They say insanity is repeating the same action again and again and expecting a different result.

"Oh no! Badniks! Sonic, help me!"

I cower, hunched over, shivering in my little red and white shoes as Robotnik's mechanical horrors gaze down at me with glowing red eyes, autocannons whirring up to speed.

But you don't come.

I am mad to expect otherwise.

Bullets rake across my body, tearing through flesh and sending me to the floor, a single ring tumbling to the floor.

One ring is all it takes.

One shot is all they get.

I lunge, tails slicing through metal, hands reaching up to tear limbs and crush vitals. The patrol is wiped out in moments, coolant dripping from my fur, tears dripping from my cheeks.

'Tails has lost it.'

That's what the Resistance says about me.

Perhaps they're right?

They have no idea where I am, despite me haunting the territory around their hideout for months. I don't dare to come into contact. How could I face them after failing you? How could I bear to see Amy after taking you away from her?

I pick up the fading ring and resume walking the war torn streets.

I've lost so much to this war - you included.

Another patrol, sent to check on the last. This time I fall into the shadows, where I belong, watching them pass. There is no end to Robotnik's army, and no hero coming to save me.

Being seen now would break the pattern.

The patrol moves on, emptying weapons into the buildings as they pass by, as though to alleviate mechanical frustration at my disappearance. A little more devastation makes no difference in the end. The fires have burned here almost since the day you were taken from me.

I step from cover once again. Walking, not flying, not running. You would likely laugh at how slow I am, pacing towards my next destination. How quickly I've fallen back into old habits.

This isn't my first battlefield, after all. I was practically born into war before I met you. Standing alone against an empire is nothing new, only the faces are different.

I arrive at my destination, a plaza that had once been so beautiful, its fountain sending water sparkling through the air in endless spirals. I ate an ice cream cone here one summer, watching the water dance. Now it is rubble, barely distinguishable from the rest of the chaos. I feel as empty as the plaza.

I settle down, pulling a screwdriver from nowhere to work on another wisp capsule while I wait.

How long have I played this game? The fox and the hound, Eggman hunts me through the city, and I lead the merry chase, away from the Resistance HQ, away from the last 0.01% of the world not under Eggman's rule, away from my friends. All while waiting desperately for a miracle - or at least one clean shot - while I elude my enemies.

And my friends.

Because what if they asked me to help?

What if they asked me to lead?

Unthinkable. Unbearable. Without you I am far too cold. Too rational. Too clever. I can see a path to victory for the Resistance without you. Even with the limited information available to me, I've thought up a dozen ways to win the war in your absence just today.

And I can calculate every person I would sacrifice to bring those plans to fruition. Calculate it so precisely that I may as well be strangling them myself. I can determine every atrocity necessary, the vision of your horrified face stamped across every one, until I am the villain, until Eggman was the hero that once tried to stop the horrors I unleash.

I cannot be you. I cannot win so effortlessly, so cleanly. The day I take charge is the day the Resistance wins at any cost.

I settle the capsule down. A wisp should find a home here soon enough, ready to help Resistance soldiers when they pass this way. Or-

I cut the thought off. Not you. You are gone. I watched it happen. I failed you. I don't deserve you.

But still I cry your name.

Still I believe that if I call out for help, that you will appear, and I will be safe.

Because I am becoming less safe every day.

A bellow of rage echoes across the plaza.

"Oh no, Zavok! Sonic, help me!"

I cower, hunched over, shivering in my little red and white shoes as the hulking red Zeti pounds towards me, leaping to crush me to dust.

But you don't come. No hero leaps in to save me.

I am mad to think otherwise.

A fist smashes down into me, my bones cracking in momentary agony before my last ring restores the damage and disappears. I giggle through the pain as I drag myself upright.

I deserve it, after all. My penance to the world. To you.

"How many times have I killed you?" I wonder as I stand, spitting blood across the stone floor.

Mad as I am, the answer eludes me as I launch into the zeti's face, channelling hatred with every blow, picturing the other fat red victim of my wrath beneath my fists, barely feeling Zavok's pounding retorts through my rage.

With a final lunge, tails slice through flesh, and I stand victorious, bruised and panting, blood on my hands.

The day is won. For a moment in my mind the fat man is dead and you are back with me. My world makes sense again.

And Zavok disappears. My gloves are unstained, the only wetness on my cheeks. My momentary joy turns numb as I stare around the plaza at the signs of my solitary war. Another of your murderers slain, at least in my crumbling psyche.

How many times have I killed you? Over and over in my head, playing your death and my failure on endless loop.

I resume walking, snagging a single ring as I pass it by. Patrols will have at least heard my scuffle with nothingness, and I've another block to cover before I can be seen again.

What if I had dropped my charade? What if I had forsaken the role you gave me and joined you, two against five, us against the world, like in the old days? Would you still be here, teasing me about my foolishness? Could I still be your shadow, instead of this formless darkness I have become?

Even now the idea pains me, both that I didn't, and that I even dare to consider the option in the first place. If you didn't believe me capable, who am I to question it? Even when I saw you willingly side with people with a fraction of my experience or ability, who am I to question it? All the better to stay weak. Passive. The clever but cowardly Tails. Safe in your shadow, balanced by your light.

But now you are gone, and I am the ghost, haunting these ruins. Wishing I had died instead, wishing that you were here. Because the world needs you. I need you.

Because, mad or not, I know exactly where this road leads. Every day of war, every day without you makes me less passive, less safe.

And that coils through my head as well.

Because I know exactly how unsafe I can get.

Because this isn't my first war.

And I didn't lose the last one either.

A leaking pipe topples over, a mobian loosely sculpted out of water shoots forth from its depths. Its yellow eyes glow as it faces me.

"Oh no! Chaos! Sonic, help me!"

I cower, hunched over, shivering with anticipation as the watery monster lunges with a liquid tentacle.

But you don't come.

I am mad to expect otherwise.

Author Notes:

Thank you for reading this alternative look at Tails the Fox.

Despite me slacking off to write these shorts now and then (Tails' misery is surprisingly relaxing to write for some reason), I'm happy to say that progress on my fantasy visual novel goes well, even as I drown under the art requirements of the medium.

In other news, "Tails of the Fox" is so generic as to share its name with like, five other things, including an old, super popular Naruto fanfic, so I've changed the series name to "Eternal Tails". Stay happy and healthy all.