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Calamitous Creek—a fairly plain isle the colour of dried dogshit. Most would refer to it as “snow-capped roofs”, but comparing it to faeces certainly makes you sound less enthusiastic. And that’s because the only thing calamitous here is how boring the place is! Seriously, nothing ever happens here! Besides, when Lanolin first mentioned this place, you thought it’d be decorated with…how did you put it again? Ah, right—death machines, mad scientists, and death machines operated by mad scientists.
Lanolin did also say it was just to survey the area for a few days, which was already lame enough in your mind, but then the place itself had to pull the rug under you and be peaceful—boringly so. Doubly lame, you thought, digging into your ears as you perched on an awning, choosing to ignore the blatantly obvious. Not that you’d waste any time on it, but you’d probably rate this stupid place zero stars if you could.
Ah, but respite appears! For emerging out the doors of a rustic-looking building is Whisper—your favourite person to annoy. It seems that even this dreadful island has its niceties. A box in her hand, she makes minute adjustments to her parka before she skulks into the shadows. Perhaps she’s conducting reconnaissance? Still, there’s something off about the typically-despondent she-wolf—a spring in her steps. Just a hint, but still there. Is her life really so depressing that she gets a kick out of espionage?
Regardless, Whisper’s there, and you’re going to do something about it.
Follow her
The correct choice. Best be careful, though. Wouldn’t want a repeat of the Central City incident. Or maybe you do! It’s entirely your prerogative.
Ignore her pointedly
Who cares what Fangs does in her spare time? You’re Surge the Tenrec, and you’re going to sit here and be bored all by yourself!
[Follow her]
You trail the tail of her scarf as she makes her way through snow-laden stone paths, occasionally hiding behind food stands and confused townspeople lest she catches you in the act. Whisper drifts through the street as if a phantom; she shifts past friendly locals with furtive steps, silently forthright. Her sunburst ring, crowned by a sapphire, gleams defiantly against her otherwise plain apparel.
A minute in, she slows in her movements. Maybe she’s just admiring those cornflowers in that homeowner’s garden. You know better.
Run
You’re bound to make some noise. Suspicion will arise, but with your speed, Whisper won’t know it’s you.
Stay deathly still
Whisper preys on sudden movement and plucks irregular sounds from her surroundings like a mad scientist would a defective robot. It’d be in your best interests to not produce any of that.
Come clean
What’s she going to do? Shoot you?
[Run]
The world blurs into thin lines as you ignite a sliver of charge within your body, sprinting toward a corner stacked with cabbages. Whisper’s ears twitch, but by the time she turns around, you’ve reached your temporary safe haven. When you next peek, she’s already continuing her stroll; you let out a breath of relief.
A bit sloppy, but it works. Now, to extract yourself from these cabbages… There we go. Took you long enough. Are you sure you’re on par with Sonic?
Back to tailgating. Tossing away cabbage leaves that crunch beneath your boots, you chase after your quarry, who flits through a cascade of buildings; it’s as if she doesn’t want to be followed. Though Whisper’s efforts to remain covert fall short; her biscotti fur makes her stick out like a sore thumb amidst the locals’ dull colours.
The both of you make good headway. Probably. Hard to tell when it feels like the wolf’s just wandering around aimlessly: she breezes past grizzled marketeers selling copper jewelry and makes a sharp right turn; she pointedly avoids the bay’s choppy waters, choosing to duck into a longer route of chicaneric alleyways involving divisions and subdivisions for those divisions. Has she caught onto your game? Surely not. Even still, you can’t help but ask: just where is this woman going?!
Persist
There’s still a chance she’s doing this to throw pursuers like you off her trail; she has something to hide. Which, in turn, means things are much more interesting than they appear.
Give up
She can have her soiree with Tangle—or whatever she’s up to—for all you care. This blows.
[Persist]
Finally, finally, a light emerges from the other end. Whisper’s destination is clear: your shared cottage with the Diamond Cutters situated at the peak of a small mountain, some distance away from the hubbub. Recon it is! You should’ve expected this much, but up until a few moments ago, the jury had still been out on Whisper chasing down a particularly evasive manicure session.
