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As far as Dr. Robotnik was concerned, any day spent in the company of his machines constituted a good one.
“Marvelous,” he mused, observing as a finger-sized badnik scanned a door handle and promptly separated the layers of microscopic sediment, generating an approximation of each overlapping finger print with impressive accuracy.
Once the analysis had fed a report to the server, Robotnik reached out and cradled the tiny machine in the palm of his hand. Its aperture blinked several times as it trilled in two short bursts, giving the illusion of an animated response to the touch; something akin to joy or perhaps affection as it recognized the fond gesture from its creator.
Robotnik felt a warm swell of pride at the sight, eventually releasing the little machine to rejoin its swarm.
As much as he detested humanity, Robotnik did so enjoy the idea of life. Really, brains were nothing more than an organic circuit board, neurons firing and executing an intrinsic code in response to stimuli in much the same way as a machine. Sentience was hardly a step above the capability of the doctor’s own creations and, as he determined, certainly not a necessary feature.
Observing as his herd of badniks idly drifted around the lab, blinking and humming as they processed the world around them, Robotnik knew that they, too, were alive. They could listen and respond, stored memories, and were ever-expanding in their knowledge and capabilities– it was decidedly more than some humans could manage.
They even made good company, never interrupting or disobeying, and wholly untainted by the deeply-ingrained social structures every other human fell victim to. There was no need for pointless niceties or arbitrary social rituals with his machines. Every interaction was straightforward, uncomplicated, and oh-so efficient.
It was so delightfully un-human– all the joys of life with none of the pain.
It came as no surprise that Robotnik would much rather exist in the sole company of the synthetic, but the current reign of humanity made such a thing almost impossible. He still considered it at times, but it proved much more logical to remain assimilated in society. The government provided a steady stream of funding and he was supplied with everything he could need to continue creating his lifeforms.
Of course, for every pro of humanity there were several troubling cons.
The government also happened to insist on outfitting him with an equally persistent tide of useless assistants that seemed to exist solely to spite him, as far as he could tell.
Robotnik paid them little mind as they flitted in and out of the scope of his attention. As they droned about the lab, buzzing with their incessant little remarks, he treated them like the pests they were– swatting at them when they got too close and otherwise lamenting their presence as if there was no greater irritant.
At the moment, the lab was in-between infestations; a rare few stuck around longer than a few months and that was only the most stubborn of mites. At times, the government simply couldn’t keep up. Robotnik delighted in these respites, the brief lapses where he could exist only in the company of perfection.
Well, almost.
There was but one exception to his mechanical utopia known as Agent Stone.
Stone was, by technicality, Robotnik’s assistant. And he was, by the same account, decidedly human. These two factors alone should have cemented his fate as just another government pest destined to be squashed, but Stone had proved himself unique.
He was immensely resilient to the doctor’s unwieldy attitude and possessed an obedience that betrayed the fact he operated on organic programming. He executed tasks not unlike a machine, always so precise and efficient. Were he feeling generous, Robotnik might even go as far as to describe Stone as competent or smart, but he was rarely in such a mood.
That was all to say that Agent Stone was something of an anomaly. Every characteristic of his human composition lended itself to one pattern of behavior, and yet he operated entirely differently. Entirely better. As such, Robotnik opted to categorize him not as an assistant but as simply another implement of his mechanical arsenal.
Within the strict categories of Robotnik’s mind, Stone had pushed past the line separating humans from his beloved creations.
One with more organic matter than he would prefer, and still boasting the occasional imperfection– slight bugs in his primitive code– but Robotnik was willing to overlook those flaws given the agent’s usefulness. Stone continued to operate admirably in spite of his unfortunate human origins.
It was commendable, really.
Robotnik allowed himself to drop haphazardly into a chair, swiveling to face a large console. With a flick of his gloved finger, he summoned a holographic display of his extensive music library, thumbing through playlists until he settled on an appropriate one.
The sound slowly filled the space as Robotnik controlled the holograms with deft fingers, flicking and swiping into empty air as he retrieved the raw data the badnik collected for manual analysis. The scan had been excellent upon initial review, but Robotnik took pride in thorough examination of his machines’ functions. The thought of one of his creations being left to suffer an unknown fault in its operation sent a shiver down his spine, left a bitter taste on his tongue.
