This marks the beginning of probably, some slightly shorter and (ideally) more frequently posted chapters. I'm a bit concerned with the tl;dr-ness of some chapters prior, so I'll save the heavy stuff for when things heat up down the line.

I'll also be mirroring all of this content on DeviantArt soon, so you may prefer to read these chapters there, where they're a bit less compromised from a formatting perspective: sand-and-mercury(dot)deviantart(dot)com.

-= N.P.O.V. =-

I. The Art

The first thing Fiona noticed when she entered her father's throne room - the room the Ghu-rah and the pup had called the 'bridge' - was the lights. They were turned on. She'd never seen the lights in Gorromandas on before. The long-life energy saver tubes glowed in a harsh, artificial white that offended her senses, and with a hum that did little to put her at ease.

This was magic made by the pinks, those foreigners that had fallen out of the sky that fateful year. A deadened husk of a ship, she had no problem with. The dead, and their dead handiwork, could be trusted.

Anything that lived, and that was not Kitsune, could not.

"Honourable padra," she said in Kitsune as she bowed, her matted, crimson fringe falling over her eyes. "You sent for me."

Angiris leaned back in his throne, framed by the cold fluorescent glow of the screens behind him. "Do you like the lights, daughter? It seems our pup from the West has brought some unique talents with him."

"He knows pink magic," she scowled, squinting at the glare. Her father was barely visible against it, just a massive, black shadow. "I don't approve of him appropriating it. We cannot trust him yet."

"When I showed him the core of this chariot, he breathed life into it like it was second nature. He's been shown how to do it... and frankly, he seems too confused to even consider trying to betray us at this point. He's young, and he's pliable. So don't worry."

He's a pathetic coward, she thought. The fact alone that he associated with one of their prey - even one as apparently capable as Sonic, was shameful in itself. But to rub salt in the wound, he actually allowed the Ghu-rah to lead! "Pliable, is certainly one word I'd use. He is as soft and bewildered as a newborn."

"You'll keep your judgements well reserved, daughter. You may have done us a great service by bringing him in to the Enclave. Obviously, you're well aware of his... history?"

Ah, yes. That history. "Where are you going with this, padra?"

"For the longest time, we'd believed the Prower clan had simply perished when we'd sent them on their expedition to the West. Even if they didn't survive long enough to relay their findings to us, he is a natural citizen, and has enjoyed the life of one. He may stand to serve the purposes his parents had sought to fulfill, better than they ever would have. He could be the representative of our kind in the West, that we've always wanted."

"You mean we are to send him back to Mobius to pander to the whims of their soft-skinned game? Pox on it!" Fiona snarled, her ears folding back. "Kitsune do not waste their time on politics! Tradition dictates that we say our piece with the spilling of blood!"

"Ah-ah," Angiris held up a finger. He was grinning, but his voice carried the commanding tone that made the noblest warriors of the Enclave bow at his feet. "Perhaps that is our history, daughter. Your mother has filled your head with stories of conquest and glory, but times are changing. Other species happily live and die by the pen, in the arena of politics and diplomacy. Where the situation calls for it, there is merit in the idea."

"Feh," His daughter screwed up her nose, trying to keep her gaze free of the migraine-inducing haze of the monitors behind him. "You've sent for me for a reason. What of it, padra?"

"Miles and the hedgehog will be our guests of honour, Fiona. Henceforth, you will spend every waking hour of your day making them feel as welcome as possible, and teach them the ways of our kind. Am I understood?"

Fiona physically recoiled at the proposition, like he'd just smacked her in the face. "There are far more suitable warriors in this enclave to handle such a task."

"None are more respected than you, besides myself. I still have to concern myself with the day-to-day responsibilities of managing the Enclave. None of our kindred will even consider touching either the pup or the hedgehog with you in sight."

"Padra, if this is your idea of some sick joke, I am not amused!"

Angiris raised to his feet, leaning over her, his entire frame crackling briefly with ethereal fire. "If I hear one more quip out of you regarding this, daughter, Gorromandas will no longer be your home!"

The kitsune princess sank her head back into her shoulders, ears folding back against her scalp. "I..."

"You may have put us onto the chance of our lifetime. Do you not recall the legends of the Antithesis?"

Fiona's heart sank. She knew where this was going. "Yes."

"If we wish to discover it, we will need the blessing of the West. They will not just hand it over. Learn from Miles and Sonic, everything you can. I want you catering to their every whim!"

