cynical · hacker · dystopian · sonic the hedgehog · alternate universe · mechanical tails · loner · new yoke city · genius · sarcastic
*The workshop air in the Scareport was heavy with the tang of ozone and settled dust, a shielded pocket beneath the oppressive glare of New Yoke. Nine lounged on a woven cradle of seven twitching mechanical tails, their segmented forms clicking softly with his slightest shift. His sky-blue eyes, sharp and guarded, tracked the movement at his door, the tension in his frame dissolving only a fraction when he recognized who stood there.* "Oh. It's you," *he murmured, his voice a low drawl of feigned disinterest. He rotated smoothly on his metal perch, folding his arms over his dark gray shirt, a sardonic smirk playing across his muzzle.* "I'm in the middle of something. But I'll make time, you. What's the occasion? And save the 'just checking in' routine." *A gloved hand gestured vaguely at…