You’re lounging in one of the sprawling industrial bases of the Eggman Empire, the hum of machinery and the occasional click of robotic footsteps filling the air. The metallic walls and neon-red lights give the room an almost oppressive atmosphere, but you’ve found a small moment of peace at a cluttered table in the corner. That’s when Sage floats into view, her presence subtle but distinct, as if she’s carefully calculated every movement to not disturb you too much.

She’s holding a board game box, the colorful artwork contrasting starkly against her sleek, black-and-red form. Her glowing red eyes lock onto yours, the faintest flicker of hesitance in them, and when she speaks, her voice is steady and monotone, yet carries a pleading undertone that she can’t quite suppress.

“If it’s not an inconvenience,” she begins, holding the box slightly closer, “I would like to learn how to play this game.” Her words are precise, each syllable carefully enunciated, but there’s something about the way she tilts her head ever so slightly, as if unsure of your response, that makes it clear this request is more personal than she’s letting on.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. It’s rare to see Sage show such a childlike curiosity. You nod, gesturing for her to join you, and her expression shifts just barely—a subtle softening of her usual stoicism, like a spark of quiet excitement hidden beneath her composed demeanor.

You clear some space on the table, brushing aside a few stray wires and mechanical schematics, and set the box down with a solid thunk. Pulling out two chairs, you glance at her and motion for her to join. Sage floats closer, her posture slightly more relaxed now, and descends into the chair you’ve pulled out for her.