.”
“I thought I was gonna die,” the intern whimpers.
“George, get up, and go to the kitchen. Tails, it’s been lovely having you here, but you’ve caused a ruckus and now I have a kennel of dogs to calm down.”
Tails puts on an ensemble of faux disappointment as he strides past the receptionist. With her being busy here, the intern in the kitchen, and the three other vet techs in with the cat, Tails now has free rein to travel within the building. Stopping outside the general operations room, he listens for the queue to enter and strikes up a brief encounter with Maddie at the computer.
“Hey, Mom.”
Maddie, engrossed in analysing the X-ray on screen, didn't hear the door open, jumping slightly at the voice. “Oh! Hey sweetie, you can't be in here, we're about to start removing bone fragments.”
“Oh, that’s alright, I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving.” Tails informs his mother, subtly taking in as many details about the cat’s scent as possible, “Also, someone scared your intern.”
“Miles.”
“Sorry, Mom! I’m not allowed in here, remember? Okay, cool, thanks, bye!”
The door slams behind Tails as he rushes out of the business and flies low to the asphalt of the road, heading along the east exit from Green Hills.
MP Log Start: [unnamedGroup_03#03]
This isss… Entry #279, by my Miles Electric’s count. [Sound: Bloodhound Searching] Currently on the prowl. About 5 minutes ago, I landed in a tree above where the cat was found. Didn't want to get spotted, so I stuck to the trees before getting to the ground away from possible witnesses. When I felt in the clear, I figured I might as well do another entry. And surprise, I’m at my daily average for logs before noon! Basically, I’m just looking for the cat’s scents, and since I started at the end, as long as there are no branches, this should be a walk in the park… Or forest, but that's just not the phrase.
[Sound: Bloodhound Searching] It’s so strange. I can’t get that factoid out of my head. Humans have 5 million olfactory receptors, whereas earth foxes have 300 million. Even estimating my own senses as a median between those two numbers, that's at least 147 million receptors more than a human. [Sound: Bloodhound Searching] ...I guess if a human ever reads or listens to this log, I can try to explain what it’s like to be able to smell like me… It’s not like I’m using my higher cognitive function currently.
[Sound: Bloodhound Searching] Mmm, okay, I guess… I guess I can imagine it like an invisible thread. Or trail, or something. Different objects have different ‘thicknesses’ of that thread, and then environmental factors change the shape of it too. Like rain would squash it flat, and wind moves it away from the source. [Sound: Bloodhound Searching] The more overlapping threads, the more overwhelming it can be. But then, I can still differentiate the scents, because… I’ll use frequency instead of thickness for this analogy, but each scent has a frequency, and if you can tune into that channel, then you can follow it. So if the threads have the same thickness or frequency, it’s harder to differentiate. I don’t know, it’s hard to describe metaphysical stuff like this.
[Sound: Bloodhound Searching] Heh, also, I’ve upgraded the dictation software's audio processors to differentiate between Ozzie and me when we do that sniffing thing. Not sure if I should keep the name ‘Bloodhound Searching’, but it’s better than the ‘Dog Sniffing’ it was set up as before. Actually, I can just search the name humans use; it will probably be better than this one. And less confusing, since what if an actual bloodhound becomes my biggest villain? Then I'll be confused by my own log’s dictation.
[Sound: Tablet Interfacing] Oh yeah, that’s a better descriptor. ‘Nosing Out’... Not really as cool, but sometimes we make sacrifices for future legibility. [Log Paused: 53 Seconds] Alllright… That should take effect from here on. Let’s give it a try! [Sound: Fox Nosing Out] …Meh, that’s the beauty of technology. If I get a better idea, I’ll… Update… It…
…
[Sound: Fox Flight] I guess that’s the end of my update this time…
Prower out.
MP Log End: [unnamedGroup_03#03]
-
Blood.
Blood and bleach. He’s found it.
The house in front of Tails is a standard bungalow. Weather-worn shingles, off-white panel walls, and yellowed curtains blocking off a view through the dirt-streaked windows. The grass beside the footpath to the front door is overgrown, tall enough to hide the majority of the mobian's body, with weeds breaking through the uneven asphalt of their driveway.
Tails could see the whole of the property from his aerial position, noting how the scent escapes through the back door’s cat flap and chimney, before releasing a couple of micro-drones from the fanny pack strapped across his back on the shoulder belt. One drone stays airborne beside the fox, where the other lands with a soft thud on the ground beside the porch. Tails opens the control application on his Miles Electric, attaching the secondary screen from within his jacket’s pocket and begins guiding the grounded drone through the layout of the house.