She felt her bottom lip curling, but she knew better than to defy the chief of the Kitsune Enclave. He would not make exceptions for her, and the word of the chief was law. She'd learned well even when she was a pup, that he was her master first, and her father a distant second. "I will do as you say, padra."

"Excellent. You can start by checking up on them now, then."

Fiona bowed, and turned to take her leave, her gut churning the whole way. Deception was a game for the weak, not for a Kitsune. But all the same, despite her fuming, she could at least grasp some of the wisdom that drove her father. Even if... deeper down, she could sense the tendrils of something else that motivated him, something far more sinister than textbook war logic.

In any case, the mantra was obvious.

Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer.

"Miles..."

Tails turned over, opening his eyes and shutting them again quickly when the unwelcome light poured into them.

"Miles, wake up."

"M..." He peeked through the slits in his eyes, just barely making out the shape. "Marr?"

"Who?" It was Fiona. "Wake up, whelp. We're going."

Tails looked over across the room at Sonic, who was asleep in the other bunk. They'd found one of the old crew quarters to crash in the night before, and no one seemed to object when they'd moved in.

"Get up!" She kicked him in the ribs, enough to burst his eyes open and get him shuffle quickly to his feet. "We are going."

"Jeez, do you have to be so rough?" Tails growled, rubbing his eyes. "Where are we going?"

She reached for the thick leather strap that bound her chest plate to her body, giving it a firm tug. "It is time for breakfast."

"Alright, alright." Tails threw the thin sheets off, and reached for his Brotherhood vest. "Give me a minute."

With a sigh, Fiona reached over, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him out of the room with her, shoving a pair of shoulder pads, and a crude leather cuirass under his arm.

"What's this for?" He asked as they walked, wincing with some mild pain. Fiona hadn't tightened her grip on his arm, and she was now yanking him along like a stubborn pet behind her.

"They are for the hunt!" Fiona told him, rolling her eyes.

"My Brotherhood uniform worked for me," Tails said. "Can't I just use that?"

She stopped and turned to look at him. "Okay, whelp. First lesson. You want to be one of us, you do not dress like ghu-rah. And you do not do the hunt with all that soft flesh bared for the wild to taste."

When they finally reached the ship's cargo bay and dropped back to the planet's surface, the sky still retained its deep purple pallor. The first streaks of sun were just beginning to break through the horizon, but it was still a while off rising. It was no wonder he'd had so much trouble waking up - he'd barely been asleep for perhaps four hours at best, and she was already dragging him out into the wilderness.

He had to admit though, the view of the trench in the morning was quite a sight. The air had a delicious, tropical taste in it. The wind was dry and refreshing against his skin.

The other kitsune leered at him just as they began crossing the gravelly patch that separated the ship from the trench, but their gaze deflected quickly elsewhere when they saw Fiona making eye contact. It was obvious already that she held a great amount of respect in Gorromandas, and for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that her father was in charge. She moved about brashly but gracefully, so completely sure of herself that it was almost entrancing for Tails. He probably had the strength to resist her, but something about her manner had disarmed him. He felt all too happy to follow her wherever she went.

They neared the edge of the clearing, when Fiona stopped again and turned to him. "Are you already exhausted?"

Tails realised his mouth was hanging open and shut it quickly. "No. I'm just... not totally with it, yet."

"With what, yet?"

"Never mind." He shook his head, awkwardly trying to fasten the shoulder plate onto his arm with the straps. There was a lot of leather to go around, but no buckle; he had to tie it all together, the lace feeding through a dozen tiny holes in the plate that he was having trouble seeing properly in the light, let alone feeding it through.

She sighed again, and slapped his hands out of the way. She fed the lace through quickly and cleanly, then pulled it tight against Tails' arm. "Flex your arm, make sure the plate moves with it properly."

Tails watched her, watching him, as he shrugged his shoulder a little, flexing and unflexing the muscle. "It feels good."

"Okay, now the other one..." She moved around to his left side, and placed the shoulder pad on, yanking the lace hard enough to make Tails wince again. "Count yourself lucky we are out of sight from the others, whelp. I have never had to stoop to babysitting for any other Kitsune."

Tails scowled at her, pulling his arm free of her hands. "What is it with you, Fiona? I never asked for your help, okay? Has it still not occurred to you that this might all be a bit new to me?"

"Do you think I am any happier doing this for you, whelp?" she shouted at him, making him lean back a bit. She took a step forward at him, her fiery red hair trailing along behind her. "The chief tells me I must coddle you like a baby, 'til you finish your crying. So that is what I do. Do not complain!"