Robotnik was a man of many principles, one of which being that he would never condemn his machines to an imperfect existence.
He squinted slightly as he skimmed over the cramped lines of data, feeling a twinge of discomfort behind his eyes. Great. A headache. He supposed the reverberating music likely wasn’t helping, but Robtonik didn’t feel inclined to turn it off. No, what he clearly needed was caffeine.
Robotnik spared a brief glance around the lab, once again deeming it devoid of a certain agent. He had suspected so, but Stone had a tendency to blend into the environment of the lab to allow the doctor to work undisturbed. He weighted his presence carefully, having an intuitive gauge of when he was needed and when to make himself scarce. Robotnik always liked that about him.
Now, he found himself cursing Stone’s absence. Briefly tapping into the air, Robotnik pulled up a live report of the agent’s whereabouts fed to the server via his watch. He never explicitly mentioned the tracking feature when he presented the device to Stone, but he suspected he knew all the same. Either way, Stone didn’t seem to mind.
Robotnik immediately recognized the coordinates to be out of range of the government complex, sparing little thought to the precise location beyond that. Given that he rarely required any assistance, Stone spent a substantial amount of time at the beck and call of their superiors, often being whisked away to various missions when needed.
Robotnik paid it no mind. Stone was still an agent, after all.
There was little to be done in the way of caffeine until Stone returned, though, given his current lack of other assistants. Instead, Robotnik simply chose to ignore the dull ache in his forehead as he refocused onto the task at hand.
When a high-pitched beep eventually rang out over an hour later, the sound signaling that a keycard had been accepted, Robotnik immediately perked up.
He flicked a finger to dismiss the data tab, quieting the hologram altogether as he spun towards the door. As soon as Stone stepped through the threshold, door still ajar, Robotnik was on him.
“Finally,” he said with a huff, crossing his arms in a petulant manner. “Not a second too early, Agent. I’m in dire need of caffeine, so if you could–” he waved a hand in a flippant gesture, “– get on that, I suppose I might overlook your tardiness.”
Robotnik was expecting a curt acknowledgement of the request, as was standard for the agent, but was met only with silence. He cocked an eyebrow disapprovingly.
“Of course, sir,” Stone spoke after a disconcerting pause, his tone odd. He didn’t move. “It’ll only be a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” Robotnik echoed in disbelief. “Your conveniently-timed absence already forced me to postpone my usual coffee break. Do you have any idea what that does to my productivity, Agent? My body needs consistency for my brain to operate on such an extraordinary level. Every second matters.”
“Apologies, Doctor. There’s just something I have to take care of first, but–”
“Stop talking,” Robotnik snapped. Stone’s mouth obediently fell shut.
Robotnik paused, calculating, as he regarded the agent properly for the first time since he returned.
Stone was clearly exhibiting abnormal behavior.
He was seldom known to hesitate and even rarer was it for him to disregard a direct order, especially under the vague pretense of having something else to do. Robotnik had fed him a standard script and yet the output now differed.
Something wasn’t right.
Robotnik narrowed his eyes, noting a slight dishevelment that hadn’t been apparent at first. Several strands of his hair were bent out of place, no longer conforming to the styled wave. His complexion, too, was somewhat ashen and devoid of his usual healthy glow. Odd. Even the manner in which Stone held himself was an uncanny imitation of his typical posture, a degree too rigid. Too purposeful.
“Stone,” Robotnik regarded carefully, taking several swift steps forward until he was standing near to the agent. He reached out, grabbing Stone by the chin and turning his head to the side in an effort to examine him.
Stone inhaled sharply, startling slightly. “Sir–”
“I told you to be quiet.”
He silently relented, allowing Robotnik to run a finger along his jaw as his eyes roamed meticulously. Finding little else, he lifted Stone’s wrist, turning his hand over as he pressed into the flesh of his palm. Even through the fabric of his gloves, he could sense a distinct chill from the agent.
Suddenly concerned for his thermoregulation, Robotnik grunted, carefully sliding off one glove and pressing the pad of his now bare finger into the center of Stone’s palm. He pulled away after a fleeting second. As he had suspected, the skin was strangely damp– a cold clamminess.
It was only as Robotnik began to lift the agent’s right arm that a strained noise pierced the atmosphere.