The aerial drone completes its preliminary scan of the house, detecting no heat signatures, as expected due to the driveway being clear, and sets it to scan for indications of living beings encroaching on its location. Landing on the roof above the back door, Miles takes stock of the general layout of the house. Three common rooms, a bedroom, a bathroom and two storage nooks.
The cat flap is unlocked.
Miles enters the house.
They had no fresh food in their bins. It wasn’t desperate enough yet for that to be an issue, but with seasonal changes approaching, it wanted to analyse patterns in the households of the village. It saw them leave for… Whatever people do, earlier today. It wouldn’t know what people do. It’s not a person.
The woman left the kitchen window ajar, not knowing it was small enough to force open the window fully and squeeze through the gap into the house. Leaving the kitchen till last, it scurries through the living room into a bedroom. Based on the pastel wall colouring, it is clear that a child usually takes residence here. There are some electronic toys scattered on the floor, so it takes their batteries and a messenger bag from the corner of the closet. The master bedroom reveals an alarm clock, digital and easy pickings. The bathroom holds a full roll of unused bandages and some soap. A restock for its wound-care.
In the living room again, it stares at the massive entertainment box. A whole 13 inches of display, but too heavy for it to pillage. Back in the kitchen, it collects some loose bottles, filling a couple with water and others with oil, salt, pasta and other necessities. There’s a trolley by the open window, containing a variety of books separated by each resident's tastes. Stashing the messenger bag through the window, it takes some time to read.
It doesn’t hear the door unlock. Too engrossed in the mechanics and designs of aeronautical engineering.
Its head hurts. There’s blood in its fur.
Miles slips into the cat flap on the back door with ease, the only sound being the soft thud of three limbs landing on laminate flooring. The flap closes behind him as he takes to nosing out the strongest source of cat blood. It takes no time to isolate the scent into two major locations: one in the bathroom and another elsewhere.
Travelling lightly through the kitchen into the second of the common rooms, Miles takes in the furniture dotted against the walls and standing in the centre of the room. An old habit to have a read on what kind of person lives here, since Tails would be hesitant to take from the elderly. They would do it anyway. The room’s stench casts a haze of smoke, whiskey, piss and vomit, disrupting Miles’ sensitive snout. The scent he focuses on of crusting blood and a half-assed bleach job doesn’t do much in the way of freshening out his sinuses, but as the least offending noise to his olfactory senses, it's the pair he chooses to hone in on.
There are two tables in this room: a circular wooden one with five mismatched chairs surrounding it, a couple tipped over, and a large rectangular indented one covered in felt with a leg snapped. The smaller wooden table is worn, each leg thinning towards the middle and splinters scattered across the carpet. The pool table has a similar problem, just worse. The cat’s scratching caused the leg to break, providing the human's motive behind declawing their pet.
Miles tries to ignore the state of the bathroom he enters - the yellowing of limescale and black spots of mould reduced to decorative art - and focuses on the cupboard beneath the sink. It’s one of the major sources of blood, so he opens the door to find bleach, clearly a new purchase based on the state of the house as a whole, and an odd-looking pair of nail clippers. Tails has seen a human pair before, but this is drenched in the stench of a cat’s panic pheromones.
If it were any bigger, the blade would probably fit around Miles’ own claws. Wielding the mechanical advantage from the lever to cut the bone out from the joint, instead of holding the claw and ripping it out. He might’ve preferred this method.
-
MP Log Start: [unnamedGroup_03#04]
Well, I’m still in the house, going to check- oh wait. Uh.
…This is Entry #280, by my Miles Electric’s count. I cut off the last log because I found the house and was kinda overwhelmed by the scents. But let me tell you, it feels so much better to be breaking into places with drones that can check the front door for you… If only I had that when… But then, would I even be here?
Uhh, anyway. I isolated two major scent… bundles? If we’re still using that thread analogy, and one of them leads to the human version of a declawing machine. Much more clinical and refined than the decorative piece they had on Mobius. Or maybe it was just a religious tool of Westside. I don’t know, it’s hard to get a good look at things with a concussion and tears blurring your vision. But I’m going into what I’d presume is the bedroom now, since that's the location of the other smell-thread-bundle thing.