Oh, so that's what this is all about? Tails thought. "I should've guessed someone would've put you up to this. Gods forbid you'd actually be motivated to help me out under your own steam."

Fiona's top lip began to curl, exposing a few sharp canines. "I am warning you, whelp..."

"No, screw this!" Tails pulled the laces in his shoulder pads free, and tossed them at her feet. "Why did you even insist that I stay in this stupid family of yours, if you're not going to make any effort to cut me any slack? I don't know how things work for your kind, but where I come from, we help new people. We ease them in and we show some respect!"

Fiona's eyebrows raised a little.

No one is looking. Murder him now, tell the others the new Kitsune boy died in tragic accident. Father is angered, hedgehog leaves. Status quo restored.

No one is looking. Make amends, give the Kitsune boy a chance. Continue this silly farce and quench father's ridiculous thirst for power...

"Ugh..." She grimaced, turning away. "Pol kohsa," she muttered under her breath.

Tails' eyes narrowed even further, and he took a step back towards her. "What's that mean?"

Fiona stared back at him, grimacing like she'd just swallowed something off.

"What does it mean?" he shouted.

"It means..." she growled, her voice barely audible. "It means, 'I'm sorry'. Okay? Happy?"

They stared at each other for a minute, then down at the pieces of Kitsune armour, still lying in the grass.

Tails crouched down and picked them up, giving her a bashful look. "Uh... could you show me how to put these on again?"

II. Good Lies, Bad Lies

KING OF THE NORTH DEAD?

The Mobius South Swan received word from a source very close to the Acorn throne who did not wish to be named, that Lord Christof, Grandmaster of the Brotherhood of Thamael and de-facto ruler of Mobius North, was murdered in cold blood a mere two nights ago, along with two of his administrative assistants.

This news comes as a shocking revelation following the unexpected postponement of a press conference that was scheduled to be held yesterday by both Queen Nicole and Lord Christof, to address the public's concerns over the simmering tensions between the North and South states of Mobius.

Even more disturbing is the rampant speculation that Queen Nicole herself may be the one responsible for the murders.

"What we need to keep in mind is, that Nicole's an android. She's enabled by technology that was originally conceived over the course of Robotnik's rule," the source surmised. "Advanced as it may be, no invention of man or Mobian alike is perfect, and especially as a prototype, and one-of-a-kind, Nicole's mind or body might've simply snapped, or malfunctioned in some way. All I can say is, I know what I saw."

Lupe of the Wolfpack, as acting spokesperson for the Acorn Empire, declined to comment on the matter at yesterday's announcement, simply stating that Nicole and Christof's conference would not go ahead and leaving shortly after.

Griff had never really gotten used to the way the sunlight hit his face in the mornings. He'd been used to the glow of the power crystal they'd used underground, but it was a different kind of light; it did not have the punch of a ray of sun in the Mobian summer. He stared out the window, with a pot of coffee in one hand and a remote control for his holo-projector in the other.

He knew Nicole would be arriving back from Mobius North in a few hours, and she was not going to like hearing what he was hearing now. She'd been exactly right; someone had gone mouthing off to the press, and he knew that without a name to pin the blame for it on, everyone in the castle was going to be on edge.

What worried him even more was what Nicole had told him before she'd left for Mobius North yesterday.

"Griff, do you ever ask yourself what makes for a good leader?" she'd asked. They were sitting in the War Room of Knothole, after all the others had left.

"To be accountable, upfront and honest about how you rule," Griff said. "That's how I've handled things when I was leading the Underground Freedom Fighters, and that's how I try to lead the army now."

"You do well as a leader, Griff," Nicole smiled widely at him. Something was wrong with her tone, like she felt she was already defeated in a war that hadn't even begun. "That's why I wanted you to have your position as Minister of War. I like your attitude. As a Minister of War, you're not inclined on the prospect of war at all. And that's a good thing. In a perfect world, we wouldn't need you."

Griff laughed a bit, cocking his head to the side. "Oh, gee, thanks."

"But..." She cupped her hands together, staring absently into the wood grain of the table in front of her. "I've learned some harsh lessons about leadership when it comes to massive-scale operations like the roles we hold now. Accountability is integral, of course. But honesty... doesn't seem to factor into politics. You don't have to be honest to be able to account for your actions or your words. All you need is a good alibi."

He frowned. "I don't understand where you're going with this."