You hide behind a boulder, watching as Whisper trods up the stairs leading to the makeshift observatory. The staircase weaves into the clouds like an architect’s dream. As Whisper nears the end of her journey, you begin yours. Careful, now. The metal steps groan like an undiscovered sea beast whenever someone steps on them the wrong way. You grit your teeth in trepidation.
You know damn well that’s not the reason.
Oh? Whatever could you mean?
I don’t need you haunting me through the grave.
Tsk, tsk. Rebelling against your master? My will threads your very blood.
I’m my own master, Star-lame.
Funny you should say that…I’m you, after all.
Yeah, yeah, shut up already.
Stifle my voice all you want—you know you’re not meant for any of this.
[Try]
Try as you might—
[Try]
Try as you might—
[Try]
Try as she’ll always do, like a spark undying—
The door shuts; Whisper has entered the cottage. Surge shakes her head.
“Sweet Gaia below, this place must be driving me crazy if I’m talkin’ to myself like this.”
She dashes to the window, peeking through it—Whisper’s having a chat with Lanolin! The sheep’s lunch is a cup of black coffee alongside paperwork. Surge hopes she doesn’t actually eat the paperwork. Surge also can’t help but feel a little disappointed at the thought of Lanolin potentially hiding something from her, and then she mentally stomps on her disappointment.
Now, let’s see what juicy stuff you guys are gonna let loose…
Finally, free from the bite of the crisp wind and into the embrace of indoor warmth. Whisper takes off her scarf and hangs it by the door.
“What took you?” Lanolin asks.
Surreptitiously, she glances outside.
“Ah. Her.” She eyes the copper box in Whisper’s claws in lieu of a headache. “You didn’t lose them, did you?”
Whisper shakes her head, opening the clasps. One, two clicks—the box opens, revealing yet another box inside. Its contents stare tantalisingly back through the transparent film.
Lanolin smiles. “And what of the outposts by the Languid Wastes?”
“Same old.”
Lanolin sighs—the monotony is expected, if vexing. “Thank you, Whisper,” she says, mustering up a small smile. Candlelight illuminates the dark circles around her eyes.
Wordlessly, Whisper slips past stacks of paperwork to a clearing on the table, where a cup of chamomile tea awaits her. A wooden chair sits dutifully, further marking it as a reserved spot.
There will always be a spot.
Whisper takes a seat; drinks her tea; smiles into her cup.
“Even still, you took a rather long time.”
“Mm.” Whisper stares at papers strewn on her side of the table, mostly townsfolks’ accounts and droll attempts of heading a report. “Everything sucks here” is violently crossed out. “Took a detour.”
“It is quite the maze. I spent quite a bit of time just trying to emerge at one end.” Lanolin sips from her mug. Sighs, again. “Disappearing is all too easy. Resurfacing…that’s the hard part.”
Outside, the sky reverberates like echoing wails of a long-dead god. Memories of her own resurface. Blood on storm-tossed waters. Matted hair and limbs. Wide-eyed, silent terror, a novice vivisector to a scalpel.
Whisper chuckles. It’s not mirthless, but those events that plagued them have long since passed. Now, all that remains is the dull ache of remembrance and the countenance of poking fun at oneself. “If only we could restart the year.”
“And hope that the second attempt at it will be better?” Lanolin scoffs. “I wish. Now, regarding the decreasing crop yields in this area…”
What the heck are they even talking about anymore?!
Surge’s brain glazes over Lanolin and Whisper's discussion as early as the third sentence. They prattled on about crops, the journey here, and now, the weather, of all things. The weather, for Chaos’ sake! Who even talks about the weather?! Wait, wait, wait, hold on, why are they staring at the window where she’s at? Their eyes are a pair of stars on a stormy voyage, whispers of a god scorned.
Crap.
“Yes,” Lanolin says, with the air of a tired mother, “we know you’re there, Tangle.”
Wait, Tangle?
“Uh,” Not-Tangle replies, quills leaping out from the windowsill, “My name sure as heck ain’t that.”
Their eyes widen. Looks like they’re gonna be dwelling on their discovery for a bit, so she should probably invite herself in. Yeah, definitely—it’s so much comfier here! Her electricity keeps her warm, but it doesn’t hurt to have a bunch’a walls shielding her from the snow.