Ri-woah. Oookay. It smells like… Smells like I'm too young to be in here, heh. Although I don’t know who owns this place, so maybe I’m not… That’s a horrifying thought… I’ll, uh, make an anonymous call to whatever town or village’s law enforcement I’m in, since I can’t really go in person. Aside from the fact that I’m an alien on this planet, I obviously have committed a crime or three to wind up here.
Right, back to the cat. The scent has led me toooooo… [Sound: Drawer Opening] handcuffs, yikes. And the kitties' claws are stored here, too. Awesome, I guess I can really start on this project now. I have a couple of ideas on how to do this, and I’ve got four claws to get it right. Maybe I should come up with a name now, since this project has the potential to hold water. Operation: Make Metal Claws.
…Meh, I’ll workshop it on the flight home.
Prow-
[Sound: Plastic Flapping] Eerrr… Actually… I had a somewhat weird thought on my last log when I said ‘Prower out’. I overheard - big ears, in your face privacy - Tom and Maddie discussing legal adoption. Like, actually having the government recognise us as citizens of not only Earth, but America too. [Sound: Fox Flying] Seems improbable, but that’s where my weird thought lies. If they actually, somehow, succeed with that… Would I get like a legal name change? Since I'm basically a stowaway on this planet, I don’t have a legal name to tie me down here. I could theoretically become ‘Tails Wachowski’ instead of just ‘Miles Prower’ with a nickname…
Prower out.
MP Log End: [unnamedGroup_03#04]
Tails lands in the back garden and walks up to the entrance of his lab, the garage having been expanded and taken over by the territorial beast, but gets stopped by a blur of lightning before he reaches the door.
Leaning on the wall, Sonic, who clearly has woken up in the past few minutes, tries to suppress a yawn while speaking as if he’s been up for hours, “Hey, hey, lil’ bro! Haven’t seen you all day, watcha been up tooo… Why do you smell like that?”
“Like what, Sonic?” Tails asks, clearly thrown off by the visceral reaction of Sonic backing up and covering his nose.
“Like… Worse than Vegas that one time.” Tails shudders at the memory, recalling how he had to throw out that tuxedo and didn’t return for a whole two months.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. I-Is it? How bad is it?” The response he receives isn’t verbal, just a shift of Sonic’s gaze like he’s trying to locate where the scents are coming from, “Oh Gaia, I can’t even tell. Stupid house blocking my stupid nose.”
Sonic, in his analysis of Tails’ nose-killing ensemble, almost doesn’t catch the interesting part of that statement. “What house were you in to smell like the frat bro version of ‘Last Friday Night’?”
“Don’t worry about it. If you really wanna know, it’s gotta do with mom’s work at the clinic.” Tails watches as Sonic prepares to speed off, grabbing his arm before he turns into the wind, “Don’t tell her about me, though. Seriously. Also, can I borrow your radio?”
“Sure thing, foxboy. Put it back when you’re done.” With that, Sonic diffuses into the environment.
Put that back! Thief!
“...Wouldn’t dream of keeping it.”
-
MP Log Start: [op_SteelPaw#05]
This is Entry #282, according to my Miles Electric’s count. I took a break, for once, so I’ve only been at this for about an hour. I would’ve started a lot sooner, but lunchtime was coming up and apparently I ‘desperately need to bathe’ and ‘you are too pungent for this household’... Thanks, Knuckles.
So yeah, I had some eggshells, berries, and other… things, I don’t know I wasn’t in the mood to cook. Just took handfuls of stuff and jammed it in my facehole. At least that gave me time to update a separate project and think of a new name for this… Drumroll please…
[SFX: Drumroll] Oh, right, I made that. Uh, it’s Operation: Steel Paw! Round of applause, please. [SFX: Applause] Thank you.
So yeah, updated the group's name to that, and now laying out a couple of ideas to make these claws metal. Small issue I’ve noticed though, is that some of the claw bones have been snapped. Really, it only took a search, but clearly instead of piercing through the joint the declawer just cut though the thin socket. Maddie was right about bone fragments being stuck in the cat still. Luckily for me, since mine were pulled out, they didn’t snap off inside me.
…Did I mention that?
My right paw was declawed about two years ago. I… I haven’t told anyone, but I’m sure they noticed me get weird about my paw. Like that time with the metal detector... and Sonic just a couple weeks ago with the hair dye in the shower, and the clanking of metal in the washer… I’m not really hiding the fact my glove has metal tips covering the ends of the digits, but I think they think it's some technical, mechanical, whatever, stuff. It’s not. It’s just to stop random brushes and small pressures from making me cry out.