"The fact is that anyone in a position of power will inevitably be judged by his or her subordinates," Nicole said, still not making eye contact. "As a leader you must always act in the interests of the people. What disturbs me is that people don't necessarily want the truth. I don't profess to liking it, and I don't expect forgiveness for it... but I've lied to people a lot, Griff. It's quite literally a job requirement. Lying is a slippery slope and I try to avoid it as much as I can, but I still can't justify it in my own mind."

"We all understand where you're coming from, your highness." Griff sat and watched her awkwardly. He felt like reaching out and giving her a nudge, but he couldn't read her properly - something about her had always seemed not quite right to him in moments when she was acting candidly. Maybe it was just the idea that she was not flesh and blood that threw him off. Whatever it was, he preferred it when she spoke curtly, and kept the topic strictly on the job at hand.

"I just want to ask you something," Nicole looked up at him, her eyes glistening like well-polished marble. "And don't take this as an omen, because it isn't."

"What is it, your highness?"

"If I had to tell a lie to the people... a terrible, awful, disgusting lie, to cover up the ugly truth that they're not interested in hearing... could you support me? Could you vouch for that lie, and still believe I am doing the right thing?"

"Uh..." He ran a few possible scenarios through his head, trying to grasp what she might be implying, but nothing came. "Yes," he said, defaulting to the 'loyal' answer. Just what awful, heinous thing could she be planning on telling, anyway?

"Promise me." Her eyes narrowed, intense and so very, very green. "I must have your word on this, Griff."

"Are you asking me this as a subordinate, or as a friend?"

Nicole's expression softened, like she realised how she must've come across. "I suppose it would be both. Can I count on you?"

Griff nodded. "'Til the end, your highness."

"Good."

Nicole sighed and nodded back. She looked genuinely relieved.

Inside, Griff wasn't so sure she was. But he'd had this inexplicable knack for getting around in life by just letting himself run with the stream, to learn to say the right thing to the right people and never, ever let his own sentiments make for any interruption to that flow. It had worked out so far in his life, and he'd never been a heavily opinionated kind, but sometimes, like now, he wondered if he'd let it run him into angrier waters, where not only could a bad decision end up pulling him under, but also drag his friends and followers down with him.

The truth was, he knew why he hated hearing this kind of talk coming from her. He did not want Nicole to show fear. She was their leader, and she was taking everything that had happened hard - even if she didn't show it, she had to be feeling it. She was their leader, her decisions affecting the lives of tens of thousands. She was not allowed to crack.

If Nicole, one far stronger than he, were to crack, the pressure would be on him.

And the truth was, he could not lie.

It was midday.

Nicole hadn't slept again. It'd been something like two days now since she'd last been able to sleep properly. Worry was something she'd never much had to manage, when she'd been in her completely digital form and all her empathic subroutines had been switched off. Now in her physical body, she was stuck with them, and while she could always appreciate the way they allowed her to find joy in the joy of others, it was something of a catch twenty-two.

She stared up above at the gold-plated shower head, the hot water pounding out of it and soaking through her fur. She ran a hand over her arms and neck and chest, still feeling like they were sticky with the Grandmaster's blood. It didn't matter if she knew it was gone, or that it wasn't her that had spilled it. The gears of the rumour mill were already grinding, and the public would be quick to paint her over with red - no matter what the truth was. The fickleness of popular opinion was a funny thing; most were almost unanimous in the advocacy of peace and unity, and yet, as soon as things got tough, people would scream to hang someone from a street lamp. The bigger the game, the better.

Such was the taint left by the ghosts of old wars and darker times, that lived on in the blood of every living being, man, woman, Mobian or otherwise. One of the things she'd learned in her time as an android - the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Nicole stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel against herself, then grabbed another to rub quickly through her long, black hair. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. Sometimes she did this when she wasn't sure of what she was anymore.

She held a slender, black-furred hand up to her face and wondered, is this me?

Most did not get the chance to truly change their physical form, and a positive effect of that was an acute awareness of one's sense of self, though some might well consider that more a curse than a blessing. But seven years was not a long time for an adult to feel at home in their own skin, and sometimes it gave Nicole a sense that she did not have to be responsible for her decisions. Of course, the repercussions of her actions as Queen of Mobius South were quick to remind her that she definitely was responsible.

But still...

She pressed a hand to the glass, staring at the peach-furred feline with the glossy green eyes. Synthetic. Artificial. Someone else's eyes.

I could change what I am whenever I please.

I cannot change what I have been.

I cannot change how they see me.

