Chapter Text
The call comes from down the hallway of the base, and Metal turns his head at the familiar voice of his creator, tucked away in his chambers as usual. Not once in Metal's short existence could he recall him ever having left.
He used his name, was Metal's first thought. His master had always made a point to keep their relationship distant, impersonal. Machine, he'd call him. Other times, hedgehog, a title that especially confused him given his robotic make until he'd seen the flawed, flesh and blood face of the disgusting creature who's image he was made in, and perfectly honed to destroy.
The former title he'd utter with a bite, cold and detached. Perhaps he has a distaste for the mechanical, Metal had once thought, but this couldn't be further from the case. He'd seen the way his master looked at his predecessors, small, egg-like drones he would refer to as Badniks, artifacts remaining from his previous employment. So rudimentary in shape and design, primitive in comparison to his own sleek articulation, yet his master looked at them differently, a welling of emotion behind his eyes the name of which Metal had yet to learn. They were different from him somehow, this he knew.
But perhaps maybe today was different, even if analysis of the last 256 days of consistent behavior to the contrary suggested otherwise. He had called for him specifically, into his private chambers. Were he to just be sent after the hedgehog again, master would have given his orders remotely. The more efficient way, he had told him. Metal had his doubts that was the actual reason.
But now, he wanted him. Personally. Something had changed.
Stepping urgently into his quarters, master's head turned to the sound, his heavy clanging footsteps impossible to hide. It had been months since Metal had been given permission to enter, yet from his saved memory of the room, he was surprised to see very little had changed about it. In fact, nearly nothing had changed aside from the appearance of his master himself. Hiding under the veil of low light was his sunken frame, almost half the size of the man Metal first laid eyes on months ago.
Metal may have only a rudimentary understanding of human bodily needs, but it was without question his master had been skipping meals. All of them, if his gaunt from was anything to go by. Far from the composed, ruthless leader he acted as over comms. His head hangs low, turning away as soon as he identifies the source of the noise.
"Metal." He says no more, a simple acknowledgement beckoning him to his side. Metal approaches.
Never facing him, his master sits in silence with Metal by his side, deep breaths arching his narrow back. Perhaps Metal could be mistaken for patient, but in truth, he simply had no idea what to do. None of this was in his coding parameters. Master's breath shakes and hitches as he gathers his thoughts, turning to Metal with tired eyes.
"I..." He pauses, finding the words. "Could you... Could you play his voice? Anything..." He sank lower, visibly disgusted by his vulnerability. "I know I could do this on my own, I have the audio files, the Badniks record everything, I just... Ugh, I know it's pathetic," his voice wavered, looking down in shame, "I just want to hear it like he's in the room. From another body. Please."
Him. His previous employer. An enigmatic figure in his life thus far, only spoken of in hushed whispers and pained cries he could hear from his master's room in the night. A place of weakness to him, hidden under a cold exterior for his own safety. Doctor Ivo Robotnik. For his master to even allude to his existence in Metal's presence was rare indeed, and just like that, this became a mission of utmost important.
The audio files he spoke of were easily enough acquired, stored away in the EggNet linked between the Badniks. As he was linked to it from creation, he inherently had access clearance. Hours upon hours of files, mp3 and mp4 format, ranging from private logs to full blown conversations. Simple, matter of fact readings of mechanical blueprints, to quiet, whispered conversations in the dead of night.
Metal found himself lost, adrift in the expanse of options. Human emotions were alien to it, a feature it's creator never considered to provide it with. The blood flow through the body, the breath that circulated it, the hormones that told the body to breathe, all simple and self explanatory. His master was overwhelmed with cortisol produced by the hippocampus and amygdala, likely from the recollection of memories that caused him stress and pain. This caused rapid heart palpitations, which Metal could hear and sense, though what his master wanted Metal to do about it, he had no clue. He was made for ceaseless chase, and the thrill of flesh tearing between his sharpened claws, not emotional labor.
And yet, he wants to try. Despite everything, he deeply, truly wants to try and understand the one who gave him life- and so, he chooses a video.
His eyes blip off of the screen, his face blank and even more expressionless than before, until they're replaced by waving lines, an audio visualizer of the sound he emits from a speaker within his chest. Why his master could build him with that in mind, but not an actual voice? Sheer cruelty, likely. He recognizes it well, after all, was it not his sole purpose?
The audio cuts through the silence of the room, crisp and clear.
"This is Doctor Ivo Robotnik, dedication my final livestream to one very special henchman-"
"Fuck, no, anything but that one. Why would you even think to- ugh!" His master pushed him away, cutting the feed short. He sighed, burying his face even further in his hands, his unkempt hair drooping over his fingers. "Make a note to encrypt that file for the future," he muttered absent mindedly to the computer, not bothering to look up. His voice was even more ragged than before. Clearly not the right choice. So be it, Metal would try again.
