PROLOGUE
She perused the latest numbers. They were promising.
That was, if success could be called a victory. She dropped the data pad to her desk. Doubt had been nagging at her conscience. Over and over again. Since that moment, reaching out to question her commanding officer, she had not been able to sleep. Good news for the project, of course.
But bad news for her.
The Research Core was hardly the most comforting of places to call ‘home’. Walls of stark, bare rock and a floor of polished chrome were not conducive to unwinding and relieving such stress. The lead developer flashed back to the joys of her house. It overlooked a pristine shore along Emerald Beach. On nights such as this one, she would relax on the porch and watch the stars above. No technology. No projects. No numbers. Just the antithesis of her career, a glass of wine and something on the radio.
Passion for research and development only went so far. She was a human being, a relatively young and pretty one at that. She had a soul. Contrary to the common misconception of those who built weapons, she had a moral centre. A limit.
A limit against which Project: RPM was currently slamming against.
Through spectacles she gazed at her colleagues. They were her subordinates. Working with her orders, around the edges of the vast subterranean pit that dominated the Research Core’s main space. She wondered, for a brief instant, whether such orders would stretch to mutiny. It tempted her to try. Not an illegal power grab... nothing so savage, no. But rather from a moral standpoint.
Sabotage the project. End the future before it had begun.
End the guilt.
She prodded her spectacles further up her nose. It was nerves. She was simply too nervous an individual to take such a bold risk. Hers was not the decision to make, after all. She was a scientist, not a military commander.
Just build the weapons.
Let others worry how to use them. Let others carry the guilt of watching them detonate. Of watching them annihilate their target.
Whatever that target may be.
To that end, she picked up the data pad and gave the numbers one final scan. If such results were true, then construction had been completed. Project: RPM was finished. It would launch and it would deliver. Her team would be rewarded with a nice bonus. That porch overlooking the Emerald Beach drew ever-closer to reality.
She looked up at the heavy blast door gouged from the rock nearby.
It was ready.
ACT ONE
“Sir, CommSat has a Priority One communication from the President.”
After a tirade of shocks to his system, the Commander had nothing but training to fall back and call upon. He straightened himself to full height. The news had to sink in for a second. At least it was positive. Made a change.
The President of the United Federation was alive. Out of his coma. Talking. Undamaged in mind, if not body.
“Shadow,” the soldier addressed the hedgehog before him. “Get out. Now.”
“I’ll be waiting,” came a frosty reply. “This isn’t over.”
Watching him leave, privacy ensured, the Commander smoothed over his grey tunic. It was not a video conference. Priority One communication meant there was no time to establish any proper link. Voice only... yet this was his president, his leader. The only authority higher than he. Instinct, rather than vanity, dictated his actions. He cleared his throat. Aligned his uniform by the collar.
And then approached the speaker embedded in the metal wall.
“Mister President, sir?”
“Good to hear your voice, Commander,” the President responded warmly. It was with much medical fuss that he had been returned to his hospital bed. Various tubes and wires had been reconnected. Several quick tests had been made, too, but his ultimate orders had defeated any further delay.
The telephone in his hand was shaking slightly. Tanned skin had turned pale. A product of blood loss. Nothing unfixable before appearing in public to reassure the global audience who had watched him gunned down on a podium.
“I want an update,” he asked into the receiver. “Where do we stand?”
“Are you sure you’re in a fit state to worry about that, sir?” the Commander wondered out loud. “You’ve been through a lot.”
The President laughed. “And have you heard from the VP in my absence?”
“Well... no, but...”
“Thought not. Logan is as indecisive as they come. He’s probably cowering in the bunker at the moment. No, Commander, I’m back. The buck stops here.” There was a small flinch from chest pain that punctuated his dramatic proclamation. It was hard to miss. Before any protest could resume, however, the President overcame any discomfort and resumed taking charge of the situation. “Like I said, I want an update.”
“You’re not going to enjoy this, sir,” came forewarning. “The assassin who shot you was a member of the Nemesis.”
“The terrorist group? Causing trouble since the Black Arms invasion?”
“The same. We have discovered that they’re sentient machines, much more in number than we previously feared. They also managed to infiltrate GUN with a mercenary agent, who has just been exposed and dealt with... by Agent Shadow.”
Despite his injury, the President sat upright. “Shadow the Hedgehog? He accepted an agent status after all?”
“Well, he actually asked for it, but that’s beside the point.”
“Then there is hope...”
“Sir, I won’t bore you with the case details. Sufficed to say, we have to act quickly in order to move against the Nemesis. I have reason to believe they’re targeting GUN, having already attempted to kill you, in an effort to destabilise the United Federation and seize control of the government.”
