Mobian Daylife #4: Root the Cicada

 The cicada saw it all from the vents. Not just the fight between the sheep and the border collie just now, but everything that had transpired here at the Restoration headquarters these past few months.
None of which had been as exciting as the Kuthul raid and seeing Laik the Wolf in action, taking down that giant ape.
Root the Cicada, barely thirteen years old and self-taught computer wizard and quote-on-quote master hacker, had burrowed his way into the comically large air vent network that spread through the Restoration’s office like a nervous system. His small size making it easy to move through the building, listening in on important, top-secret conversations. He’d felt just like a secret agent or a ninja, sneaking through the building.
Shortly after making his way into the building via a secret entrance from a nearby sewer, Root committed himself to setting up shop somewhere no one would ever go looking, and that was where he’d found the ventilation maintenance room. One had to go in from above or crawl through the vents themselves to gain access to it. His line of thinking had been, as long as he personally kept it working optimally, no one had any reason to come down there and potentially stumble across the home he’d constructed for himself.
And that was how he’d lived the last several months, collecting info and then sharing it with various individuals outside of the Restoration.
Using a VPN that he installed and uninstalled on the sole PC on the basement floor, Root had anonymously contacted multiple news outlets and independent journalists with info he’d thought would damage the reputation of the Restoration. Something he’s sworn he would do from the moment he left the decaying remains of his village in the Swampland Zone, if not outright destroy it.

When Root was younger, it was his hometown that had been one of the first to be razed under the rising power of the Egg Empire. He’d lost his only two living guardians under the foot of a massive Death Egg Robot.
After the army had moved on, his village and those who had survived were left in a dead or dying state. SOS calls were sent out to the Resistance Army, but none were ever answered.
As Root watched person after person slowly die off, be it from injury or by starvation, he vowed that he would personally dismantle the so-called heroes of Mobius himself. He hated them with a passion. Hated all of them, but especially Sonic. That, he and Robotnik could agree on.
That passion had fueled him. Kept him going, long after he’d left the remains of his town behind, leaving the Swampland Zone to the far south and venturing north. Scraping by on the streets, moving from town to town as he made his way to Central City. 
Root was forced to grow up far before his time, having been left alone in a world that was steadily falling under the control of Robotnik. 
And it was he alone who celebrated on the war-torn streets when word had gotten out that the evil doctor had kidnapped Sonic and was reportedly being tortured.
With Sonic out of the picture, Root continued his slow trek to the north, stealing and scrapping with Badniks and Mobians displaced by the war alike as he went. 
By the time he’d felt good and ready to invade the Resistance HQ, the war had ended, and Knuckles, like he had done so when the urgent requests for help had come in from Swampland Zone, had abandoned the cause and returned to his floating island, where it was safe, high above the worries of earth-dwellers like Root.
From the ashes of the Resistance rose the Restoration. Little good it’d do, he thought. His town was gone, and likely any remaining survivors were long dead. They couldn’t restore it or his childhood. They had deprived him of everything in life, all because Sonic couldn’t end Robotnik’s life.
It was all Sonic the Hedgehog’s fault!

And now he’d been found out. The big boobed sheep had heard him in the vents. The days of pillaging the break room’s fridge at night, then watching people argue over who ate whose leftovers. Spying on the people in the showers. Leaking private intel in exchange for spicy photos of girls in their bras. It was all over!
“Time to bail!” Root declared as his wings began to move, propelling the small insect Mobian forward through the—for him at least—spacious vents, up a single floor and into the maintenance room. He grabbed a duffel bag that had Tex the Border Collie’s nametag on it and started stuffing whatever he could into it.
“Attention all Restoration employees,” Lanolin’s voice rang out over the building’s loudspeaker, “We have a spy in the building’s ventilation system. I want everyone to find an exit closest to them and lock it down. No one in or out of the building until further notice!”
“Crap, crap, crap, crap!” Root repeated to himself over and over, feeling the sweat run down the carapace-like green skin that covered his body. He’d had a good run, if only he hadn’t bribed that stupid otter, she’d never have come here and run her mouth about him.
The duffle bag stuffed to overflowing, he draped it around his neck and attempted to fly. His wings hummed, but weren’t strong enough to propel him and his stuff. 
Frantically, he climbed the bars up to the hatch. Having checked it numerous times in the past, he knew it would lead out into the alleyway beside the building’s central air conditioning unit. No one would be looking there, he thought, twisting the circular lever to unlock the hatch.
No sooner than the door opened, the intake pulling in fumes and humid summer air, did a hand reach down, taking him by the shoulder in a vice grip and yanking him out of the hole.
“Hey, leggo, you’re gonna tear it off—!!“ He locked eyes with the sheep he’d seen beat the snot out of that braggart of a dog just a few short minutes ago.
“Crap.” Was all that he could muster.