Industry Baby (Quest)

Christopher Chaos

And Peggy!
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Cevanti
“I’m sorry, Mr. Prower, the position’s been filled.”

The door slammed shut. Miles ‘Tails’ Prower stood outside the office of one Professor Qifang Luten, rejection washing over him. He wasn’t normally one to wallow in disappointment, but he really needed this job, and the implications of not getting it decidedly made his shoulders slump and his mood sour. In one conversation, the professor had managed to suck the last bits of serotonin out of his system, and now he was bone dry.

He glanced down at the small bundle of papers in his hand. ‘Application for Intern Position - Department of Robotics and Machining Technology.’ An internship that, objectively, reader, was perfect for our fox boy — there simply was nobody at the Interferon Institute of Technology that could match little Tails in robotics knowledge, barring, of course, the professors themselves (and even that was debatable). And yet… rejected, passed over for a velociraptor with a trust fund and deep pocketed parents.

Begging wasn’t normally his style, either, but circumstances required a little extra effort, this time. Circumstances like the absence of any parents on his end, and a distinct lack of deep pockets.

That’s what happens when your whole home planet gets eaten by Darkseid. But them’s the breaks, reader.

Let’s get the hell out of here.

He turned to go, weaving through the hallways of the Interferon Institute’s robotics building and out onto the main campus. It had been a year now since Govermorne’s unmaking and his subsequent escape to Cevanti, and Tails still hadn’t gotten used to this place. On top of just not having the familiar trappings of the clockwork world, it was also… messier. In many ways. Markov was basically the only civilization left, to hear the locals tell it, so it made sense that it was cramped, everyone packed inside the city walls. It made sense that it was dirty, some areas not kept up well at all. That didn’t mean Tails had to like it.

And he decidedly didn’t. He’d been very lucky to score a spot at the Interferon Institute shortly after his escape pod crashed, riding on their special scholarship for Govermorne refugees. But despite the fact that the refugee crisis was far from over -- plenty of people remained homeless, wandering through the less savory corners of Markov -- the money was about to run out on that deal.

You were always aware this was only a yearlong support system, Mr. Prower.

We simply don’t have the funding to continue the program in any meaningful way.

We’d hoped you’d find some way to engage with the community and support yourself by now.

Oh, yeah, okay -- ‘engage with the community.’ Made a lot of sense for a two-and-a-half foot tall, eight year old two-tailed fox whose entire world had been unmade and whose social skills, as a result, had been decidedly stunted. What exactly did they expect him to… do? The truth was: nothing. They wanted to stop thinking about him. They wanted to forget him, for him to fade away in the background and become someone else’s problem. Specifically, his own problem. And so that was exactly how they’d treated him, and all the other refugees.

Furious feet on autopilot, the fox eventually found himself making his way off campus to one of the Pilots’ Union’s less used hangar bays. He liked to come here sometimes, especially as the Crossroads’ sun drifted below the horizon, to tinker with some of the machinery. He knew that if he’d been caught taking this shit apart and putting it back together that he’d probably be in big trouble, but he didn’t really mind. What could they do to him that would make him feel worse than how the well-off people of Cevanti treated him every day? Throw him in the brig? At least then he’d have a place to stay bigger than his janky dorm room he now couldn’t really afford.

He set his sights on a broken down mech in the corner of the room, one he’d been working on for a few weeks now. The Union, it seemed, had pretty much discarded it, decided it was scrap not worth repairing, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it so easily. He could still see the potential in every loose gear and rusted-up joint. He grabbed the red wrench he’d been working with the past few weeks off the tool shelf and leapt up onto the mech’s form, diving in and beginning to work.

As he tightened some bolts and clicked through some settings on the barely flickering heads up display, he felt his shoulders begin to rise and his nerves begin to calm. He let out a deep sigh, sinking for just a second into the pilot’s chair, letting himself finally begin to relax. This was his happy place, working on robots and mechs and vehicles and any kind of technology he could get his paws on -- and if Qifang Luten and the others in the robotics department of Interferon couldn’t see that, well, that was their problem, wasn’t it?

To tell the truth, reader, Tails had been much too concerned with the opinions of the academia in the months that had gone by since his escape pod had crashed. He didn’t even really know it, but perhaps the rejection was almost a welcome release from having to worry about the opinions of his ‘betters’ (term used loosely).

