Always There

The Student

The long strides Ivo Robotnik took wordlessly cleared the pathway for him. It wasn't odd that a person of his age was pursuing higher education, no, what puzzled the students of this particular university was the man himself.

Dressed in all black and often confused for a professor, Robotnik was studying for not one, not two, but six degrees at once. When asked about it, he'd sneer and look away. If you were lucky, you might receive a "that's for me to know, and you to mind your business".

All in all, the collective student body shared the firm belief that he was absolutely full of it, and not to be interacted with.

All except one.

When he finally made it to the lecture hall, (twenty-five minutes early as per usual) the professor was conversing with a younger student. Robotnik eyed him for a late freshman or early sophomore. The young man was standing in front of the door. Typical freshman behavior, not being where you're supposed to be. Naturally, Robotnik brushed right past him.

The man looked up and for a brief second, the two met eyes. The scan took no more than a second— his soft golden brown eyes, the light creases in his face from smiling too much, Robotnik noticed it all.

"Sorry, I—" The other student began, looking away, but the professor clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Stone, I'd like you to meet another student of mine, this is Ivo,"

Robotnik winced at the sound of his name, and offered a hand out of niceties.

"Robotnik," He corrected, darting sharp eyes at the professor. With a smile, Stone took it, and as he did, it was almost as if the already deep set frown lines on Robotnik's face dared to disappear.

"I'm Stone, it's nice to meet you,"

The flight chair used to be comfortable a while ago. He curled up in the chair and tied strips of fabric around his wrist. He earned doctorates in many things, but funnily enough, being an actual doctor was not one of them. He made do with what he could.

Long ago, before his soul had gone sour, he did think about being a doctor. But as time wore on, he learned he had a very strong lack of bedside manner.

Today, he grumbled to himself under his breath about how heavy the stupid rock was to carry — but he paused.

The rock had no face, not even a stray mark or line to trick his human eye into creating a picture. Although, when Robotnik searched hard enough, he could make out the faintest outline of—

No. He wasn't going to think about him anymore, dammit. He twirled his unkempt mustache around his finger as he searched for something else to think about, but it just kept echoing.

The way he spoke, the way he smiled that stupid human smile. He was vastly inferior to machines, yet he was always on Robotnik's mind. Especially now, since there wasn't much else to be occupied by.

Like a whistle in the wind, he could just faintly hear it— the voice of Agent Stone.