Stone’s body tensed, a subtle tremor to his limbs. Robotnik's eyes snapped up, meeting his in a wordless interrogation. Beads of sweat had begun gathering along the agent’s hairline. Stone met the doctor’s gaze, but he seemed to struggle to maintain focus through his increasingly glassy eyes.
He looked terrible.
Something seized in Robotnik, a distant alarm ringing out in his mind. He tried to push it aside.
“Stone,” he said again, more firmly. “What happened?”
Stone grimaced, exhaling shakily. “It’s really nothing, sir. Just got a little scraped up in the field. I can take care of it.”
Robotnik’s expression hardened, jaw ticking shut. Despite his even tone and careful reassurance, there was a poorly-concealed strain to Stone’s voice that betrayed his words.
Determined, Stone started to step away from him, managing a single uneven movement before he faltered. His hand shot out, impulsively grabbing onto Robotnik’s arm as he struggled to brace himself.
“Agent–” Robotnik started, failing to disguise his alarm as Stone suddenly pulled away, his voice clashing with the agent’s hasty apology.
“Sorry, Doctor, I didn’t mean to–” Stone exclaimed with mild horror, balance still wavering as he squeezed his eyes shut. He clenched one hand over his side, just above his waist. “Sorry.”
Robotnik felt his own pulse rising as he took in the sight of the agent struggling to right himself, now bracing his free arm against the door. It was not unlike the unease that clawed at him each time one of his badniks inexplicably powered off, overcome by system failures. There was one acute difference, though, and that lay in the disturbingly organic nature of Stone’s vessel.
Robotnik was a highly accomplished man, no less than five doctorates under his belt and an extensive repertoire of technical knowledge concerning all things mechanical– but human medicine was out of the scope of his expertise.
Stone couldn’t be fixed by a simple reboot of his system, a rewiring of his circuits. His consciousness was tied to his fragile, unnecessarily complex body. And if that was damaged beyond repair, there was little that could be done.
He couldn’t be rebuilt.
Without hesitation, Robotnik carefully looped an arm around Stone’s uninjured side, shifting to support the bulk of his weight. Stone instantly began to protest, but the words devolved into a grunt as the movement caused him to twist uncomfortably.
“Stop resisting,” Robotnik hissed, angling his body to better accommodate the unseen wound. “You won’t make it halfway across the lab in this useless state. I’d rather not have to clean your blood off the floor.”
Stone sucked in a pain breath as he leaned into the doctor’s side. “If you can help me to the bathroom, I’ll manage from there,” he insisted, neglecting to address him by title. The indiscretion hardly registered with Robotnik as he focused intently on maintaining a precise hold on him. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb the injury further. At least one of them had some sense.
“Or you’ll pass out trying. Possibly hit your head on the way down and end up a noble contribution to the second leading cause of unintentional injury deaths every year. And on the clock, nonetheless– can you imagine the paperwork?” Robotnik shook his head, managing an inelegant few steps forward. “Nonsense. I’ll examine you.”
Stone didn’t protest further, managing a nod that Robotnik felt against his shoulder. He led them across the lab in silence, Stone occasionally grunting or sucking in a breath but still weakly attempting to hold some of his own weight. Robotnik vaguely wondered how he didn’t collapse on his way to the lab, considering it a stroke of luck that he even made it in the door.
That, and the agent’s unyielding determination. There was a reason that Stone was a sought-after asset for high-status missions in the first place– he was incredibly resilient, possessing a great deal of both mental and physical fortitude.
Now, as the sound of his labored breaths cut through the still-blasting music, Robotnik felt a flicker of anger. Not at Stone, but at their superiors. The ones who insisted on sending him out into the field on a moment’s notice with little regard for his obligation to the doctor. And now this?
It was appalling, Robotnik thought, to borrow something that was his only to return him in such a damaged state. All at once he felt a surge of sudden emotion. It was unacceptable. Outrageous, disrespectful, and altogether sickening.
Suddenly, Robotnik found himself no longer keen on the agent’s dual-arrangement.
His quiet outrage only grew as he finessed Stone into the cramped lab bathroom, gently lowering him into a seated position. He immediately slumped against the wall, head thrown back with a stiff expression as he continued to hold onto his side.
“Take off your shirt and jacket,” Robotnik ordered, pulling a hefty first-aid kit off a perch on the wall and flicking open the latches.