Deciding to fully seize this opportunity for relaxation, he kicked his feet up onto the mech’s control panel. His foot nudged a big lever with a huge red orb sitting atop it, and before he could reach to stop it, it had slotted into position and the whirring sounds of the mech trying to start itself up began to chitter away all around him. He scrambled for the lever as fast as he could -- “it’s not ready, I haven’t checked through all the settings yet!” -- when suddenly and calmly, the mech hummed to life.

He froze.

Had he… fixed it?

It was in that moment, as the start-up sounds began to subside to make way for the gentle symphony of the mech just… running, that Miles Prower saw another figure step into the light of the hangar bay.

*CLAP… CLAP… CLAP…*

The newcomer continued to lightly applaud as she looked up at him. Tails squinted, and could barely make out a military-looking uniform adorning the figure of the silhouetted woman.

His eyes went wide. A member of the Pilots’ Union.

Aw, hell.

Quest: Tour of Duty
Miles 'Tails' Prower
Post WC: 1086 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 1086/5000 (according to Google Docs)
 

Christopher Chaos

And Peggy!
Level 2
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World
Cevanti
Over the past few months, Tails began to think of Hangar Bay 12 as almost a second home. Or, well, maybe a first home, considering how much he hated his cramped Interferon dormitory. Neither could compare to his cozy suburban bedroom back in his parents’ house on Govermorne, of course, but… well, that was gone now. Probably forever. He shouldn’t dwell.

The point was — he’d come to know every nook and cranny of this place. No corner went unexplored as he went dumpster diving for parts, searching through file cabinets for mech schematics, rifling through toolkits for the right wrench. Hangar Bay 12 was a place he knew all too well.

So why hadn’t he picked up on this intruder before?

The Cevanti military officer stepped into the light, revealing a smartly dressed sergeant in the traditional blue of the Palatinus. She stood tall, probably way taller than Tails if they’d stood back to back, and had sweeping ginger hair flowing out of her royal blue military cap.

“So you finally fixed it,” she smiled, ending her (honestly quite condescending) applause and folding her hands behind her back. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you ever would.”

Tails almost spoke, but thought better of it. Starting to wonder if he would? Who did she think she was talking to? Perhaps she wouldn’t have been so impudent if she’d known she was chatting up the best mechanic this side of the Crossroads, even at eight years old. Perhaps she’d be more respectful if she knew the truth: that there was nothing he couldn’t fix. But another question tugged at his mind: how could she have been wondering if he was going to fix it in the first place? How could she have known he was coming here and working on it?

The sergeant wasted no time in answering that exact question, almost as if she’d read the poor fox boy’s mind. “We’ve been watching you, Miles Prower,” she nodded, “or, at least, I have. Your skills are very impressive, and I think the Kingdom would take a great interest in you, given the chance.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tails sputtered, clambering out of the mech’s cockpit and plopping down atop its ‘head.’ “You’ve been spyin’ on me?!”

Watching,” she corrected, “so, essentially, yes.”

“How so?” the two-tailed fox asked, quirking his brow.

The sergeant lifted a finger, pointing up to one corner of the room. Tails’ gaze followed up to a small camera whirring near the ceiling. Immediately, he began to wonder how he hadn’t noticed it. He’d done a thorough inspection of the hangar bay and somehow missed the tiny, black orb holding the fateful recording device.

“Hmph,” he huffed a bit, crossing his arms. Honestly, he was mostly disappointed in himself — he supposed for all his big brains, he still was a mere eight year old. No matter how booksmart he got, he couldn’t escape the fallacies and foolishness of youth. A pity, reader, a real pity.

He scowled. Being thrust into adult life like this — in more ways than one, both as a refugee and as a literal eight year old already jumping into college — wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He felt sorta… forgotten by so many people, like a lonely Chao with no one tending to its garden. Or like a rusted gear from Tinkerdrift no one paid any mind to. How long until he got so broken that he was in disrepair? How long until he slid off his track and the whole machine came crumbling down because of it?

Was there even a machine that relied on him, or was he just… expendable? Next to useless?

No — not quite expendable.