Mood buoyed by the mention of a certain heroic hedgehog. Pain was starting to subside. In short seconds, a full recovery was underway. Sharp mind. Steely resolve. A leadership ability that got him elected. “Details,” he urged.
“Mr. President, I have a confession to make. This could all be my fault.”
That was definitely a surprise to hear. “How so?”
“They know about Project: RPM... and I reactivated it, after you were shot. When we knew the Nemesis were machines, I... I saw no other choice, sir.”
“Then deactivate it!”
“Sir?!”
“If this is the reason they’re coming after you, deactivate it! Right now! That’s an order!”
“But shouldn’t we consider launching it?”
“Out of the question!” Beside his hospital bed, the heart monitor attached to the President accelerated in a frantic crescendo of electronic beeps. “Even if you managed to get a working prototype assembled, there is a reason we blacklisted that project! This is a direct order from your commander-in-chief! Decommission it! Immediately!”
There was a pause on the line. The heart monitor continued to beep loudly. Only when the voice of the Commander returned did it slow. “Alright, sir. I’ve contacted the Research Core and given the order.”
Sighing, the President closed his eyes. “I do appreciate the sentiment, Abe.”
“May I ask a question, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
Unease trembled in the normally curt tenor of the old soldier. “I had my own doubts, but it was the Nemesis who shot you. Don’t you want peace?”
“Real peace is not just the absence of conflict,” came the honest reply. “It is the presence of justice... and it would not be justice to wipe them out. It would be revenge. We must both rise above such primal instinct. We must both hold ourselves to a higher standard. Not so that we may please our public. But rather so that we may sleep at night.”
It was not the answer of a politician, nor was it the answer of a fighter. It was the answer of a man. Of a good man.
The conversation came to a natural end. “Thank you, Mister President.”
“No, Commander. Thank you.”
Bad luck had landed him with the graveyard shift. It was a boring post, in a fantastical place where boring posts were not supposed to exist. An entire subterranean military facility. Lit by strips of pulsing blue light. Walls and doors made of a frosted glass, opacity adjustable in the blink of an eye. Satellites and technology that could reach around the planet like an armoured gauntlet. Crushing the bad guys. Protecting the good. Weapons to match. Rail guns that could shoot through walls and other cool stuff.
But he had drawn the short straw. Literally, in the barracks ten minutes previous, selected it from his superior’s clenched fist. As had his bunkmate. At least they were close. In the worst, the graveyard shift was undertaken with somebody one disliked.
They sat alongside one another. Dozens of monitors were supposed to hold their undivided attention. Glowing green, they showed various camera angles from above the facility in night vision. Defence. See a threat coming before it came... but nobody ever came. Nobody knew the location of the GUN facility.
So how could an enemy attack them, if they did not know where to look?
“Blackjack.”
“You’re kidding! Let me see those cards!”
Alas, it was true. The king of hearts and the ace of spades. Twenty-one, right off the bat. It was rare enough to warrant a small celebratory chuckle from his partner. No fair. That made five hands in a row.
“Damn... you don’t even have to do anything to kick my ass at this game...”
“I’m just that good,” came a teasing smirk. “Or you’re just that bad.”
The deck of cards was thrown across the perimeter observation centre. So lively was their boisterous dispute that neither man noticed Camera #47. Neither man noticed the odd flicker on the image. Neither man cared.
After all, nobody ever came, did they?
ACT TWO
The Commander marched back to the centre of the Bullpen. There was a youthful spring to his polished boots. It was as though a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders... or from his conscience.
Either way, it was clearly noticeable. A curious Shadow the Hedgehog walked past various workstations and terminals to approach and enquire. As he did so, a trio of diverse detectives followed in his wake. Team Chaotix had a vested interest in the Nemesis. There was no rule, nor regulation that would manage to pry them from the nerve centre of the GUN facility. Not when they had an armadillo to save.
When the Commander moved to dismiss them, Shadow shook his head. “You owe them an apology,” he said.
“I suppose that’s true,” admitted the old soldier. It was rare to see him so honest. Whatever chord the President had struck, it had been a beneficial one. “Gentlemen,” he wielded the full might of his authority. “On behalf of the Guardian Units of Nations, you have my sympathy and my regret. And my thanks.”
Vector the Crocodile could hardly match such eloquence. “Don’t mention it!”
“What did the President have to say?” asked Shadow quickly. He was eager to strike while the iron was hot. Having removed their turncoat from within the ranks of GUN, the Nemesis would be desperate to strike back. “What is RPM?”
