The ocean was calm that morning — unnervingly calm.
The kind of calm that meant something big was about to happen.
Eggman sat in his command chair, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, watching the incoming blips on his tactical display. His drones were already in place, maintaining the grand illusion of the towering Eggman Land fortress.
Today was not just another day of posturing. Today was the first official diplomatic contact from the United States.
The Arrival of the Liaison Fleet.
The main vessel was a sleek, white-painted government liaison ship — the USS Resolute. The insignia of the United States Hero Bureau was emblazoned along its hull, a golden eagle clutching a starburst shield. This was the Bureau's diplomatic arm, the "clean" part of the government — the one America still trusted.
Trailing the Resolute were three smaller ships: two escort cutters and a heavy carrier. The carrier deck bristled with movement. Through his magnification drones, Eggman spotted the telltale swagger and brightly colored gear of Supes — hero-class individuals. They were here as "security," but he knew their real purpose. Show of force.
Eggman's fingers drummed on the console.
"Let's give them a reason to keep their distance…"
He pressed a command, and fifty Egglusion drones shifted formation, converging on a false cannon protrusion halfway up the holographic fortress wall. In reality, there was no cannon there — only a synchronized hologram projected from multiple angles and the combined energy output of dozens of drones.
The "cannon" began to glow, cycling up through bright amber to searing white-blue. Sensors on the approaching ships spiked, alarms blaring — they were reading it as an energy weapon on par with an anti-ship laser.
Eggman let them sweat for ten seconds.
Then he fired.
A column of blinding energy lanced downward into the ocean with a roar. Steam exploded into the sky, vaporizing a massive swath of seawater and leaving a glowing crater of mist where the beam had struck. Every microphone in a five-mile radius caught the deafening hiss.
Inside the drones, energy reserves plummeted — 60% of their combined battery storage gone in one discharge. But the effect was worth it.
The comms crackled with urgency from the Resolute's bridge.
"Eggman Land, this is the USS Resolute. Was that an attack? Repeat, was that an attack?"
Eggman's voice — deep, distorted, and booming from the holographic Eggman — came back instantly.
"A warning. I aim to negotiate, not annihilate. But the terms are mine. No Supes set foot on Eggman Land. You want to talk? Send your humans."
The comm line went silent for several seconds. He could imagine the argument happening right now — Supes insisting on going ashore, government liaisons insisting on not provoking a potential sovereign entity with a beam cannon that could vaporize a destroyer.
Finally, the Bureau responded.
"Acknowledged… no Supes. Negotiation team will deploy."
Eggman gave the order. The drones opened a single docking corridor — not the real fortress entrance, of course, but a concealed passage leading into a scan chamber.
As the Bureau's launch craft approached, Eggman's Baymax-derived security robots lined the corridor. Plump-bodied, smooth-armored, and wide-eyed with friendly AI expressions, they still carried the mass and strength of reinforced titanium-carbon plating. Their scanning eyes swept over each incoming official in blue UN-style jackets.
A few of the officials flinched when the robots' manipulator arms passed close to their faces. Eggman noted every microexpression from his security feed.
Once the last human cleared the scan and no hidden weapons or trackers were found, the robots escorted them deeper into the fortress.
The Bureau negotiators stepped into the central hub — a wide, polished chamber with mechanical walls that hissed softly with hidden machinery. The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil.
And there he was.
Doctor Ivo Robotnik. The Eggman.
Round-bodied, bald head gleaming under the lights, brown mustache jutting out like a pair of steel bristles. He wore a modified red coat with black slacks, but there was something about the way he stood — confident, hands clasped behind his back — that made him seem larger than life.
The Bureau's chief liaison, a woman named Alexandra Pratt, froze halfway into the room. Her eyes widened as she saw the seven machines circling him — sleek guardian drones, each cradling a shimmering, perfectly cut jewel. Red, green, blue, yellow, purple, cyan, white. The Chaos Emeralds.
The drones orbited him in perfect synchronization, light from the gems dancing across the metal walls.
Eggman's smile widened, just enough to be unsettling.
"How's it feel," he said, voice carrying a strange mix of humor and menace, "knowing I have unlimited energy swirling around me?"
Only the Bureau team could hear him directly, but Eggman knew every member wore miniature cams transmitting back to their HQ. And he made sure his words were aimed not just at the negotiators — but at everyone behind those feeds.
He stepped forward slowly, letting the Emeralds glint with every movement.
"You've seen my cannon. You've seen my fortress. Now you see the truth — I hold the single most valuable power source on Earth. Seven of them. No reactor, no oil field, no alien artifact compares."
Pratt didn't respond. She was playing the diplomat's game — silence until she had leverage.
The Offer
Eggman finally clasped his hands in front of him.
"Let's get to the point. You have… a hero problem. Not the Bureau. Not your President. But the corporations, the celebrity Supes, the ones that care more about endorsements than lives."
No one contradicted him. They didn't need to. Everyone knew Vought's reach.
"I'm offering you something better. Every month, I will deliver to your cities — every city — hundreds, no, thousands of robots. Medical units to replace overworked hospitals. Combat units to deal with emergencies without collateral damage. Rescue bots for disasters, fires, earthquakes, you name it. All fully autonomous, all networked to my systems, all incorruptible."
One of the negotiators scoffed. "And what do you get out of this?"
Eggman leaned in slightly.
"America on my side. That's it. You want to spin it as humanitarian aid, spin it. You want to call it a joint project, call it that. But I want one thing clear — Eggman Land is sovereign. You don't invade me, you don't sabotage me, and you don't let your Supes anywhere near my territory."
Pratt finally spoke, carefully.
"You realize the President won't authorize something like this without… oversight."
Eggman chuckled. It was a warm, almost grandfatherly sound — but his eyes stayed cold.
"Your President isn't happy with Vought. He knows Supes are liabilities wrapped in capes. I'm handing him the one thing they can't give — reliable, tireless, unbribable service. You think he'll turn that down because it's coming from me?"
The silence that followed wasn't disagreement. It was consideration.
The meeting ended with no formal treaty signed, but Eggman had planted the seed. The Bureau team left with the promise to bring his proposal directly to the President. They didn't know it yet, but they'd just taken the first step toward legitimizing Eggman Land.
As the last launch craft pulled away, Eggman leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath. The drones were already recharging. The cannon illusion would be ready again in hours.
He tapped a button, watching as the Emeralds floated back into their containment mounts.
"Unlimited energy," he murmured to himself. "And soon… unlimited influence."
The game had just begun.