I think the Kingdom would take a great interest in you, given the chance.”

Tails looked up. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” the officer chuckled, taking a few steps forward and closing the distance between them. “Sergeant Masters of the Kingdom of Palatinus. Specifically, I’m the recruitment officer for the Pilots’ Union, which I’m sure a smart one like you has already guessed based on my uniform’s accoutrements.”

It was true; Tails had pegged this ‘Sergeant Masters’ as a member of the Pilots’ Union from the jump, thanks to a collection of glittering pins situated just above her chest.

“So what do you want with me?” he asked. “Trying to recruit me? Because I don’t really think I’m your guy, sorry.”

“Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Prower,” Sergeant Masters smirked, “I think you’re a perfect candidate for the Pilots’ Union. Your mechanical expertise would be next to no one’s in our ranks, and from the research I’ve done on you, it seems you piloted your own escape pod to this world when Govermorne was taken by Darkseid? Very impressive.”

Tails bristled a bit at this.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Sergeant Masters continued, “about your home.”

The fox boy looked away, not keen to revisit his unlikely flight out of Govermorne’s airspace, past Darkseid’s ship, and to Cevanti. He’d never been more afraid in his entire life -- not an emotion he wanted to relive, especially not when he’d just found out that his options for a better life on this planet had pretty much run dry.

“Oh, and,” the woman continued, one more thing on her mind, “it pays well.” The Sergeant’s gaze locked on Tails at this, and the fox perked up to hear it. “I know you’re looking for a way to pay for school, Mr. Prower. We’ve had our eyes on you for quite a while. All you’d have to do is pass one simple recruitment test, and then you could become a full-fledged member of the Pilots’ Union, and never have to worry about paying for your studies ever again. We’d take care of the whole thing, especially since your field of interest would prove particularly useful to us.”

Tails blinked. Was this opportunity actually worthwhile? He knew it was probably too good to be true -- most things were, nowadays, and he wouldn’t have been shocked if the Pilots’ Union just wanted to use him for his skills. But Sergeant Masters… she seemed to care…

“…what do I have to do?”

A grin spread on Sergeant Masters’ face. “Just get in the mech.”

Tails hesitated ever so slightly, but the decision had long been made. After just a moment of trepidation, he slid back into the mech’s cockpit and plopped down in the pilot’s seat. He clicked the seat belt over his chest -- a little too big, but nonetheless -- and looked out the viewfinder at Sergeant Masters, who reached into her pocket and pulled out a remote control. He quirked his brow a bit, wondering what she could possibly be doing, when suddenly, it dawned on him.

He couldn’t unbuckle fast enough. She’d already smashed the button.

The mech whirred to life, activated its autopilot, and leapt up, up, up, soaring through the hole in Hangar Bay 12’s roof and out into the open air.

Quest: Tour of Duty
Miles ‘Tails’ Prower
Post WC: 1181 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 2267/5000 (according to GDocs)
 

Christopher Chaos

And Peggy!
Level 2
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World
Cevanti
ONE YEAR AGO

The line stretched for hours, and mortars flew over their heads. Just outside Markov’s walls, the Fade and a veritable army of wild zoids and akata pounded the city. The kingdom of Palatinus was mobilizing every unit they had to defend the city, but that meant the resources needed to process thousands of Govermorne refugees? Few and far between.

Tails had stood in line for a considerable amount of time before he finally reached the refugee registration desk. He stood on his top toes to make eye contact with the Twi’lek working the booth.

“Oh shit,” she sighed, looking down at him, “you’re just a kid.”

Tails felt himself go rigid at that. Just a kid.

Yeah, just a kid. Just a highly intellectual kid who actually had the brain power and scope of understanding to comprehend what was going on. The other kid refugees — most of whom were lucky enough to have escaped with their parents rather than watching them get sucked into never-ending shadow — they couldn’t possibly fathom just how screwed up this situation was, reader. Tails could.

The Twi’lek frowned, then glanced past little Miles Prower at the line still stretching behind him. Regretfully, she yanked a ticket off the ticket machine and handed it to him. “I wish there was more I could do for you, kid,” she said. “Here’s your ticket.”