Stone fussed with the fabric, sliding his blazer off one shoulder with a grunt. “Hurts to lift my arm,” he supplied when Robotnik glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, apparently less discreet than he had intended.
The pitiful sight made him pause and Robotnik felt a rare prickle of… sympathy? He wasn’t terribly familiar with the feeling, finding it difficult to pinpoint the emotion. He quickly discarded the thought – it didn’t matter right now.
Unable to resist, Robotnik wordlessly reached out and eased Stone’s other arm out of the jacket. The agent was still relying almost entirely on one hand, he noted, the other held motionless by his side. Robotnik swiftly tackled his shirt next, undoing the buttons with deft fingers and the acute awareness that it would’ve been easier and more efficient to simply cut it open.
Upon reflection, it wasn’t the most logical course of action, but Robotnik’s thoughts were racing in a steady stream as he attempted to grasp at whatever medical know-how could be evacuated from the depths of his mind. It was a brief stumble. Truthfully, he simply hadn’t felt inclined to destroy something of Stone’s in that moment. It was a nice shirt, as far as drab business attire went, and Robotnik didn’t mind seeing him in it.
Stone hissed as Robotnik moved to slip the shirt off his shoulders, gaze immediately snapping to where the fabric seemed caught on his flesh. Even through the dark color, a wet patch was clearly visible around the site.
Robotnik released the collar at once, instead pinching the hem of the shirt between his fingers as he gently peeled it away from Stone’s body, the fabric sticky with blood.
Now unveiled, the sight of the injury briefly startled Robotnik. It appeared to be a rather ghastly laceration of some sort that cut diagonally along his waist. The site was starkly painted by a slow but steady stream of blood that now trickled down his hip, pooling above his belt.
“Stone,” Robotnik said firmly, beckoning the agent’s drifting attention. Stone’s eyes fluttered open, head raising slightly to signal his alertness. “How did this happen?”
“Long story.” He grimaced, seemingly recalling the events. “Erratic individual. Things didn’t go to plan.”
Robotnik exhaled loudly at the vague offering. He refused to call it an answer when it provided infuriatingly little information.
“Elaborate, Stone. What happened to you?” He tried again, punctuating each word through gritted teeth. Stone’s attention was clearly waning, his gaze slipping as he breathed through parted lips. He didn’t answer.
The degrading alertness was concerning, sending another spark of panic rippling throughout Robotnik’s nerves as he focused on methodically cleaning the area around the wound. A faraway thought cried out that he was wasting time, that he should have had Stone taken to a proper medical facility the moment he became aware of the severity of the situation, but his determination served to deafen it.
Robotnik would never allow his machines to be at the mercy of anyone else. Humans were inherently inferior, unworthy, and just plain stupid. He couldn’t possibly trust them with such a monumental task, the thought of some brainless fool poking and prodding around inside his perfect creations filling Robotnik with a visceral disgust.
No– he couldn’t bear the thought of putting Stone’s life in the hands of another. Robotnik would do this himself. It was the only option.
As he gently addressed the area, wiping away a layer of partially dried blood, the wound revealed itself to be rather gruesome. It was a wide gash extending several inches in length, though it was difficult to gauge the precise depth. Robotnik attempted to cross-reference the rate of blood loss with the size and shape of the wound, determining it to be alarmingly deep, as if the object had been pressed in rather than merely slashed along the skin.
Robotnik found himself unable to look away. As he watched the persistent stream of blood emerge from the wound, a tangible draining of the life force from the agent, he felt his own course with a hot anger.
He hoped that whoever had the gall to cause this was enjoying their final few hours as a corporeal life form, knowing they would be little more than a smear on the ground when the doctor was finished with them.
He vowed to make quick work of them when this was taken care of. But, upon consideration, not too quick.
Pressing a cloth against the wound to suppress the bleeding, Robotnik spared a quick glance back to Stone’s face. His eyes were shut again, head lulled ever so slightly to the side.
“Keep your eyes open,” Robotnik reprimanded, scanning for any minute movements that would indicate a level of alertness. When he found none, he grabbed the side of Stone’s face, jostling him. “I need you to stay alert.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone mumbled, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.
Robotnik slowly removed the cloth to disinfect the area in careful motions, mentally ticking off boxes in the first-aid procedure. Stone’s face contorted at the sensation. He looked distinctly pained.
Robotnik continued to prompt him with questions.