“I thought…” Lanolin trails off, glancing at Whisper. Clearly, they were expecting some other loudmouth to be there. Well, too bad, they’re getting the deluxe version!
Whisper’s voice is steely as she replies: “Yes…I thought so too.” She even gave her the kinda glance where you could feel the gal going: “My standards were low but it appears you’ve brought a shovel.” Surge would hate it, but Whisper’s disdain was super palpable, so she doesn’t.
Either way, they’re onto her. Time to distract! No better way to do that than answering a question with a question: “What are you two doing up on the mountaintop by yourselves, huh? Running some kinda covert crap?”
Whisper tilts her head. “Covert…?”
“Interesting phrasing, but no, we weren’t planning wargames or anything like that.”
“I saw Fangs skulk through a whole bunch of different alleyways to try and throw me—uh, I mean, possible pursuers off!” She elbows Whisper’s shoulder, then leans against it, much to the wolf’s chagrin (and to Surge’s continued delight). “C’mon, what sorta stuff are ya planning behind me and Lamur’s back, huh?”
Both wolf and sheep eye each other, having a silent conversation between themselves. After a beat, Whisper sighs, not quite shoving the tenrec away but certainly not gentle either. Her claws haven’t dulled at all. That’s all fine and dandy—wouldn’t be interesting otherwise, would it?
Soon, Whisper returns with that same briefcase she saw her holding while tailing her, and Surge can feel her skin tingle in anticipation as it opens with a clack. Top-secret documents? Scandalous dealings? Sightings of death machines for her to wreck?! Whatever’s in them has gotta be good!
Instead of containing any of that, though, it swings open dramatically to reveal a line of strawberry tarts, leaving Surge gawking like a moron out of Stupidville. Highly pertinent questions ran through her mind, some of which include “You put desserts in a copper box?” and “Who’s that gonna feed? Half a Flicky?” . In the end, what escapes her is all of those combined and then some: “What the heck is this?!”
“Strawberry tarts,” Whisper replies, ever so helpful to her.
“I can see that! I meant what is—this is—huh?!”
“We wanted to try the strawberry tarts this island has to offer, but Tangle kept purchasing all of them for herself like some famished ghoul. We made a deal with the baker and…here we are.” Lanolin eyes Whisper. “She told me it was because you stole her strawberries first.”
She sighs. “Once. It was once. And for her birthday.”
“Hold on, is this what this is all about?!” Disgruntled, Surge points an accusatory finger at Whisper. “You catfished me!”
“You stalked me.”
“You catfished me!”
“What did you think she was doing, Surge? Didn’t you see her exiting the bakery or anything like that?”
“I…oh, I dunno. I was bored, and thought maybe Fangs was gathering intel. Either that, or scampering off to have some private time with Lamur. That would’a been good…”
“...stop calling Tangle that. She dislikes it. Uncreative.”
“Oh, because I care soooo much about what your missus thinks.”
“Your concern is noted.”
“I was kidding!”
“Enough, ladies.” Lanolin pinches her nose. “While your bickering was a nice change of pace, I certainly wasn’t expecting to deal with Surge instead of Tangle. We can’t exactly confront her for her…concerning eating habits like I planned to, at least, not now. And—okay, Surge, is everything alright?”
“Wha?”
“You seem…out of it.”
“Oh. Uh, heh, you know me. Just can’t survive without my favourite little lamb.”
Whisper shoots a glance at the door, probably wondering if she should leave for a good fifteen minutes or so. Actually, that wouldn’t be half bad…
“No, no need for that,” Lanolin says, ignoring Surge’s protest of “awh, come on!”, which was totally favoritism! “Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Well, it’s just...there’s nothing to do here! No people to save, no robots to destroy, nothing! Can you blame me for feeling restless?”
Lanolin hums. “I expected something like this, but not this quickly…”
“If I may…” And she’s—oh, sweet Gaia below. She’s smiling. Whisper’s actually smiling. If there are any gods up there that are currently witnessing Surge’s predicament, then they have forsaken her.The wolf whispers into Lanolin’s ear, and Surge can only watch in horror as Lanolin’s prim, proper expression gradually transforms into a smirk as well.