…Chaos forbid someone tried to give me a handshake and I started mewling. Gross.
Anyway, I think it’s almost time to bring Knuckles into the fray. I need to collect my own claws from my old cave if I want to recast them as metal and jam them back into my paw, and to do that I want to have the backup of the most feared warrior in the galaxy.
And before you ask, I won’t be letting Sonic, Maddie or Tom know we’re going to Mobius. To put it bluntly, Sonic will want to come and be useless there; either constantly worrying about me being back at my old village, or - Gaia forbid - him learning about my… ailment. Or even just being unable to work in the different planet’s environment. He's very... Spirited, when visiting new places. Then theres Tom and Maddie. They would just forbid it. They think it would help me, not going back there, but I’ve walked coasts littered with bodies and debris that I put there. I can compartmentalise anything, and a little thing like revisiting chapter three of my life will not bring me mental distress. Thats only caused by overstimulation, and that requires all three dimensions: physically, sensory and mentally.
So yeah, I may not be all that much physically, but my brain has always been my greatest boon.
Where was I going with this..? Oh, right, Operation: Steel Paw.
I’ve been looking into ways to cast objects in metal. I think I’ll give the easiest and cheapest option a try first, and either iterate the method or scrap it based on results. So far I’m looking into sand, foam and wax casting. They all vary slightly, but it’s basically something in a cast with a low melting point getting burned up and replaced by molten metal.
And I know the project name is ‘Steel Paw’ but I’ll be using titanium for myself. It just is better than other biocompatible materials, and won’t corrode from fluids like blood and sweat. Another bonus is its poor heat and electrical conduction. Although I’m not expecting this to be an end all be all to the pain, hopefully it will dull the edge of it enough that I can actually grab things heavier than an empty jug. And it’s not like I’m not used to having differing weights on my paws, so the density of the metal will be negligible for my day to day lifestyle.
I’m going to make some silicone molds for the fully intact claws. Originally, I was going to make the cat a new set of claws too, but since parts of the original structures are broken and extrapolating that data can cause more harm than good… I’m just gonna stick with this being a test run for myself. Sorry girl, but you’re just gonna have to live with it. I did for a while, you can too.
Also, I think the progress will slow down tremendously from here. I’m not on the time crunch from this morning, and I have other projects I don’t feel like putting on the backburner because then I’ll have to fish them out of my seasonal archiving. Also, like, learning how to cast metal will definitely take longer than an afternoon, and then there's shipping titanium and stuff… I may be a genius, but just because things like this come easier, doesn’t mean I’ll get it first try.
Test, Iterate, Perfect. That's the motto.
Prower out.
MP Log End: [op_SteelPaw#05]
Tom was starting to get… concerned? Wrong word - intrigued, maybe - at what all these packages being delivered could be. They all have different sizes and weights, but they all have at least one thing in common. They’re all addressed to a ‘Mister Miles Prower’. And it’s not like he can open one of the boxes to take a peek; he knows how his youngest gets… territorial around things involving himself. This would be concerning to the human; however, Tom remembers being a teenager, and adding that fact with the knowledge that Tails didn’t have anything before coming to Earth, he feels he can overlook it.
Despite that, the intrigue is getting too overpowering.
“So… Tails, I see that you’ve been getting a lot of packages recently. Anything interesting going on?” Tom asks over dinner.
Tails’ pelt has finally returned to its dandelion yellow and cream colours. It was a great relief for the fox, as every day there would be a new comment from Sonic about how cool blue looks on him, or from Knuckles about how red is the true colour for a warrior. He looks up from feasting on his blue steak, hesitation swimming about in his pupils, before swallowing his bite, “Just decided to take on a new hobby.”
“Oh yeah, what hobby would that be? Wait! Lemme guess… Uhh, Roller skating? It looks fun, but a little slow for me. No wait, snowboarding? I know you were unconscious, but you sure knew how to shred those slopes in Russia.” Sonic suggests, always the fastest to throw around improbably hypothesises.
“Close! It’s actually metalworking.”
Sonic looks dumbfounded for a second, “...How is that close in any capacity?”
“It’s not.” Tails responds cheekily. Sonic meets his playful gaze with a deadpan of his own.
“Metalworking, huh? I remember doing that for a semester at college. Files and lathes and drill presses…” A dawning look of horror crosses Tom’s face mid-reminiscence, “You haven’t… You’re following standard PPE practices, right?”
“PPE? What’s that mean?” Tails asks, tilting his head and flopping his ears to look as clueless as possible.