“As of now, a discontinued project,” the Commander revealed.
Multiple frowns. “Explain?”
The superior took his central chair and arched his fingers. No longer could he hide behind a wall of red tape. Nobody present would take ‘classified’ as an answer. Had that not been the biggest mistake all along? Had he not just chastised Shadow for acting alone? They were all in this together. They were all supposed to be working together. Uniting under a flag of peace to protect the innocent. To stop the Nemesis. To save the world. The Commander took a deep breath and began. They would judge his error... but not as harshly as he judged himself. Not a chance.
“Project: RPM was a classified weapon of mass destruction,” he told them as they gathered around to listen. “It went into development shortly before the Black Arms invasion. It stands for ‘Radiological Pulse Missile’ and is a warhead of incredible power. It uses a nuclear fusion to create an electromagnetic pulse.”
Charmy Bee had lost track, but everybody else understood.
“We started brainstorming after it became clear we needed a method to contain Dr. Eggman and his robotic armies,” a weathered visage went on. “Fire a single pulse and instantly disable anything with an electronic component.”
“Smart move,” observed Espio the Chameleon.
“That’s what we thought. Unfortunately, all our working prototypes were too dangerous to the user. To cause widespread damage, we needed insane amounts of nuclear fusion. When it came to testing, those who fired the RPM were exposed to lethal amounts of radiation. They didn’t survive long afterwards. The entire project was deemed a failure, but I ordered them to continue development anyway.”
Shadow was beginning to piece everything together. Every word from the Commander was slotting into place like a mental building block.
“But then,” the story progressed, “the Black Arms invaded. They were an organic threat, so the RPM was no use against them. Coupled with the lethal radiation by-product, there was no choice but to blacklist the project... especially when the President found out about it. Ethics were in danger of getting a little muddy in the heat of war. We managed to salvage a few of the concepts. Our extensive research on electromagnetism helped build a barrier shield for a mech-suit codenamed Diablon... the U78-X/D. The work wasn’t for nothing. I was happy, so everything else got stuffed in a drawer and classified.”
“Then the Nemesis show up,” Vector snapped his jaws to deduce. “But whadda ya mean, as of now? If ya blacklisted the project during the invasion, how come we’re still talkin’ about it today? What’s goin’ on?”
The Commander writhed in his seat. “I restarted Project: RPM yesterday.”
“What?!”
“I know, I know... and in retrospect, it was the wrong decision! An emotional decision that I made as a father, as a friend... as a grandfather. Anything but a commander.” Dual-coloured eyes lowered in shame. “A Nemesis shot the President. We had just found out that they were a race of sentient machines. There was a traitor running around inside GUN someplace. I got desperate and I made a mistake.”
For a long time, silence resonated in the Bullpen. During the night, workers were scant, and those present wore headsets or were simply too professional to eavesdrop. Keyboards clicked and computers hummed.
It was the silence of words that resonated.
It took a moment for Shadow to bring himself to speak. When he eventually did, there was genuine disappointment in his voice.
“And this is the humanity I’m supposed to protect...”
The Commander had to highlight the irony. “Nobody’s perfect, Agent Shadow.”
Odd flickering was no longer to be found on the screen for Camera #47. It had moved, now across three monitors. Camera #32. There was nothing spectacular about the image it usually displayed. Scrub. A few rocks. Sometimes a desert bird would visit, but it was always passing by. No reason to hang around in such a dull image.
Even picking up their fifty-two discarded playing cards was more interesting than watching each and every screen. The bunkmates had long since forgotten any serious methodology to their recreational games. Blackjack had given way to a simple High Draw. After that proved bragging rights were entirely based on luck, they had regressed to Snap. Each card slammed down by armour-weave fingerless gloves. Jovial laughter akin to that of children. Sidearms a mere piece of metal as their bullets were used as in-game currency. It was a juxtaposition, to be certain, but a rather innocent one.
Just as one rather loud protest of defeat was emitted, the door to the perimeter observation post slid aside. Both soldiers instantly regretted their neglect of duty. They could not jump to their feet fast enough.
With piercing blue eyes, Captain Stone surveyed the scene. “Having fun, are we?”
“Sir, no sir!” they barked in unison. Lying.
They were waved down. “Relax, gentlemen... the graveyard shift is perhaps the only shift I would take lightly myself.” A sinister pause sliced through their smiles of relief. “Then again, that’s probably because my rank lets me get away with it. As soon as your shift here ends in the morning, report for cleaning duty in the hangar bay. Double time.”
“Sir, yes sir!”
