PROLOGUE
He had his answers... but what to do with them?
Red eyes glistened as they stared at outstretched hands, encased as they were in white gloves. It was almost as though he could feel the blood on them, soaking through the fabric and pooling in his palms. He had done some drastic things lately. Violence had followed him across the planet. At times, the line between right and wrong had become blurred and he had struggled to contain his awesome power. Eyes closed and fists clenched. He shook his head, trying to clear away the images.
A soldier stood before him. Body armour, tactical gear, all holsters and helmets to shield him from the conflicts he fought... from the violence. Did he seek out that violence, or did he merely seek to end it? Regardless, the soldier had fallen. A hand rose in defeat. There were eyes behind the riot visor, and they did not need to be visible to communicate the fear he was evidently drenched in. “Please,” he had whimpered, “no!”
There was a logo, emblazoned on the shoulder of his armour.
Guardian Units of Nations.
So, he was one of the good guys, this soldier. He was a defender, not an instigator. He had given himself to the struggle for peace. He had devoted his life to protecting the planet from terror, and yet fallen victim to that very same terror... terror caused by his power, caused by his white gloves.
Eyes snapped back open. They blazed crimson as they attempted to comprehend everything they had seen in the flashback. Why was it so painful? One of the good guys had been defeated and it was causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of his stomach. He had never reacted like this before. Before, he had always followed his own path and made his own decisions on what was right and what was wrong. Maria was helpful. The memory of her had crafted a set of guidelines to follow. Her true wish, not the distorted revenge in which he had placed the meaning of his existence... no, it was the protection of humanity. Confusion gave way to clarity. Black Doom, Doctor Eggman and even that noble blue hedgehog. They had all tried to influence him in some way, clouding his judgement and crippling what little morality had survived. He had been a weapon, a thing to be used.
That was why the flashback hurt.
To protect humanity. Not as a weapon, but as a person. As an individual, he could and should use his incredible power to uphold that intent. And so watching a soldier fall by his hand, cowering at his feet, caused him a very distinct kind of pain. It was tricky to nail down but, he finally decided, it was guilt.
Especially when that soldier was just like him.
He got to his feet. Rocket-powered sneakers dug into the dirty concrete as he twisted towards the horizon and cast a defiant gaze across the cityscape ahead. A new day was just starting to dawn.
Only one piece of the flashback remained in his big red eyes.
“The Guardian Units of Nations, huh...?”
ACT ONE
Twin rotor blades thundered overhead. They almost gave the vehicle a heartbeat, turning it from a collection of metal and hardware into a living beast. Teeth were also on display. They folded out and clicked into place underneath the steel chin, warheads glistening white in the desert sun, to snarl at the target below.
All that was needed was the command to fire. With a finger tensed over the trigger, the fresh-faced GUN pilot was sweating through his tactical gear. The FX-474, dubbed as the Night Hawk by those that flew her, was tricky enough to keep in a straight line. Either side of him, the pilot was deafened by the gigantic coaxial tilt-rotor blades that were currently angled vertically to throw the Night Hawk forward. Adding glare from the sun to the cockpit made him almost as blind as he was deaf.
He had to focus on the objective. Training was desperately eager to take over, and so he relented, allowing the various negative factors to become mere obstacles from his academy days. Suddenly the glare was no problem: he was supposed to be looking at his targeting screen, anyway. The noise became reassuring, the heartbeat of the Night Hawk comforting and steady. He was in control. He was the pilot, the brain of the beast... not like the cold, logical circuitry of the squadron of Sky Hawk robots that flanked him. With a clarity that surprised him, he gazed out from beneath his helmet and surveyed the target.
The rear carriage of the train was racing across the desert at hundreds of miles per hour but, from the Night Hawk matching speed above, it seemed almost stationary. Attention turned back to the targeting screen as a brilliantly theatrical crosshair locked on. The white teeth were ready to take a bite.
“GUN Command, this is FX-474,” the pilot stated in a flat, military tone. “Weapons are armed, target locked. Awaiting final clearance to fire.”
“FX-474, this is GUN Command,” replied a gruff voice laden with static. “Weapons free.”
“Roger that. Firing now...”
The trigger went down. The beast roared and took her bite.
With immeasurable force, a brace of the warheads erupted and reached the train in a matter of seconds. The resulting explosion was much bigger than expected, obviously having detonated something hazardous or combustible inside the carriage rather than just the carriage itself. Flame and smoke, hiding lethal shards of debris within, balled up towards the Night Hawk with alarming speed. The pilot yanked back on his control stick with no time to spare and could hear the pinging of impacts beneath his feet. A trail of smouldering darkness followed the hammering beast higher and higher until a clear horizon beckoned.