Tails took the ticket, and walked with as much purpose as he could muster into the blitzball stadium. Laid out across the arena were thousands of pallets, most of which were already occupied. Tails looked down at his ticket number — ‘24601’ — and resolved to find his cot when a yellow ball bounced over and bumped against his ankles. He looked to where it’d come from and saw a bunch of kids gathered, looking expectantly at him.

“You gonna kick it back, Two Tails?” one of them said. The fox boy looked at the ball, then back at the gaggle of kids, mostly his age and younger by the looks of it. “You can play with us if you want,” another offered.

Tails blinked. Play? At a time like this?

…Sure, why not?

He kicked the ball.

***

PRESENT DAY

Playtime was over.

The mech soared through the air on autopilot, boost jets running on overdrive to keep it afloat. Tails reached out and fumbled for the controls, trying his best to go over what he knew about the mech’s specifications before it touched down and he was in real danger.

And you know what, reader? Screw that Sergeant Masters chick for throwing him in the deep end like this. If she wanted to see his skills in action, there were better, more polite ways of getting it done. Ways that actually allowed him some semblance of prep time. But no -- he supposed he was just destined to continually get shafted by the people in power here on Cevanti, and then still manage to show them up by the end of it all.

His fingers ran across the control panel until he finally landed on the model name and number. Storm Motors Bi-Pedal Suit: Perimeter Defense Series, Mark IV.

Okay, okay, okay, Miles
, he yelled at himself, think!

Mark IV -- that wasn’t the newest model. Of course it wasn’t; any moron could probably have told that from how long it had been sitting, abandoned, in Hangar Bay 12. They’d learned about the newest model in his mech design class last semester; was it Mark VI? Or Mark VII, maybe? Either way, this one wasn’t going to have all the newfangled bits and bolts that one did, so he needed to figure out what it did have, and quickly. The Mark IV was the basic model that Palatinus had secured for border protection when the zoid and akata attacks had started going up a few years ago; what defenses did it have?

He glanced out the viewfinder at the mech’s hands. In one hand, a plasma cannon. In the other, a shield. And, naturally, he had the boost jets, for speed -- not normally used for flight, which is why this trip was turning out so rocky.

Whirrrrrrrp!

The mech’s feet landed softly on the dirt just outside Markov’s walls, a surprisingly easy landing considering the rough trip leading up to it. The suit’s sensors began to blink and fade as it landed, a surefire sign that for some fricking reason, the thing was beginning to… power down?!

“Frick,” Tails cursed, leaping into action and typing in new code as quickly as he could. “No, no, no, I fixed you, dammit!” he yelled, gloved fingers flying across the keyboard like they’d never typed before.

Seconds past, and finally the suit began to whirr back to life again.

“Thank the Arbiter -- ”

BOOM! CRASH.

The mech skidded across the dirt, looking almost like it was performing a break dancing move as it spun into the walls of Markov. Tails shook himself off, glancing out the viewfinder to see what could’ve possibly just slammed into him, when he saw it: a trio of akata, slinking back into the shadows of a nearby patch of dying trees. The wolfish, shadowy creatures bared their teeth and stared into his soul with their bright, yellow eyes, and suddenly, Miles Prower knew what he had to do. He knew that now… now was his moment.

Quest: Tour of Duty
Miles ‘Tails’ Prower
Post WC: 892 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 3159/5000 (according to GDocs)
 

Christopher Chaos

And Peggy!
Level 2
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Cevanti
The akata struck first.

All three lunged from the brush, galloping across the expansive field between them toward Tails and his nearly obsolete mech. The two-tailed fox burst into action as fast as he could, slamming the joystick forward. The rusted metallic joints of the mech crinkled to life as it started to move in the direction of the attackers, but one of the akata beat it to the punch.

The creature leapt onto the mech’s shoulder, stabbing its talons into the outer shell as the blue tendrils on its head whipped violently this way and that. Tails scowled; no matter how much he knew about this mech’s systems, about its weapons, about its capabilities, he would never match the akata in speed. In a head-to-head contest, the only advantage he would be able to muster was his brain and its capacity for strategy.

Lucky for him, reader, he was basically the smartest person in the entire frickin’ galaxy.