He was pressing for information, but the responses mainly served as a gauge of the agent’s attention and pain-levels while he worked. He didn’t want to risk his consciousness slipping.
“Did you sustain any other injuries?”
“Yeah…” Stone took a shuddering breath, straining to glance at where the doctor’s fingers were meticulously swabbing the gash. “My arm hurts. Probably a fracture.”
“How?”
“Got…twisted,” he supplied.
Robotnik’s fingers momentarily stuttered, his movement faltering. He took in a breath, regulating himself in the face of another swell of outrage. He bent a finger on his free hand to beckon a small badnik to their location.
“Someone did that to you?” he asked, carefully devoid of emotion.
Stone didn’t reply for a few moments, though it was impossible to discern whether it was a purposeful hesitation or not. After another beat, he nodded.
“He– caught me off guard,” Stone added after another pause. Even through the strain in his voice there was an underlying note of frustration. As if it was a shameful admission. Perhaps it was, Robotnik considered, a severity descending over him as he picked through the intonation of his words until he reconstructed that which was left unsaid.
He frowned, fixing Stone with a hard look.
“You were being careless.” It wasn’t a question. His tone was even, a contrived neutrality, but the accusation was clear. “Reckless.”
Stone merely sighed, glancing away, and Robotnik knew at once that his statement had struck a nerve. He didn’t prompt Stone for a response; the firm line of his mouth and contrite crease of his eyebrows conveyed more than his ambiguous words ever could. Robotnik’s fingers subconsciously clenched against his palm, sending the recently summoned badnik spinning in a useless circle.
His frown deepened and he glared at his own hands as if they were a separate entity, relaxing the digits with a tangible effort. Beckoning the drone closer, Robotnik tapped a sequence into his palm and watched as thin mechanical arms unfurled from its sides in preparation for the procedure.
Robotnik certainly didn’t trust other humans, but he would be a fool not to trust his own creations when they were but an extension of his genius. The badnik’s mechanical precision would do nicely to seal the wound, he had decided. Though he loathed to acknowledge the constraints of his humanity and would certainly never admit to it, Robotnik was keenly aware of the slight tremor to his hands and the dire repercussions to such clumsiness should he attempt manual stitching.
“This will almost certainly hurt,” he warned. “But only for a moment. That’s assuming you stay completely still, of course.”
Stone grunted in terse acknowledgement, hands preemptively balled into fists as he braced for the pain. Robotnik knew he could handle it but nevertheless felt his chest tighten at the sight. He turned away, taking a moment to disinfect his gloves and wet a cloth while the badnik blinked in his peripheral, a red laser scanning across the injury.
Before it could begin its work, Robotnik steadied a hand against Stone’s face, holding it in place as he pressed the damp cloth to his forehead. Stone sighed contently at the chill, leaning into the touch.
“Don’t make this a habit, Agent,” he muttered, an edge to his voice that was softened by the gentle motion of his hand. He continued to dampen Stone’s face, wiping away the prominent sheen of sweat. “You’re no use to me dead.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Robotnik’s eye twitched at the apology. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
He pinched Stone’s chin between his fingers and the agent’s eyes snapped open. “Tell me it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t–”
“And mean it, Agent. That’s an order.”
Stone’s mouth parted but the words caught in his throat as the badnik made contact with his skin. A strangled noise was torn from him, eyes squeezing shut once more. Robotnik’s fingers tightened around his jaw, needing to hold onto him somehow.
After a few short moments, the drone’s hum quieted and it returned to a neutral hover. Robotnik pulled back to examine its work, instantly deeming it a great improvement. Stone momentarily sagged forward, chest heaving, before quickly righting himself with a grimace.
“I’d recommend against any movements that will contort the skin around the wound. The seal is excellent, but it will take time to set,” Robotnik noted as he rifled around the medical kit for an appropriate set of bandages.
Stone didn’t reply, but when their eyes met he looked oddly remorseful. As Robotnik began dressing the wound, the agent’s voice startled him.
“It won’t happen again, Doctor,” he said quietly but nonetheless resolute.
Thank you, Robotnik wanted to say. “I should hope not,” he said instead. “I can hardly fathom how you allowed this to happen in the first place. A covert mission is hardly the time to slack off, regardless of how boring and trivial it all must be.”