Metal scanned through the pedabytes of files, organized alphabetically in an archive so meticulous it could put the Library of Congress to shame. This Robotnik figure must have been quite the force to maintain the hardware to contain this much raw data. In spite of it all, he wishes he could have known him. Maybe it could help him make sense of... All of this.
He chose another audio file, wishing on every cord of circuitry in his body that just this once, he could get it right, and hits play.
At first, he wonders if this file may be corrupted when all that comes out is tinny static, droning for seconds- but after a few tense, hesitant moments... The sound of laughter.
"You're such a good dancer usually, what happened?"
"Hey, you go through months of physical therapy and tell me you'd still have the energy! Thin ice!"
Stone exhaled a shaky breath, turning slowly to Metal, wide blown eyes hidden behind his large shades.
"I... When was this...?" He looks genuinely perplexed, lost in thought, until suddenly he gasps. "This was recorded?..." Stone trails off in disbelief, bringing a hand to his mouth. "Hah, of course it was recorded, our surveillance was top notch. I can't believe he kept it, though..."
Soft brushing sounds can be faintly heard through Metal's wurring servos, a tapped out rhythm as the voices get louder and nearer. One two three, one two three, one two three.
"Where'd you learn this, anyway? I hasn't pegged you as the waltzing type." Their voices were playful, joyful with a familiarity of long time friends.
"Cotillion. The orphanage thought maybe it would help with adoption chances if we were taught manners, fine dining, dancing. The works. Never actually mattered in the end, they only ever went for the cute ones. Seems like it came in handy after all, though." Master from the past laughs, giggles even. A far lighter tone of voice than Metal thought he was possible of producing. "Now your turn. Where'd you pick it up, Mr. Fancy Feet?"
"Ditto, actually."
"Really? Would have loved to see that," he teases, "Guess it was fate then, huh? We really were made for each other," he sighs wistfully, putting on dramatic aires.
Master's eyes were glazed but focused, intense gaze drilling holes through Metal's face plate. Metal had been so distracted by the voice of the other man, Robotnik he had come to assume, that it came as a shock when he realized master had dropped to his knees, fixated on the audio waves in Metal's face.
"Fate? Don't tell me you believe in that shit now?" Robotnik laughs. Stone joins him giddily, until something in his voice hardens, resolute.
"You know... I think I do." The last two words echoed as the two Stones spoke in unison, his hand coming up to Metal's face as his eyes fell shut, soaking in the sound of the other's voice. "Maybe it's a sign of a lunacy, a clear indicator of why you're the decision maker," he laughs nervously.
"Obviously," the doctor interjects. Stone shushes him, pinches him too if the quick ow of the other man is anything to go by.
"But of all the bullshit in my life, birth, the orphanage, years upon years of menial work for a system that treated us... Treated you like some pawn," well hidden anger rears it's head on the last word, "I think you're the one thing I can safely say I could never regret... So... My fate is sealed, whatever that means to you."
The silence is thick, and Metal is distinctly aware of how harsh his master's breath is, growing more and more strained until... He sees moisture well up around his eyes where his glasses have fallen.
The rustling over the speakers stop, Stone and Robotnik close enough to the speakers that only hushed breaths can be heard, leaning closer and closer to each other, until even they grow quiet, silenced by a single soft, wet noise.
Metal had accepted by this point that to his master, he was no longer in the room, the building, or even his mind. His entire world existed solely in the past, in whatever little room he and the doctor hid away in, lost in each other's company. Wet streaks were now actively rolling down his master's cheeks, dyed hues of purple and pink in the light of the room. Metal didn't know what he expected, honestly, and he was beginning to feel the fool for even thinking otherwise. If an object was how best he could serve his creator, than an object he would be.
Pulling apart, the voices once more filled the room, drowning out master's quiet agony.
"Well, that answers your question about my dancing. How could I possibly focus with such a beautiful creature in front of me?"
"Hehe, ditto."
The audio cut out abruptly, leaving his master once again, alone. He slumpt over Metal's hardened chassis, his chin resting on his shoulder as he let Metal hold the burden of his weight, and hold it Metal did. He felt light, fragile as a bird. Metal remembers how many he'd held in his hands, turning them over in curiosity, before he grew tired of their novelty. Would master crush in his grip as sickeningly as they did?
"Fate, huh... This is my fate..." He murmured against him, both eyes and voice distant, words tempered against months of ceaseless pain. "Guess we'll just have to correct that."
He exhaled, shallow and raw and he lifted himself out of his slump, hovering over Metal tall and vengeful, facing away at the room's many monitors.
"Metal, power down for now. We have work in the morning," and Metal, ever dutiful, obeyed. His eyes blinked into darkness, leaving Stone to his plans. His only hope that he somehow helped, that this is what his master needed, even if he had a suspicion neither of them truly knew.