"Well, one reason we didn't mash your head in right away is because you're not a spy. The last thing we need is to be sitting on someone that could have a radio chip stuck in their skull. We might have a lot of stuff, but one thing we don't have much of is places to hide, and we need to hold on to what we can get."

"And you might be a chick with money, we haven't had time to check, so—"

He shrugged.

"That's not really the reason we didn't kill you, though. The reason we didn't kill you is because—well, we're—"

He stopped.

"Do you know why we destroyed that building?"

"Hah! It was fun. Man," Coop shook his head, laughing quietly.

"…Nah, though—the reason we attacked that building," and the Eagle looked her levelly in the eye, seemingly devoid of any sarcasm or facetiousness, "was for you."

"You. To give you a chance."

Coop leaned forward towards her.

"You know that GUN's about twice as responsible for the disasters caused by Dr. Eggman than Dr. Eggman is? Every time he's attacked, GUN's been about half an hour late to the scene, attacking with weapons that are either straight out of the junkyard or straight out of the test lab. GUN is inefficient, it's expensive, and it's confused. It's barely able to keep itself running—forget protecting the millions of people that trust it.

"Not only does it divert billions of dollars in tax money, it ties itself up in so much bureaucracy that no-one ever sees where the money goes, until suddenly—" Coop waved his hands around in a mannerism which might be better described by saying 'boogidy-boogidy,' "—Bam, out of no-where, Eggman hijacks a decades-old project to build a weapon capable of destroying this whole planet and uses it to hold the same stupid government that built it hostage. Now, let me ask you which of these three things is more worrying: the idea that they funnelled billions of dollars into a super-weapon they had no reason for; the idea that they funnelled billions of dollars into a super-weapon they did have a reason for; or the idea that, years after building it, not one of them had any idea how to turn it off when it was pointed at them."

Without waiting for an answer, Coop went on.

"Now, Sonic, he's the one protecting them, he's the reason this whole thing still works, but what happens if he gives up, or decides to go on a really long vacation—you've noticed he's been staying away from here longer and longer before coming back—or what if …" and Coop let the word 'if' hang in the air as he drew backed and looked at Ember appraisingly, "what if he gets killed? Who's gonna save us then, huh?"

"This government is sick, and it's useless, and it's about time someone put it out of its misery—for everyone's sake—and that's why we're doing it."

"Oh?" Coop drew back, and stared at her, levelly, "you know, we're not about killing people. That's why I didn't kill you."

"Oh, yeah?"

Coop's voice remained level, but an irritated crease wrinkled his brow.

"Well, I guess we'll never find out."

With that, he extended one colossal hand, and grabbed at Ember's arm to lift her into the air.

"Mnk," Coop grunted heavily, as the kicks connected with his torso.

"Come on, time to get out of here."

He strode to the door of the cabin, as the console computer murmured:

'Warning. Iridium—trichloride—density, 134 parts per million, estimated. Updated depth is average—'

"Tracer!" he called, "could you get the jet injector loaded up with 5ml of midazolam?"

"Thanks," Coop said, grimly accepting it. The boots continued their assault on his gut and chest.

"Right," he said, with a not-entirely-humourous smile on his face, "seeya."

With one brisk moment, he swung the struggling bird under his arm, and—affixing the gun to the back of her neck—made ready to pull the trigger.