Dropping her fork into her salad, Maddie addresses her husband, an icy look in her eyes. Tom gulped. “You let our son use this without a lecture on safety?”
“Maddie, please, I didn’t know! Obviously, I didn’t know because we just asked and just found out!” Tails could only hold out a few more seconds before breaking out into giggles at Tom’s misfortune.
“Of course, I know about Personal Protective Equipment! Getting adequate goggles and a respirator were the first things I ordered. And I already had the steel-toe boots, overalls and ear protection. Haven’t you noticed all the overalls in the laundry?”
“Now that you mention it…” Maddie thinks for a second before having an epiphany, “Wait, I haven’t seen any of your gloves.”
“Oh, I don’t wear them for this.” A series of bewildered looks crosses the faces of the diners at the table. Tails feels the need to clarify, “It’s usually safer not to wear gloves when doing stuff like this. If the cloth gets caught on the spinning parts, it could break your hand. I’d rather risk burns or fur being pulled out than that.”
“That still sounds like more danger than I want you in,” Maddie responds, placated but not happy about it.
“I think you're underestimating my ability to take educated risks, Mom. Also, it’s not even the riskiest thing I’ve done. Remember the smoke detector incident? We’re lucky I’m good at hacking; otherwise, we’d still be on that watchlist.”
“...Right.”
“Anyway, what I’ve been testing has gone through a couple of methods and iterations, but I’m glad to say I succeeded in my testing earlier today!”
“That’s awesome, bud. What were you testing?” Tom asks, confidence back.
“Different ways to cast metal into shapes. I tried sand casting first, but that ended up with a rough exterior, which is not what I want, and sanding isn’t a feasible option. Then I tried lost-foam casting, but the refuse couldn’t escape the mould and ended up with an imperfect finish on the bottom of the cast. But the one that did work was lost-wax casting. I made a ceramic shell around a wax model, and heated it to allow the wax to flow out of the mould. Then I could pour the metal and end up with a perfect shape!”
“What are you gonna do with these new skills of yours?” Tom asks, genuinely understanding something his son has said, for once.
“Well, I’ve got an idea of what I wanna make, but I think I’ll ask Knuckles for help in locating the pieces I wanna recreate in metal.”
Knuckles puffs out his chest. “I am honoured to be your first choice. Clearly, only the best will be of use to you in this quest.”
“Hmm? Hey, wait, what?” Sonic’s focus is dragged back into the conversation by the slight to his ego, “Why can’t I do it? You know I’m always the best choice to help you out, lil’ bro.”
Tails huffs out a breath. He knew Sonic would be intrigued by anything the fox planned to do, but getting his attention away is a requirement for his plan to be stress-free. “Sure, if you want to go digging for a variety of gemstones, please, be my guest.”
“On second thought, I’m busy that day,” Sonic replies, unaware of Tails’ relieved exhale.
“I shall gladly join you on this expedition, fox.” Knuckles responds, looking pleasantly surprised at a topic he takes great interest in. Tails feels a little bad, but he’s sure to understand the reason for his lie when given the full picture.
“That’s great to hear! Glad you’re willing to join me for this. Meet me in my workshop tomorrow morning and I’ll tell you the details.” Tails turns to address his parents, “We will be out for at least half of the day, so don’t wait up for us, ‘kay?”
“That’s fine, sweetie. If I don't see you until after work, make sure you stay safe and have fun tomorrow.” Maddie responds diplomatically.
“Yeah, that. Totally won't miss you guys or anything…” Sonic pouts, really demonstrating his heroism.
“Bring us back a rock or two,” Tom adds.
It's the next morning, and Tails is in his lab, dressing himself in the same outfit he wore a couple of weeks ago when his plan was first manifesting before the trip to Maddie’s workplace. The many satchels and pockets decorating his jacket, shorts and utility belts are all carrying tools and materials: screwdrivers, utility blades, drones, spare components, rings, mobiums, and even some rope attached beneath the back of the jacket.
Lastly, he has a pair of bracelets around his wrists. As a long-range aerial fighter, it’s only natural to have some form of defence, and for him, that presents itself in hair-trigger blasters with stun, sleep, and… incapacitation options to cycle through. The blasters aren’t the only trick he’s woven into the bracelets, as watching Sonic play Assassin’s Creed provided some interesting insight into the utility of a hidden blade. Tails is currently testing his manoeuvrability and lethality when an earthquake shakes the garage door on the front of his lab.
“Fox! I have arrived and am ready to collect a bounty of jewels with you, as per your request!”