The flanking Sky Hawks had no such luck. Three of the robots flew straight into the fire, never to be seen again. Two more hit one another in a mad scramble for safety and became abstract art on the desert floor.
“Whoa...” the pilot gasped. “Uh, GUN Command, did you see that?”
“Yeah, we saw it,” the gruff static acknowledged. “They must be keeping their resources as rolling stock. I never imagined they were that well-armed.” There was a pause. “FX-474, confirm status of target. Did we derail them?”
Another glance was taken from beneath the helmet. “Negative.”
It was too difficult to believe. There was a crater in the sand which would burn for weeks, long disappearing behind the pursuit, and yet the train was still moving. Granted, it had no rear carriage now, rather a twisted lump of wreckage on some decidedly shaky wheels. The pilot would chalk up that little victory later. Right now, he had to keep chasing. Four other carriages, plus the powerful engine itself, were still slicing across the desert. And at a speed which kept the Night Hawk flirting with safety limits.
“Damn it,” growled the static. “FX-474, maintain pursuit.”
The pilot nodded. “Roger that.”
It was certainly not the order he had expected, on reflection. There were more warheads to come from the Night Hawk, not to mention a plethora of other hidden weapons. Why not try them all? Why not vaporise the next carriage along and see what happened? If the target was just confirmed to be an even larger threat than previously suspected, letting them reach their destination would be a catastrophe. Through the armour weave of his glove, the pilot teased the trigger again. He was in the zone now. Gone was the sweat and insecurity, and gone was the sensory deprivation, too. Bring it on. Fire again. Vaporise the next carriage and complete the mission objective.
Then things became clear. GUN Command came back on the radio.
“FX-474, disarm weapons. Remain at your current distance and pursue the target until I give you further orders.” Something akin to a sigh broke up the words. “I have just been informed that we have an agent on the train.”
“Say again, GUN Command?!” Insecurity flooded back.
“We have an agent on the train. Do not, I repeat, do not open fire on another carriage.”
Quickly, the pilot agreed.
He was walking past the frontage of an electrical store when he heard it. An early morning news broadcast had been turned on long before any customers would be awake, maybe even left on by mistake from the previous evening’s business.
“...are sketchy at this early hour, but our Frontier Canyon Bureau captured these images almost fifteen minutes ago, where morning has just broken. As you can see, an armoured train is being pursued by GUN forces in what appears to be a violent and deadly situation. Official sources have yet to comment on the exact nature of the threat posed by this train, but our independent experts believe this is another sighting of the mysterious Nemesis, a terror group responsible for widespread unrest in the wake of the Black Arms invasion. We’ll keep you updated as more develops, but now over to Sue with the...”
He turned away. He had little interest in a weather update. That pursuit, however, was an entirely different matter. They were fighting. GUN were fighting. They were trying to protect people from this threat, this... Nemesis, whatever they were. The name was almost certainly conjured up by the same voice that had delivered the news report. Still, a terror group with an armoured train was not something to take lightly. GUN knew that. Hence a running battle across the desert.
And they looked as though they could use some help.
He lifted his head towards the rising sun and made his decision.
She had enjoyed better days. That was for sure.
The destruction of the rear carriage had nearly been a spectacular and grisly end for Rouge the Bat. Her pink-toed high heels had been standing inside it seconds beforehand, on what had become charred remains of steel plating sticking out of the desert sand. She had turned to leave, contents of the cargo examined. There was a roar somewhere above. A wall of heat and pressure had slammed into her back, pushing her into the relative safety of the next compartment with no apology. Her black wings had buckled. Worse, the noise was incredibly painful: it had her wishing she was anything but a bat. Hyper-sensitive ears were still ringing now, almost half an hour since.
Whoever had dreamed up the operational tactic of ‘going dark’ had certainly made her enemy list. Rouge had been forced into breaking radio silence and reporting in before the next carriage along, with her in it, was obliterated too. Then had come stealth. A hulking, ugly Nemesis turned up to investigate the damage. While mere inches from a pair of tense azure eyes, he had received a call from the engine about a mysterious transmission. It made him stay longer.
Bad news for Rouge. In a small and contained space with only one exit, it had simply been a matter of time. She did her valiant best, but an escape route was ultimately one treasure she could not find. The Nemesis had grabbed her.
Now, with ears still ringing, she faced all of his comrades in the clattering engine.
And between them shone the Chaos Emerald they had stolen.
ACT TWO
It was definitely getting serious.
He stood for only a moment. It allowed his motorbike respite in the endless, waterless beach of the desert and gave him a chance to stretch his thin black legs. The scene before him, however, did not require much analysis, and so he was soon back behind the handlebars. A forceful kick from his sneaker made the bike purr.
There was no time to waste. If the crater he had just seen was any indication, the pursuit might be over before he reached it. Or even worse, GUN might lose. After all, those were Sky Hawk robots littering the dusty floor.