Stone had enjoyed that. Being pushed aside to complete paperwork as a punishment never was going to agree with his power-mad persona. Sooner or later, he had to find some heads to bash together. The night shift of the perimeter observation post was always guaranteed to find those with a more casual attitude to orders. With smug satisfaction, he relished the upset his intervention had caused.
Then simply turned on his heel and left the room.
Just in time to miss the odd flickering jump from Camera #32 to Camera #31.
ACT THREE
It was five minutes later, as Captain Stone was heading back to his office, when he rounded a corner and almost collided with Shadow the Hedgehog.
“Oh,” hissed a redundant observation from the taller. “It’s you.”
There was a wordless nod in reply.
Stone still felt himself spoiling for a fight. Here was the individual responsible for exposing his heavy-handed tactics while interrogating Team Chaotix. The untouchable hero. The blasé new favourite of the Commander. There was a potent temptation to return to the early days of their tricky relationship.
To the hostility. To the bullying.
To the hatred.
But then Stone made note of the mood surrounding Shadow. It was not his usual emotional distance. Nor was it a brusque, surly attitude of superiority. No... strangely enough, there was real disenchantment on his face.
“What is it?” the captain asked with little delicacy.
The hedgehog immediately tried to dismiss the question. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You don’t always have to be invincible,” Stone pressed on. “It just comes across as being arrogant. I’m your superior officer, Agent Shadow, or had you forgotten? Off the case, but I still outrank you.” He crouched down to draw level with a seething red stare. “Don’t make it an order. What is it?”
“Why do you even care?” Shadow wondered aloud.
Stone gave a nonchalant shrug. “You saved my backside at Circus Park, remember? If I can rid myself of this debt I owe you, the sooner the better in my book.”
There was a snort of amusement.
“I know,” the GUN second-in-command retorted. “I’m charming, aren’t I?”
All three were staring into the seemingly-bottomless pit at the centre of the Research Core when the lead developer approached them. She did so with care. To startle somebody near the edge would be to potentially never see them again. In the background, standing alongside the main entrance, an escort soldier waited patiently. It had been a while since she had seen those who wielded her weapons.
But for now, her focus was the trio of curious visitors. They were a challenge to miss, after all. She stepped closer and cleared her throat.
“They say if you stare down it long enough, you go mad,” she warned, semi-serious.
“Oh,” the tallest apologised, “sorry!”
“Can I help you?”
Vector the Crocodile introduced himself. “We’re Team Chaotix!”
“I know who you are,” the lead developer smiled as she adjusted her spectacles. It was not every day global heroes visited the remote furnace of the Research Core. Heck, visitors were scarce in general.
Only then did she note the youngest detective: Charmy Bee was fast asleep, draped over the broad shoulders of his boss. Not that they referred to themselves in such professional terms during such a crisis. When the going got tough, and when emotions ran high, they were more akin to brothers than anything else.
A yellow horn was aimed at the lead developer. “Project: RPM... where is it?”
“I see,” she nodded. Walking and talking, she led them past laboratory equipment towards a gargantuan blast door. It had such visual force to it. Almost as if it had been stamped into the rock wall. “In there.”
The window was only small. Espio the Chameleon peered through.
There was little detail to see from such a viewpoint. A catwalk of bare steel hugged the side of a chamber that was not particularly wide. Like the inside of a hosepipe tube, it stretched on vertically. Beyond what the window would allow to see. Perhaps to the surface above them, and perhaps as deep as the pit behind. The silo itself was unimportant. What mattered was the silo content. It stood to fill the centre of the tube. Grey metal. Unpainted. Cold and isolated, as a weapon should be.
The Radiological Pulse Missile.
Project: RPM.
“How long until you successfully decommission the warhead?” asked Espio of their host in the subterranean laboratory. “Until it’s safe?”
“Several hours, unfortunately,” she lamented. None of her colleagues had felt relief equal to hers when the Commander ordered the cancellation of the project. “It will be tricky. The one you see in there is fully functional... and therefore incredibly hazardous. You can’t even enter the silo without exposure.”
“Well,” Vector said quietly so as not to wake the bee on his back, “if we can help, anythin’ ya need, just yell. We gotta whole bunch’a skills between us, an’ wanna stick around until we see that thing gone forever!”
“That’s a very noble gesture. May I ask for what reason?”
“We gotta old friend who hates this thing. I reckon we owe it to him, to see it destroyed, an’ it means we can tell him the good news ourselves!”
The lead developer had no objection. “In that case, welcome to the Research Core.”