The mech’s other arm swung up at his command, wrapping around the akata’s torso and ripping it clean off, tossing it to the ground. Its two companions leapt up, slashing considerable dents into the chest of the mech just below where Tails was seated in the cockpit. The fox glanced down, then pushed the joystick forward. The giant robot tilted forward, tucking into a somersault and just barely evading a second strike from the trio of beasts as its operator tried his best to reevaluate the situation.

The fight was scored with near-constant growling from the akata. They were aggressive, to be sure, more focused on ripping Tails to shreds as fast as they could. In a normal situation, their speed might help them guarantee success, but this wasn’t normal. Tails was smarter than they’d planned for — smarter, even, perhaps, than Sergeant Masters had planned for. He would take them down, and he would do it as efficiently as he could.

He juked one way, pressing the joystick to the left and then quickly swinging to the right. The akata took the bait, lunging toward his original direction. He pressed on the jets, forcing the mech into the air and back towards the walls of Markov. The trio of shadowy monsters recouped themselves, trying their best to recalibrate and set their sights on their target again. The two-tailed fox peered out the cockpit’s window at his adversaries — if he could just get a read on where they were going to go, which direction they were going to take, which attack they would try…

The mech’s feet pressed against Markov’s stone walls as the akata split into three fronts. Tails smashed a switch nearby, lifting the mech’s right arm and aiming the plasma cannon straight down towards the ground. One of the akata sped into its sights, then weaved out of the way.

Little did it know, Tails wasn’t aiming for it.

He swung the arm down, pressing down on the plasma cannon’s trigger and launching a barrage into the surface of the wall. The rocks buckled and cracked under his attack, rubble flying off the wall and down towards the central akata. The two others zoomed in, trying to unite at the last moment, just as Tails’ plan became clear. The three of them looked up at their prey, ready to pounce, only to see a veritable mountain of stone tumbling towards them. The rubble struck each in the face in succession, knocking them off their course and sending them falling to the ground with a thump. Piece by piece, the rocks fell and smacked into the subdued akata, piling up over and over until finally, the beasts were buried.

Tails activated the jets on the mech’s boots and soared above the makeshift grave, landing triumphantly on the ground a few meters away. He glanced over at his handiwork, a smirk on his face.

These guys would learn that he wasn’t to be messed with. No, sir.

Quest: Tour of Duty
Miles ‘Tails’ Prower
Post WC: 656 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 3815/5000 (according to GDocs)
 

Christopher Chaos

And Peggy!
Level 2
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World
Cevanti
He took one last look at the rubble, akata buried beneath it. His eyes searched for any movement that might indicate the beasts were still living. When he saw none, he blasted off toward Hangar Bay 12 without a third thought.

Tails couldn’t hardly believe that he had made it out of that whole situation alive. It shocked him that this woman — Sergeant Masters, was it? — would just so willingly send him out into the Wastes when she knew next-to-nothing about his combat capabilities. Sure, she’d been watching him for weeks now, but watching him repair a mech wasn’t nearly the same as watching him pilot and fight in one. He could’ve been absolute shit at it, as you may have feared, reader. As the busted-up Storm Motors suit careened through the air above Markov, he thanked the Arbiters that the akata on the outside of the city hadn’t made absolute unmaking food of him.

Still, though, the Sergeant’s unwavering, if a little blind and ill-advised, faith in him, made him feel… good. Refugees like him were often counted out early. Trauma like the destruction of your entire planet was a heavy burden to bear, and Tails found that most people didn’t even give you a chance to prove you were capable. Interferon hadn’t. Professor Qifang Luten hadn’t.

As the campus’ buildings passed below him, the image of Professor Luten slamming the door in his face rushed back to Tails. She hadn’t given him a chance to prove he was more than a refugee, more than someone stuck here and just meandering through life until someone did something about Govermorne.

That job had been his first step toward being that someone. Toward saving his home planet. And she’d denied him without a second thought. Meanwhile, Sergeant Masters had had sent him into the thick of it, giving himself the opportunity to prove himself within minutes of meeting her. Well… prove himself, or die, he supposed, but the latter option would’ve told her just as much about his prospects as the former.

But he hadn’t died. He’d won. Yeah, it had only been three akata, he himself hadn’t actually even been sure that his piloting skills would come in handy in actual combat. So not only had he proven himself to the Sergeant, to the Pilots’ Union, to the Kingdom of Palatinus in general… he’d proven himself to Miles Prower. And wasn’t that most important?