A small tsunami of sand sprayed from underneath the rear tyre.
Moments later, he had vanished into the haze.
“Alright, you’ve made your point, boys.”
The Nemesis all wore masks. It made their expressions impossible to discern, but there was definite confusion between the four of them when Rouge had finally spoken. With necks like tree trunks, they turned their heads to one another. One even shrugged. The chains they wore jangled as though laughing at the incarcerated bat.
Rouge wished she could laugh along with them, but there was only so long she could improvise. She needed time... to figure out an escape plan, or a way of snatching the Chaos Emerald. Or perhaps to even wait for rescue? It hardly mattered. In that instant, the swaying engine was commanded by the Nemesis and that was very bad news for her lifespan. She needed time. Before her, they all appeared to be disgruntled bikers. Metal and leather covered their vastly overdeveloped bodies. Neon markings daubed their masks like war paint, and they moved with a lumbering gait. With any luck, they would have the tiny brains to match the stereotypical image they had adopted. Maybe none of them would even know how to use the guns they wore on their belts.
The apparent leader of the Nemesis stepped forward. His male voice was deep and harsh, distorted by the mask. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve proven yourself,” Rouge elaborated. She adopted an attitude that had served her well in her dangerous career. Nobody needed to know that it was mostly faked. “By stealing this Chaos Emerald and this armoured train, you bet that you’ve made yourself worthy of attention.” She risked a smile. “Why, before today, you were nothing but a footnote in some forgotten GUN intelligence report.”
“Footnote...?!”
The Nemesis stormed furiously at her. His gloved hands were balled into fists and his heavy metal boots reverberated on the steel grating. He loomed over his prisoner, easily twice her height, and the cold black lenses in his facade seemed to stare through her own false bravery. Rouge tried not to choke on the industrial stench. It was as though he had eaten machinery and washed it down with crude oil.
“Listen to me, little girl,” the sinister voice hissed. “You know not of what you talk. You have no idea, the plans that we have set in motion today. By the time you realise the extent of our ambition, it will be too late.”
Long eyelashes rose in response. “Really?” It was a desperate attempt to seem impressed by the hyperbolic cliché of the Nemesis. There was a prickly silence between them, drowned out by the rattling noise of the engine. Clearly, the attempt had failed. Rouge changed her tactic. “Well, what if we already know of your ambition? What if we know exactly what you’re planning to do with that Chaos Emerald?”
“This?” The Nemesis chuckled, turning to point at the shining blue gem behind him. “This piece of junk? You think this part of our plans, do you?”
“It was worth a try, honey...”
“I was right about you. You are nothing but a little girl.” The leader turned, unimpressed, to his comrades. They all paid close attention, as though they could see beneath the surface of his mask and read his expressions. Each Nemesis could obviously distinguish various individuals, a gift yet to be bestowed upon Rouge. The leader found the one responsible for capturing her and walked over. “Are you certain she was alone?”
The subordinate nodded. “Yes, definitely alone.”
“Good. Then we can kill her and continue uninterrupted. So long as GUN believe we have her alive, they will refrain from attack.” He wheeled back to face the bat. “And the prospect of listening to her voice for the rest of this journey is repugnant.”
Time felt sluggish. In counterbalance, Rouge felt her heartbeat crescendo beneath her ample chest. Her wings fluttered in panic. Was this really it? She blinked and braced herself for the end. Eyes flashed to the Chaos Emerald. It was a gorgeously rich cobalt blue, managing to glisten even in these dreary surroundings. She wanted to hold it. As a last request. Did the Nemesis do last requests?
There was no time to ask. With a click, a sidearm was levelled at her face.
Outside the engine, the slipstream was hellish.
It tore at his red-tipped spines, threatening to tear them from their black counterparts. He gritted his teeth and gunned the throttle. Beneath him, the motorbike roared in protest and accelerated to dangerous speeds. Faster and faster. Tyres were a blur, rubber versus metal, spinning over and over. His crimson eyes narrowed against the wind.
There it was, just up ahead. Faster.
Angular sneakers hopped up to stand on the saddle. Gloved hands still squeezed the throttle, hanging on to the handlebars for dear life at the same time. He drew closer. Faster. His target was a small handle, protruding from the side of the armour and betraying access to the engine within. Feet became inches. One hand left the handlebars. Fingers splayed and reached out towards it. Faster. The slipstream continued a relentless assault on his body. Just a little more. Faster!
The motorbike hit uneven sand. Handlebars swerved. He started to wobble. “Whoa...!”
It was now or never.
With a powerful jump, he haphazardly slammed into the side of the armoured train. Now riderless, the bike managed to stay upright for a few more seconds before losing control and meeting a spectacular end.