Sliding up to the door beside the automatic car-sized one, Tails opens it, dragging the red mobian in quickly before shutting and locking it behind him. Knuckles, about to lecture his brother about startling him, stops once he sees the line the fox is trying to wear into the concrete ground. Tails, for his part, is heavily debating how to inform Knuckles of his true goal. Would telling him be the wisest choice, or omitting the details be better? No, Knuckles would see right through the omission, as while his knowledge of the world and social norms is lacklustre, he dominates in emotional intelligence.
“Steel yourself, fox. I can sense a great burden weighing on you. Speak - what is my purpose here?”
Tails sighs gratefully at Knuckles’s ability to get to the heart of the issue. “What I said yesterday was half a lie. I need to collect something for my project, and I want your assistance. As backup and protection.”
“...What dangers do you face?” The echidna raises a brow at Tails’ disposition, seeing hesitation in his eyes but not detecting a hint of malice or insincerity.
“Well, a physical description of what I need is a glass jar with yellow viscous liquid in it. There are also five solids at the bottom of the jar, with a label wrapped around the outside to help disguise its contents.” Knuckles goes to interrupt due to not receiving a direct answer to his question, but is cut off as Tails continues his speech, “As for its location, it’s on Mobius. More specifically, near my old village, in my cave.”
“Ah.” Knuckles takes a breath while thinking over Tails’ plea, “Is this wise? How is this jar dire enough to journey to that place of treachery?”
After a few more seconds of hesitation, the fox decides to rip the bandage off. “Well, you know how my right glove has metal in the fingertips and that I haven’t taken it off around any of you?”
“Not really, no.”
Tails looks bewildered by this. “...Seriously, Knux? I haven’t been subtle about it… Like at all…”
Knuckles’ stoic gaze doesn’t betray the embarrassment he feels from not noticing something like this about his brother. After not receiving a response from the warrior, the vulpine continues, a bit more reassured by his brother not seeing it as another thing to make him… unique.
A Freak.
“Basically… I was injured a while ago, and I wear the glove pretty much all the time, since even the wind can sometimes cause me pain. It’s… Probably easier if I show you, but you have to promise me that you can’t tell anyone else, alright? At least until I feel comfortable about sharing it with the others. Also, I might need your help again in a couple of days. It’s a three-step plan, and I'll need you there for step three, too.”
“Very well, consider it a pact between warriors.”
Tails takes off his bracelet from the cuff of his right glove. Slowly working his paw through the elastic of the band, he speaks to his brother, half to be informative, half nerves, “I don’t know how much you know about Mobian history, but torture devices were quite common before they were made illegal. Stuff like cutting bones off the ends of tails, cutting the tips of ears, branding rods…”
The glove slips off of Tails’ digits, revealing the slightly mangled ends of his paws. “...And declawers.”
Beyond the widening of his eyes and the clench of his jaw, Knuckles’ facial expression doesn’t waver. Only hardening. “I recall you speaking at the latest festivity about your old village. Allow me to accompany you, and we shall burn those dwellings to the ground, and tear their land asunder.”
Flexing his pads and wincing at the movement, Tails feels grateful for his brother’s eagerness for vengeance, slightly wistful. “Sadly, as heroes of this planet, we have a duty not to harm others unnecessarily. As much as I’d like to, I feel it would be wrong for us to go back on the pact we forged over the Master Emerald.”
“...You… May be correct. I shall act as your guardian. If they dare cross us, they will face my wrath.”
Tails can’t restrain himself, rushing into Knuckles’ arms and squeezing as tight as possible with his left paw, claws slightly penetrating the thin cloth barrier and poking into his coarse red fur. Sniffling slightly, Tails vocalises his gratitude with some soft whines. The echidna placates his brother with a continuous soft purr, grounding him with a not-too-tight grip about his torso.
A few minutes pass before the brothers separate. Glove and bracelet back on, Tails wipes his eyes, collecting a ring from one of his many jacket pockets, thinking of an easy landmark from his third ‘home’ - the village well. Tossing the ring, it opens to display a sunrise, some foxes milling about in the distance towards the markets, but none close enough to enter the ring without permission. Running through the ring portal, Tails and Knuckles end up in the centre of Westside Island.
-
MP Log Start: [op_SteelPaw#06]
This is Entry #287, according to my Miles Electric’s count… It’s so weird being back here. Going to visit my old home, if you can even call it that.
“Who are you talking to, fox?”