Dozens of levels and sublevels above, Captain Stone poured out two cups of coffee in the privacy of his office. He sipped from one as he handed the other to Shadow. It was a guess as to whether the hedgehog would actually drink it. But at least the gesture was there. At least it was not rejected.
“It’ll recharge your energy levels,” Stone said without thinking.
Shadow gazed longingly into the black liquid. If only it were that simple. If only he could regain his ultimate power. Then none of this would have happened. None of this would be an issue. If he was the weapon he was designed to be, he could stand against the Nemesis and be victorious. The Commander would have no need to create deadly missiles. The President may not have been shot. Mighty the Armadillo would not have aligned with terrorists. Would have preserved his dignity and heroism.
Funny. How he hated being a thing to be used... and yet how he missed it, too. As he drank the coffee, he almost wished it would do as Stone had promised. The whole cup disappeared in one gulp.
All it did was taste bitter.
“Somebody was thirsty, I guess,” the captain noted as he poured another cup. “So, come on then. Out with it. What’s bothering you?”
Shadow sighed. “Humanity,” came the short answer.
“This is about RPM, isn’t it?”
Amazed that one so emotionally icy could be so accurate in a diagnosis, Shadow struggled to find a proper response. As the lengthy pause developed, he could only think of one thing to make a reply. “How do you know about that?”
“I may be off the case,” Stone sneered, “but I’m not blind. Besides... a short, nasty, brutal weapon of mass destruction? Who do you think helped design it? As soon as the project was restarted, my system flagged me. To be honest, I didn’t think the Commander had such balls anymore... some good news, I guess.”
Shadow shot him down. “It isn’t good news. The RPM is wrong.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is. The Commander knows that now.”
Crestfallen, Stone slumped in his seat. “Shame. You know, he used to be such a formidable soldier. Made men quake in their boots. Made tough, hardline decisions. Sent troops to die in battle without wallowing in self-pity afterwards. I almost admired him, and adopted some of his detached personality for myself.”
The hedgehog could not dispute. He had seen that version of the Commander for himself. It was a frightening prospect, to have it return.
But it would not.
Not now. Not after the intervention of conscience.
“Having developed RPM,” Shadow asked of his host, curious as to whether he truly was an incarnation of a younger Commander. “Seeing the Nemesis attack the President... what would you have done?”
“Oh, I’d have nuked the bastards,” Stone admitted without hesitation. “More coffee?”
EPILOGUE
“There it is again!”
Since being subjected to a heavy reprimand, the two soldiers stuck with the graveyard shift had gradually started to pay attention to their security monitors. Helmets were discarded. The heavy weight only served to intensify any headaches caused by the endless green glow of the images spread before their ever-tiring eyes. With newfound clarity, it had taken mere minutes to notice something was amiss.
“What,” his bunkmate frowned at him. “The same flickering?”
“The same flickering,” echoed confirmation. “Seems to have jumped from Camera #7 now, though... I’ve got it on Camera #5. It almost forms a shape, if you squint at it... come here and check it out!”
Combat gear leaned over combat gear. “You’re right.”
“Any theories?”
“I want to say ‘glitch’ but...” The guard trailed off. An eerie silence of contemplation befell the perimeter observation post. When it was broken, it was hardly reassuring. “Totally unlike any glitch I’ve ever seen. Almost looks like something’s out there. The system diagnostic was a clean one, wasn’t it?”
His friend nodded sharply. “Not even a grain of dust on the lens.”
For a further silence, the two men held their breath and watched the monitors. The wait was a short one. After seeming to drift like a mist across the barren landscape, the odd flickering disappeared from Camera #5.
Only to reappear at the edges of Camera #4.
“That does it. I’m going out there.”
“Stay safe.”
The bunkmate was two steps from the door leading out into the night. He paused, turning to flash teeth over his shoulder. “Hey,” he grinned cockily, “it’s me!”
One more step was taken.
And then the door exploded in a vicious fireball.
No armour existed to protect an individual at such close range. Struggling to overcome the jarringly unexpected detonation, the only remaining soldier scrambled to his feet. Hands went to fumble for a sidearm. Before they found the pistol grip, he was no longer alone inside the perimeter observation post. Smoke. Flame. Twisted metal debris. All joined him. All posed a serious threat.
None moreso, however, than the three Nemesis in the midst of the chaos.
The leading mass of leather and neon noticed the young officer on duty. In a single leap, he was atop the hapless human. What happened next was to become the first of many gruesome murders.
“Advance Team, report.”
The Nemesis dropped the corpse without respect. Gloves found the communication device and answered.
“We are inside. You may proceed.”
Written by Glenn Scully
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