“Surge,” Lanolin says eventually, steepling her fingers as she flashes her a wry smile, “I have an assignment for you.”
“Hey, Kit!” Oh, it’s the lemur. “Enjoying this place?”
“...are you?”
Tangle’s face turns then, similar to a kid who hasn’t gotten their candy after dinner. “No, not really. It’s a nice place and all, but doesn’t exactly offer much in the excitement department.”
“Then save your breath.”
She frowns, yet approaches him still, folding her arms behind her head as she observes the waters lap at the shore. Her silence, though brief, is appreciated. “Is there…something we need to talk about?”
“...she hated Sonic. And so, I hated him too. This is by design.” He turns, eyeing Tangle. They flicker, a pair of venomous rubies just for an instant. “You are the spitting image of him.”
Tangle shrugs. “Eh, I get that a bunch. But you guys don’t really wanna do that now, right? That’s why you’re with us!”
Kit glances away. “...where is Whisper?”
Her tail swooshes at the mention of the wolf. As always, she wears her heart on her sleeve. “Not sure. She just up and left way before our scheduled morning cuddle session!” Scratching her head with her tail, she shoots him an apologetic look. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that in front of you…”
“It’s fine. I’m well aware of how our kind functions.”
Tangle clears her throat. “Anyway, I have no idea where Whisp is. She’s probably back at base now, which—that doesn’t matter. She…doesn’t like the seas very much.”
He can see Tangle frown from the corner of his eye. Both lemur and wolf remained in their shared quarters throughout the entire journey here. Kit knows better than to pry. This is by design. “These waters have taken plenty from people." This is also by design. He can imagine it: choppy waters to a dinghy’s hull; the way its sides weaken under burning shoulders and the waves’ relentless hunger; rowing; rowing; husks.
“...you could say that,” Tangle responds, careful.
“I thought she craved the attention she’d get from helping people. I wasn’t completely wrong. Wasn’t completely right, either.”
A wave ascends, as if responding to Kit’s words; so does a pebble, guided by his stream of water.
“…I’ve taken a lot, for Surge. And then, for myself, under the guise of her name.” The pebble wobbles in his grip. “Do you seriously forgive them, us, me, so easily?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, what you did was bad, but…”
Cracks splinter through the rock. “Are you saying that our past excuses our actions—excuses mine, just like that?”
“No,” Tangle responds, resolute. “But it explains them.”
Kit’s gaze meets Tangle’s. She doesn’t say anything else; instead, she merely flashes him an understanding smile. He looks away. It’s all he can do, with her light in the way of his shadow. He drops the pebble. A wave reaches up to snatch it; soon, the only trace left is the memory he once held of it, and soon, even that will be gone, too.
Perhaps, that is a good thing.
“Hey, Lamur!”
At the sound of Surge yelling at the top of her lungs, the both of them turn to face her—she’s perched on top of a roof tens of meters away, holding a…great number of copper boxes? Tangle seems to know what they are, given that her eyes are akin to saucers.
“My—my stash! When—when did she…?!”
“Just a few minutes ago!” She’s still yelling at the top of her lungs. Below her, passersby congregate. “Gotta say, this stuff tastes real good! It’d be a shame if someone ate the rest!”
Only a second passes before Tangle is hot on Surge’s tail, swinging up the roofs with dangerous dexterity. “Get back here, you thief!”
Somehow, Surge manages to stick her tongue out at her pursuer while running with her arms full. “Sorry, can’t hear ya over the sound of you choking on my dust!”
“This is totally not cool!”
“Lanolin and Fangs called for an intervention! Which means I’m the one who’s gonna be eating these!”
Kit can only watch, dumbfounded, with a growing number of onlookers, as their chase leads them from rooftops to stalls selling rust-coloured absinthe. Amidst the chaos, he can faintly make out Whisper and Lanolin’s shape on the blurry view of the observatory, watching over them.
“Hey, Drippy! Help get this feral lemur off me!”
“Ah! Coming!”
As he joins them, vapour lamps around the island wink into life. Nightfall approaches. Time’s weave frays underneath the radiance of their laughter. Surge and him are, in part, machines; the heart is destiny’s engine. Perhaps this was what she ultimately wanted: a dream of skies untainted.