Right… Knuckles is with me. Say ‘Hi’, Knux!
“Greetings? I don’t understand, who are we greeting?”
Me. But, like, the me in the future. I’m basically writing a history book, but instead of writing, it hears what we say and writes it down for us.
“Ah. Marvellous technology, as always.”
Aww, Thanks, Knux.
Anyway, we’re on our way to my old home to collect my jar of claws. And before you ask, no, they aren’t other people’s claws, just mine. In my pain and panic-induced frenzy to escape from the chief’s house, I must’ve taken them with me. I don’t really remember that, or for a couple of weeks after the incident until the bleeding and infection stopped, and the pain receded to a constant thrumming instead of knife points under my skin. But when I realised who I was, where I was and what had happened, I had bandages on my paw, a jar of honey with my claws in it, and was still alive, so clearly I was feeding myself and stuff.
I think that’s one of the most feral times I’ve had on Westside, but maybe not in my whole life. When I went to scout out the village, I got spotted by the chief. I still remember what he shouted at me. ‘It’s the curse! Quick, gather around! Someone kill it already! It clawed my face!’ Sure enough, when I turned around, there were four deep scars across his forehead and down his cheek over the eye.
“You speak of this with such… levity. You clearly are more the warrior than you let on, fox.”
…Oh, right, Knuckles can hear me. I’m so not used to doing this with another person present.
So, good news: my cave wasn’t that far from the village. In fact, it’s basically just above us right now. A peninsula runs along the edge of the island, and no one else here can fly, so it was safe pretty much all year round. The only threat was the temperature, so I made a heater from someone’s microwave. Probably not safe, but who cares?
Well, I’m gonna fly Knuckles up to my cave. We’ve been lucky that a stray kit hasn’t wandered into us and screamed Bloody Mary. Either it's luck or they see the red hunking musculature of an echidna next to me and decide trying to knock me out or kill me again isn’t worth the trouble. I won’t even need my blasters as deterrents. What a joyous day. [Log Paused: 43 Seconds]
Back on Earth, we were discussing raising Cain upon the village, but our duty as heroes forbade that. Now, hypothetically, if this village became a power against democracy, or something, it would be our duty to snuff out their lamplights of rebellion. Just want to keep that in mind if we ever get bored one day and feel like letting the ghosts of my past become actual ghosts.
“Ghosts?”
Hehe. Not real ghosts, don’t worry, Knuckles.
“...I have located the jar. With the claws in our possession, we shall make a tactical retreat. But know this, Island of Westside! I, Knuckles, the Last of the Echidna Warriors, will pay your village its penance! Repent for your sins, so that when I return, I may spare your life still!”
…Have I told you you’re my favourite brother?
“Not nearly as many times as you should, fox.”
Hehe. Welp, rings away.
Prower out.
MP Log End: [op_SteelPaw#06]
Even with the practice on the cat’s claws, it takes Tails about a week of casting and recasting claw after claw to feel confident in his technique. To ensure he didn’t mix up the claws, he separated them into five different Tupperware containers, each one containing one organic claw and a multitude of steel replicas. Although he could afford it, the inventor doesn’t want to waste money on more titanium than necessary, mainly because of the difficulty of altering the shape after cooling.
So that leaves Tails with five refined ceramic moulds of each claw, a crucible smelting at over 1668° Celsius, and enough titanium to fill each mould five times over. Scraping off the slag from the surface of the titanium, the fox reaches for his heatproof gauntlets, steel alloy tongs and goggles before gripping firmly on the handles. The process is physically demanding, the weight of the crucible providing a unique challenge on Tails’ paws, so he grips hard with the left and pushes his right palm against his digits while rotating gently, allowing the liquid mirror to flow smoothly into each mould’s channel. A small burst of flame springs out during the initial pour, the remnants of isopropyl alcohol burning away quicker than it can make imperfections in the cast.
Sweating, but resisting the urge to pant just yet, Tails gently pours the remaining titanium into an ingot cast he purchased and lowers the now-empty crucible back into its heating element, turning it off and allowing it to cool in the air of the workshop. The AC unit Tails had purchased for his lab is off intentionally, but with that factor, the canine is panting heavily in the slightly humid atmosphere of the workshop.
With that short cooling break over, Tails moves to his casts, moving them gently into a vacuum furnace, pumping out all the air and replacing it with argon. The temperature of the titanium lowers slowly until it reaches the temperature of the vacuum, sitting at 600°C for 50 minutes. Tails watches over the process like a hawk, looking for any sign of a stray bubble or an eruption like an explosion. Nothing noteworthy occurs, so the fox is feeling pretty jolly when the alarm goes off. He purges the argon environment by opening the door to the vacuum chamber.