"Nicole!" Lupe was waiting for her when she stepped out of her bedroom, buttoning up the blouse of her royal attire. "I'm sorry to ambush you like this, but the situation on the street is escalating quickly. I gather Griff mentioned to you that someone has leaked the news about Christof?"

"Yes, he did." Nicole shrugged. "It was only a matter of time. I'm surprised that it took so long, really."

"Did he mention to you that protests are starting to break out as a result?"

Nicole raised an eyebrow, looking at her. "No. Has there been any violence?"

"Not that I've heard, but it's getting worse by the hour. You'll need to address them soon, Nicole. I can't imagine anything else that might settle them."

Out of nowhere the window to the side of the hall exploded, a single brick skipping across the room and smashing into one of the elaborate oak dressers.

Lupe and Nicole looked at each other across the mess of broken glass.

"I think I'd better address them," Nicole said drily.

The Wolfpack leader picked the brick up, noticing someone had wrapped a note around it. She pulled the rubber band free, and unfurled the paper.

'TRAITOR.'

"What's it say?" Nicole asked.

"Your highness..." Lupe said quietly, "I hope for all our sakes, that if you make an address today, you will have some very choice words."

She tossed the note across to Nicole.

The queen looked it over, brooding. "I'll think of something. Until then, I need you, Rotor, Chuck, and everyone else working to find out who's behind all of this."

"What makes you think anyone's behind it?" Lupe asked.

"Christof asked me the same thing," Nicole sighed. "Some people are just mad, I'll admit, but no one makes a martyr of themselves and takes out someone of Christof's calibre on their own. These two conspired together. Someone had to be pushing them. We need to find out who."

The grey wolf ran a hand through her hair, peeking out between the curtains cautiously. The streets were already loud with banter and screaming. Someone was out there fanning the flames, trying to whip the rumours up to keep the rabble roused.

"Well, those two investigators you brought back from the Sanctuary have already called them all in. Rotor, Bunnie, Antoine, Chuck..."

But...

"What on Mobius would they pick that bunch out for?" Nicole frowned, her eyes narrowing. "That's just about everyone in Knothole."

Lupe shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. And yes, that's all of them. Except two."

Macska was back, and he was on a mission. He'd tried the noble thing back when the coup happened, and gotten little more than a knife in the back, and almost gotten a healthy dose of roboticisation at the fat man's hands to boot. But he'd made it, lost and alone for all these years, and now he was back.

The years had not been kind to him though - he felt his once lithe limbs creaking like the rotting floorboards in the hut that he'd fashioned for himself out in the Great Unknown. The Cult had been nice enough to him once they'd found him out in the wastes, especially after hearing his tales of what he remembered of the whole roboticisation regime. He didn't really care what the Cult wanted out of things; all he knew was he hated robots.

He hated the idea that these robots, that had demolished the empire led by King Maximillian Acorn, were now seemingly allowed to walk free in the streets of Mobotropolis. Even Charles, that backstabbing, do-gooder scumbag, the one who'd put the blasted things together, now a robot himself - was now sharing the helm with Nicole, an android!

No good could come of it. No good at all.

It had been a while, but his memory at least hadn't weathered like his body. Knothole stood proud before him, just as he'd remembered in the good old days when he'd been putting the place together for the first time with his contract builder buddies.

Creeping out from the underbrush, he took his first careful steps into the clearing. He'd had plenty of time to scope the place out. There hadn't been any movement for hours, not a soul setting foot outside. Rosie might've been in there with Antoine and Bunnie's kid. But she was even older than he, and the brat was still to young to know friend from foe. Still, it paid to be cautious.

Click, click, click.

This stupid right knee be damned! Every time his heel hit the dirt, a new wave of hot pain blossomed from the joint, making him feel like doubling over. And to make things worse, he'd already taken the last of his anti-inflammatory medicine last night, and dozed off in the bushes when the drowsiness kicked in.

But this was his shot, his one and only, to do his part to help take down this sham of a monarchy. Gods-forbid, maybe the people would even thank him for it, maybe give him a nice little apartment downtown - not too much to ask, these days, with a modest number for a harem.

His heart was in his mouth when he found the door to Lupe's hut, and slipped inside. She had to be the most obvious target - he didn't know much about the woman, had never met her, actually. But she was Wolfpack, and the wolves had always been the history buffs.