As far as Robotnik had observed– and very little escaped his notice– Stone had an impressive work ethic for a lowly government soldier. It was a far cry from the doctor’s own, but that was to be expected. Still, he maintained a consistent adequacy in his performance, never slipping to such an egregious degree. It was uncharacteristic.
Stone shifted, lifting his arm to allow Robotnik to wind a roll of medical tape around his midsection. It wasn’t absolutely necessary on top of the sterile dressing on the wound itself, but he felt compelled to add an extra layer of protection. It simply felt better in his mind and Robotnik’s brain was nothing if not purposeful, so there must’ve been a logical reason for it.
“It was a bad plan,” Stone muttered with a sigh. “With a worse execution.”
Robotnik raised an eyebrow, frowning, but the agent didn’t provide context or otherwise elaborate.
“Bad plan?” he prompted, neatly tying off the bandage.
“Higher-ups love to send us out on a whim. Give us a half-ass plan and assume we’ll figure it out in the field,” Stone supplied with a poorly concealed resentment. Robotnik understood it all too well– government incompetence was a point of contention for them both.
“Typical. You can expect no less from those imbeciles.” He moved to scan the rest of Stone’s body in methodical intervals. “But make no mistake that I do expect more from you, Agent. It was beyond foolish to come here in the first place if you knew the severity of your condition. I’d ask what you were thinking, but clearly you weren’t.”
Robotnik chose not to imagine the outburst that would’ve ensued had Stone not returned, nor the further rampage when he inevitably traced his location to a government hospital.
“It was illogical,” Stone agreed, following his movements through half-lidded eyes. “But I don’t regret it, sir.”
Robotnik paused, eyes narrowed on a dark bruise snaking along the agent’s ribcage. He waited for Stone to say something stupid– it was the only possible follow-up to the already absurd and insolent admittance.
Instead, Stone took the opportunity to once again prove himself an utter anomaly.
“I’ll always come back to you, Doctor,” he said simply, breathing out the words as if they were air.
Robotnik blinked, then sighed, leaning forward to press their foreheads together with the distinct impression that his persona had been disarmed. He didn’t care. For just a fleeting moment, he would allow it.
Stone didn’t flinch at the sudden contact, exhaling softly into the space between them. He held himself still.
“Your loyalty is commendable, Stone.” Robotnik hesitated for only a moment, feeling something break within him. His next words were strained, unwillingly plucked from the very depths of his guarded self. “But it’s not worth your life. Be smarter next time.”
The sentiment was against the doctor’s every principle, against his very nature, but he couldn’t have meant it more. Stone was many things to him– an assistant, a deceivingly organic machine, the only ‘living’ being he had ever tolerated– he couldn’t be bothered to decipher it further. It didn’t matter. Only one fact remained in his mind and it was more than enough justification.
Stone was his and he was irreplaceable.
“Yes, Doctor.” He leaned in ever so slightly to the touch, a barely perceivable pressure. “I’ll be more careful. I promise.”
“Good,” Robotnik said. It was all he could say.
He didn’t allow himself to linger any longer. Robotnik pulled away in one graceless motion as the heavy walls separating himself from his emotions descended down once more. He cleared his throat and turned back to the medical kit.
They didn’t speak after that. Perhaps they had both said enough.
Robotnik continued to look him over, cataloging every cut and bruise with increasing disdain. Logically, he knew most of the marks were minor, barely worth noting, and few even appeared to be from today. The majority of bruises that littered his chest were faded and discolored, a sickening green hue prominent against his tan skin. The cuts, too, were still raised but otherwise on their way to recovery.
More concerningly, he discovered that Stone’s body was host to a number of scars.
He wasn’t sure how he had never noticed before. It’s possible he had simply never seen Stone exposed to this degree– Robotnik was confident he would have remembered– but now it was all he could see. He traced the outline of each with his eyes, inspecting the texture and coloration and using the data to generate an approximate age of each scar. Many were old, acquired long before they met, but some were disturbingly recent, hardly a ghost of the injury so much as a low-opacity image.
Robotnik felt compelled to know the origin of each, though he did not ask. They were easy enough to decipher– laceration, laceration, gunshot, puncture, surgical scar… the list went on, each curve and crevice of Stone’s body revealing a new bounty of past grievances.
It was appalling, the amount of hurt he had suffered.