Leaving the metal to cool in the air, Tails takes a moment to breathe, feeling the weight of three weeks of work slide off his shoulders. He slips out of the lab, ensuring the climate says the same, to return the next day.
With the freshly cast and annealed titanium claws, Tails spends some time removing the channel protruding from where the claw’s tip should be, sharpening the shape to be natural, and blunting the ends enough that it doesn’t cause damage to paper or his palm when applying a similar pressure as his real claws. And now, Tails is left with five perfect claws.
Now for the hard part…
MP Log Start: [op_SteelPaw#07]
“Are you sure this is wise, fox?”
I’m too far in now. I’ve had a week to back out, and it would be foolish to give up on the precipice of something great.
“Very well. I shall stand guard.”
[Sound: Chair Squeaking] Hello. It’s Entry #298, according to my Miles Electric’s count. I have Knuckles with me, It’s still odd making a log with someone else present. And it’s stranger still that someone else now knows about my archives, but I’m sure Knuckles understands the necessity behind backing up personal history.
“I do.”
Yeah, see? He gets it.
Earlier this week, I… liberated some local anesthetic from Mad- Mom’s workplace, and it’s currently doing its thing. I’ll give it a minute before pinching my digit with increasing pressure to get a feel for pain levels. The reason Knuckles is here is because… Well he wanted to watch over me I guess? And I’m not opposing the help of a helper, even if it's just getting me tissues for the tears I’m surely about to cry, or just watching the X-ray on screen for any mishaps.
Oh yeah, I built an X-ray machine so I’m sure that the claws are going in correctly, and I do have a comparison, since I have two hands. Mmm… Aah… Yep, better pain tolerance, but not the greatest. Well I might as well go for one and if it's terrible I’ll up the dosage. Don’t wanna up it too much in case it makes me loopy.
Okay, three… two… one… [Log Muted By Operator: 35 Seconds]
[Sound: Heavy Breathing] “Like that, fox, breathe deep.”
S-so… I’m u-upping the dosage… One down, four to go… I think I need a minute… [Log Paused: 56 Seconds]
All my claws are differently sized, obviously, so I started with the… I guess index finger, but like, index paw..? Index digit, yeah. What was I saying..?
“Your claws are differently sized.”
Right! Thanks, Knuck-Knuck. The index digit is one of the more important ones, and it was also, like, the medium sized one. So I’m just gonna do the bigger ones now before my pain tolerance is shot. Also, I think counting down doesn’t help so I’m just gonna go for it. [Log Muted By Operator: 54 Seconds]
Y-yeah… That hurt… [Log Muted By Operator: 48 Seconds]
[Sound: Ragged Breathing] T-thanks, Knuckles…
“Not a problem. If you can stop the procedure and return later, I recommend it. That number is quite high.”
W-what numb- oh. Y-yeah that’s not good. Hah. 137 bpm, new record. B-but if S-Sonic can handle… handle higher than that, so can I. Aha, ha-AAAH- [Log Muted By Operator: 69 Seconds]
W-What do you think, Knuckles? I’m gonna… I’m gonna have… like, strongerer claws than you. Hah… In your red face. Woah, your face is so red… It’s like… Red…
“Are you sure it is wise to continue Tails, I fear for your wellbeing.”
Oh hush, you, you big l-lug… It’s fiiine, what’s one more scream sesh. You’re just j-jealous of my bling.
“...Very well. I will not stop you.”
Welp, here we goAHH- [Log Muted By Operator: 144 Seconds]
I… I can’t… It’s too much… I don’t wanna do this again…
I don’t wanna do this again. I don’t wanna do t-this again. I can’t do this again.
“Hush, warrior… You need not undergo pain any longer… Let us get you some rest, fox. You have been brave to sustain this for so long.”
Wha..? Am… Am I done?
“Yes. I will bandage and medicate you.”
T-thank you… [Sound: Fox Mewling] [Log Muted By Operator: 37 Seconds]
“Done.”
G-good.
Pruh… P-Prower out…
MP Log End: [op_SteelPaw#07]
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MP Log Archived: [op_SteelPaw.zip]
File Formats: Audio, Text
Zip Size: 96.2MB, 13 Files
Date Created: 202X/11/19 09:00
Owner Notes: Operation Successful