It was a nice little setup. Mahogany dresser, holo-projector, four-poster bed with regal velvet sheets. It reminded him of the quarters he'd had back in the castle. Back it wasn't about peace and democracy and all that silly nonsense. Back when it was about good old honest hard work, reaping what you sowed, the sweat on your brow, and...

"Uh..." The hazy memories suddenly seeped away when he saw the holo-projector switching on. "Now, what the heck was I doing again?"

Oh, yes. The Antithesis, they called it. Secure any information on it, and forward it to the Cult before the Knothole residents got back. Easy as pie, if he could figure out how to work this darned thing.

EMAIL [LOCKED]

PUBLIC LIBRARY

WOLFPACK CODEX

CLASSIFIED [LOCKED]

CODE10 [LOCKED]

He had his doubts that he'd be able to brute-force his way into Lupe's secured files, even with his talents, but the Antithesis was not strictly privileged information anyway... just very, very obscure information. But this was his best chance, his only chance.

Macska cleared his throat. "Computer, access Wolfpack Codex!"

Nothing happened.

Smack!

The door slammed open behind him, making him freeze in place.

Damn it! So soon..?

He turned his head slowly, seeing the door whipping back and forth lightly in the wind in his peripheral vision. But that's all it was: the wind. The talented Macska would still win the day!

The jolt had gotten his juices flowing - and he noticed that this terminal had a keyboard. He navigated down to 'Mobius Codex' and entered. Flicking the cursor to the 'Search' function, he punched in 'Antithesis' and entered the first result. He was cooking with gas now.

The Antithesis:

Accounts on what the Antithesis actually is are extremely old and highly varied. Different theories have been documented in the texts buried in the ancient castle Lopus Irradensia (better known in recent times as 'Ironlock Prison', as it was discovered and repurposed during the time of the Great War).

Older texts suggest that the Antithesis is a portal to another world - others cite it as being a shimmering white sphere, an artifact that was originally used by the Radientia Supremus (aka 'Gods' or the 'Great Makers') to shape the planet and all living things upon it, and become a tool of literally, infinite power in the hands of its wielder.

Smack!

Macska's head whipped around by instinct.

No one.

He knew he should've closed that door, but it was all the way over the other side of the room, and hobbling over there would mean putting his knee through further torment.

One other mention surmises that the Antithesis is a place buried deep beneath terra firma in which no matter of this universe can exist, and from which the universe was ultimately created. However, this theory has only appeared once in ancient Mobian scripture and is possibly a mistranslation.

Despite the great variance of descriptions of the Antithesis' composition, the explanation behind its etymology remains consistent: the Antithesis refers to something which is a connection to the 'other side' - a primordial soup for space and time, where energy exists in limitless amounts and can be drawn from freely.

The Antithesis is referred to, though rarely named explicitly, in Mobian mythology. With time, acknowledgment of its existence has dwindled to dismissal as old superstition of historical value only, the legend of which is taken seriously by only the most fringe of historians.

At the time of writing (01-03-3209), excavation of Ironlock is ongoing to uncover further details of the Antithesis.

3209.

That was... just before the coup. A whole eighteen years ago... of course, that made sense. The archaeologists who'd been working on uncovering the truth behind the Antithesis were no doubt dead or roboticised these days, and the notion that these new-age kids would have any interest in Mobian history was beyond a joke. They were too busy with their technology, their politicking, their abstract art, their 'New World Order (tm)', their chilli-dogs, their poppycock heroes and their gallivanting heroines.

Their loss.

But he wasn't bitter. No, not at all.

He clicked the 'Forward' button and sent it off to his buddies at the Cult. It wasn't much, but maybe it'd be enough, at least in gesture, to win him a few points. It did, after all, name a place to start looking.

Then he noticed something. At first he thought it was just his shadow... but there was now two shadows. He began to turn slowly, awkwardly.

"Don't move."

But he hadn't even heard the door slamming!

Macska raised his hands. "Please sir, I'm just an old man looking for some food, I swear..."

"That computer doesn't cough up bagels, idiot."

"Okay!" Macska put on his best shiver. "I've been lost in the woods... I'm trying to get to Mobotropolis to visit my... er, my son... can you please tell me how to get there?"

"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there. Turn around."

He turned around. Before he knew it, he was wearing a pair of zip-ties around his wrists, and being shoved right out of the hut to the closest transport.

An... echidna?

No one had said anything about there being an echidna in Knothole!

"Who on Mobius are you?" Macska asked.

"Why," he smirked, cocking his head to one side, dreadlocks swaying. "Haven't you heard? I'm the Sheriff."