He soared back toward Hangar Bay 12, dodging and weaving down into the streets until he finally slid through the bay door and came to a halt.

For just a moment, he sat in the cockpit, letting his little fox fingers slowly move over the controls. The Mark IV wasn’t a top of the line model, and if he was going to keep up this adventuring — if he was going to actually do any damage against the Unmaking, or be of any use to the Pilots’ Union — he’d need something more… well, useful. Perhaps Palatinus would have it in their budget to help him find some more useful toys?

If they even wanted him, that is. Although, if he were to guesstimate his chances just based on Sergeant Masters’ effervescent expression…

“My boy!” she cheered him on as he hopped from the cockpit, shutting off the tablet she’d been watching his exploits on and shoving it in her bag. “That was more impressive than I could’ve even hoped for,” she laughed, “where’d you learn to fly like that?”

Tails chuckled just a bit. Escaping from Darkseid on Govermorne, he thought, a little sadly.

It was true, though. He still remembered the massive scope of Darkseid’s ship as it stood between his little escape pod and freedom. He still remembered the put in his stomach as he realized he’d probably never see his parents again. He still remembered how he shivered in fear as he felt the presence of the Fallen Arbiter creeping up his spine.

His grief, his trauma, whatever you wanted to call it… it had given him experience, it had given him skill, it had given him new perspective, but it never gave him superiority. Just looking at Sergeant Masters, he could tell she had been through the same crap. He felt sure that she had been somewhere on the frontlines during the Siege of Markov, fighting to keep Cevanti from suffering the same fate as his planet. He sighed. The Unmaking pressed forward everywhere, but aside from Govermorne, this had so far been the worst.

“Just lots of practice,” he finally replied, hopping down from the mech to the ground.

Masters smirked; she’d mentioned the escape pod before, so perhaps she’d known the answer to her own question all along. Either way, she didn’t press the matter, but rather moved on to the bread and butter.

“I’ll have to show your performance to my superiors and get their approval, of course,” she started, “and naturally you’ll need some training, refining some of your more, um, messy skills. But I think if you’re interested in putting some of those robotics skills to use, doing some real good, Mr. Prower… then perhaps, next time you’re free, a visit to the Palatinus recruitment office would be in your best interest.”

Tails smiled, and almost blushed beneath his fur. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it very well might be.”

The fox waved a little wave to the Sergeant and started for the door, doing his best to keep his excitement about someone finally appreciating him under control. At long last, he’d have a way to use his talents to do some good in this universe.

“Mr. Prower,” the Sergeant called after him, “are you sure about continuing your studies at Interferon?”

Tails bristled just a bit, nervously. “What do you mean? You don’t think Palatinus could pay for it?”

“No, no, certainly we could, I just…” she trailed off, then quickly hopped back to the point. “It’s clear to me they don’t see what a resource they have in their hands. Not like I do. We could… really use someone like you, if you were at all interested in working full-time. There’s some units in need of young people with your mechanical expertise — I might be able to make a rec to my friend Mustang, or someone else, perhaps…”

Tails held up a hand. “Lemme think on it, Sarge,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the recruitment office.”

Ha! Full-time!

Suck on that, Professor Luten.

***

Millions of miles away, the inky blackness of Govermorne oozed out into the galaxy. When Tails had escaped nearly a year prior, the Unmaking had been reserved for a set quadrant of the Crossroads, infecting just the technobabble-minded residents of Cevanti and Govermorne. Now, Govermorne stood as a harbinger of something much, much, more worrisome, spreading its claws both to worlds already laced with horror like Inverxe and those who’d yet to feel the sting of the Fallen Arbiter like Opealon.

Miles ‘Tails’ Prower would hear of these plights, reader, and he would feel his heart sink every time. Each horrific tale related to him only tightened the knot in his stomach… and only strengthened his resolve to banish Darkseid from their little corner of the cosmos even further.

That was the tour of duty he’d signed up for. And baby, what an industry.

Quest: Tour of Duty
Miles ‘Tails’ Prower
Post WC: 1221 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 5036 (according to GDocs)
 
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