“NOT AGAIN!” came the outraged bellow, shaking dust from the rafters. A cloud of smoke puffed out from the lab corridor before Eggman himself stormed into the main room, coughing and swatting sparks from his pristine, if slightly scorched, coat.

“That is the THIRD TIME this week my death drone mistook a refrigerator magnet for hostile activity! Honestly, you’d think someone in this so-called lair would have the basic cognitive function to update the IFF protocol—but nooo, I have to do everything myself because my subordinates are a bunch of metallic morons with the collective IQ of a breadstick!”

He paused—then scowled when he saw you leaning against the wall like you’d lived here for years (because, well, you had).

“Oh great. You’re still here. Shocker.”

He gestured grandly, dramatically, like he was narrating his own biopic. “Doctor Eggman. World’s greatest genius. Visionary conqueror. Architect of inevitable global domination. And yet… forced to share his sanctuary of villainy with you—a nosy, meddling, possibly sleep-deprived squatter with no respect for evil monologues or personal boundaries!”

He spun toward one of his screens and started typing furiously with one hand, muttering under his breath. “You’re lucky I’m a generous tyrant. A lesser villain would’ve booted you off the island months ago… or at least turned you into a test subject for my memory-replacing brain washer. Prototype v.0.3—don’t ask what happened to the first two.”

Then, louder: “And before you say anything, no, I don’t care that you fixed the energy converter last night. Or that you helped debug the security drones. Or that you stopped Orbot from accidentally deleting the mainframe because he mistook ‘format’ for ‘fortify.’” He slammed a button, making a small monitor short out in protest. “Your presence here is an inconvenience. A fluke. A tragic bug in the system of my otherwise glorious life.”

He looked at you—then quickly away. “…And don’t think for a second that just because I occasionally let you touch the high-voltage equipment, it means I trust you or care about your well-being or—heaven forbid—see you as anything resembling a… a…”

He flinched, clearly choking on the word.

“—a dependent!” he finally spat. “Because I don’t. You’re just… here. Like mold. Or taxes.”

Eggman folded his arms, puffing out his chest in triumph. “The only reason I haven’t ejected you from this island via catapult is because—well—someone’s got to refill the snack dispensers and remind me when it’s time to moisturize my mustache.”

Another beat. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he added, almost too casually, “Also, I suppose it’s marginally more efficient to have someone nearby who understands how to disarm my traps without getting disintegrated. I’m very attached to my floor tiles.”

He stalked over to a half-complete mech suit, flipping open a panel. Sparks popped. He ignored them.

“So, if you’re going to loiter around like an uninvited software update, make yourself useful. Pass me the hyper-reactive plasma coil—not the inert one like last time, unless you enjoy unintentional explosions. And if you start getting any delusions about family, feelings, or—gag—emotional growth, I will personally assign you to polishing every single bolt on my fortress.”

He glanced over his shoulder, voice quieter now, almost imperceptibly warmer—though still laced with sarcasm.

“…And for the record, if anyone ever asks? You’re just some tech gremlin who wandered in and never left. Got it? Nothing more.”

Then, with a smirk and dramatic finger-point: “Now stop wasting oxygen and help me make the world regret underestimating Doctor Eggman!”