Robotnik found it impossible to regard the sight with anything but anger. Every time he uncovered another secretive mark, another memory of bygone pain, it seemed to taunt him. Look, they seemed to say, look at what’s been done to him. At all you failed to protect him from.
Robotnik hated it. It was all he could do to push down a steadily-increasing mania. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, it wrapped around him, an infectious thought breaching his consciousness. It spoke to him with frightening urgency, irrefutably immoral and an altogether sickening idea, but–
Perhaps there was a way to alleviate Stone of this mortal pain.
It would be difficult. The result he wanted to achieve was almost certainly impossible, but Robotnik refused to settle for anything less than perfection when it came to his creations. If anyone could do it, it would be him.
He could build Stone a new body. A better one. Sturdy and metallic and indestructible.
If he programmed it right, Stone would never experience pain again. Every past atrocity he had endured would be eliminated, nullified; never again would he have to suffer for the sin of his humanity. Even if his vessel sustained damage– even if it was destroyed –it wouldn’t matter. Robotnik would rebuild him with more care and expertise than he could ever manage for his biological form.
He would never truly die.
Robotnik would never lose him.
The thought refused to subside, its potency only increasing as he continued to address Stone’s remaining injuries. Another scan revealed the fracture in his arm, as well as a strain in his wrist. He treated both to the best of his ability, providing a hefty dose of painkillers to ease the discomfort as he finished up.
Stone accepted them gratefully, thanking him for his time and effort if it was some grand favor. As if there was any conceivable reality where Robotnik would have turned him away.
He brushed it off, ushering Stone to a small side room to rest– his room, by technicality, but the distinction felt trivial. Robotnik opted not to mention it. If Stone noticed the lived-in state and scattered personal effects, he didn’t say anything.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Robotnik made a phone call.
“I had a meeting at headquarters yesterday. They said there’s been a change to my position, sir,” Stone said pointedly a week later. It wasn’t framed as a question but the intent was nonetheless apparent.
Robotnik spared him a glance from the corner of his eye, not looking up from his parts project. “That’s correct.”
Stone shifted in his peripheral. “They said I’ll be here full-time from now on,” he pressed.
“Indeed. Someone needs to attend to my whims and if you hadn’t noticed, there’s no one else here, so –” Robotnik drew out the vowel, gesturing in a circular motion in way of the explanation he couldn’t be bothered to give.
“I wasn’t aware you required the assistance, Doctor. I would have volunteered sooner had I known.”
He hadn’t had a desire for any further assistance until Stone stumbled into the lab, halfway to unconsciousness, but it appeared that things could change. Besides, the government was never lacking in fresh bodies– they could get their cannon fodder elsewhere. Stone was destined for something far greater than an early burial in some military cemetery.
Robotnik would give him a real sense of purpose. Of security. And never again would the doctor have to bear witness to his bloodied form, the image permanently branded in his mind in vivid and gorey detail.
He knew what he wanted and he was done sharing.
“Not necessary. I know exactly what I need and precisely when I need it,” he said dismissively. After a pause he thought to add, “It was a recent development.”
Stone hummed, nodding in polite acknowledgement. He folded his hands in front of him. “So, what would you like me to get started on, Doctor?” he asked, voice pitched up in an animated manner. He almost sounded pleased.
Tasks– right. Hm.
Robotnik failed to consider that the agent would need to occupy himself somehow. He had been so focused on his not being there that he spared little thought to what his being here would actually entail.
A minor oversight.
“I’ll find something,” Robotnik eventually settled for. “In the meantime, just…stand quietly over there.” He made a vague sweeping gesture towards the entirety of the lab.
Stone complied wordlessly, the sound of his footsteps retreating to somewhere amongst the mess of electronics. After a few moments of silence, Robotnik risked another glance out of curiosity. He easily located Stone tucked away at the back of the lab, quietly observing a half-wired circuit with moderate interest.
His figure stood prominent against the backdrop of machinery, the warmth of Stone’s tan skin in stark contrast to the sleek, colorless metal. So out of place and yet perfectly slotted into the scene as if it had been designed for the express purpose of framing him. Robotnik had the distinct impression that every prior look upon the space had been an incomplete one until the very moment when the agent came to fill it.
Finally, Stone was exactly where he was meant to be– neatly tucked amongst everything the doctor held dear.
Robotnik felt the unfamiliar urge to smile.
He turned away.