It was of no concern. His left hand was clasped around the handle.
But that was all. Wildly, he thrashed about, buffeted by the momentum as his other arm desperately sought purchase on the smooth armour shell. Legs kicked at air. The handle gave an unsettling creak and started to come loose. In another few seconds, it would snap and he would fall with it, under the wheels.
He reached forward with his spare hand in one final, desperate move.
And caught the handle.
It opened. The heavy access door slid aside. He pulled with all his might, lurching against the hot desert winds and flipping himself into the engine. The slipstream stopped howling in his ears. Knees and toes found solid ground. He had made it. He was safe.
Then he looked up.
To his left, Rouge the Bat. To his right, a gang of armed Nemesis. And directly in front of him, a shining blue Chaos Emerald.
The biggest Nemesis turned an ugly mask towards him. “Just who the hell are you?”
“I’m Shadow,” he announced, standing. “Shadow the Hedgehog!”
ACT THREE
And then the tables were turned.
Rouge was the first element of the situation he dealt with. In a blur, he dashed across and appeared on her opposite side. A lipstick-framed mouth moved to speak, but he ignored it. He also ignored the potent mixture of surprise and relief in her eyes. Instead, he scooped her up in a seemingly heroic gesture... and then threw her at the open access door.
It was an unpleasant shock for the bat, to say the least. She cried out, wings flapping to gain control. No joy. Without apology, Shadow watched her fall outside the train and disappear from view.
Rescue complete. Next element, the Nemesis.
They were unsure of what to make of the hedgehog. He had burst in, chucked the girl out and made no move against them. Was he not to attack them? Would he chuck them out as well? The leader of the gang said nothing. He was too busy analysing the development and gave no commands. Several of the guns in the engine were lowered anyway, out of confusion more than anything.
Then Shadow turned on them. He clenched his fists and bared his fangs.
By the time the guns could be raised again, two of the Nemesis went down. A third managed to let off a shot, but the satisfying ping of a miss ricocheted around the walls. There was a flash. He fell.
Only the leader remained standing.
Brandishing his pistol, he moved forward. There was another flash. Shadow vanished, only to reappear closer. Teleportation. Before the Nemesis could adapt his attack strategy, a punch sent his gun flying into the engine’s complex workings.
And then the hedgehog moved again.
He had defeated them all. It was time to deal with the third and final element. Calmly, almost in slow motion compared to the vicious speeds at which he had moved thusfar, he stood beside the Chaos Emerald and placed a gloved hand atop its radiating surface. It felt alive to his touch. His spines bristled with the energy, the power... the potential. Only a sneer from the Nemesis distracted him.
“Fool. You know nothing of our plans if you think that important.”
Shadow looked at him blankly. With the Chaos Emerald in his grasp, he was in full control of the situation. Weak, empty words from a defeated villain failed to have any significant impact: instead, they merely guided him towards a decision he now had to make.
Victory was his. He was the good guy. He had saved Rouge, stopped the Nemesis and was about to retrieve the emerald. He could just leave.
But then what? What of the Nemesis?
To protect humanity.
Not as a weapon, but as a person. As an individual. It was the vow he had made to himself. It was the vow he had made to the memory of Maria. Use power for good. Standing here, aboard this armoured train, he had a choice. He could show compassion and let the Nemesis go. He could turn around. Take the Chaos Emerald and get to safety. But then what? Would that simply lead to another pursuit? He would end up here again, fighting again, chasing the same train across the same desert.
Burning red eyes tore into the Nemesis.
“End of the line,” he snarled, tightening his grip on the Chaos Emerald. A vortex of fire and raw energy began to coalesce around his sneakers. The light was brighter than the sun outside, the noise louder than the engine beside them. In the eye of the storm, as the weapon itself, he was safe.
The Nemesis was not so lucky.
“Chaos... BLAST...!”
“GUN Command, this is FX-474! Come in, GUN Command!”
“This is GUN Command. We read you, FX-474.”
“Did you just see...?”
“Affirmative. We’re dispatching clean-up crews on the double. Stand down weapons systems. Circle around the epicentre and find a safe place to set down. You’ll be transporting them back here.”
“Say again, GUN Command? Them? I count only one GUN agent. Who’s the other?”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough...”
“That wasn’t very nice, y’know... but I guess I should say thanks.”
Rouge the Bat was shaking off an almighty headache. She had hit the sand hard, and it had her taken a while to regain her senses. She had watched with poor focus as Shadow had emerged from the flames of a mini-apocalypse.
He now cradled the Chaos Emerald in both of his white gloves. It held the full focus of his attention. Rouge could not stand to blame him. The beauty of the precious stone had only been enhanced. Despite her unceremoniously rough landing, seeing the tremendous power it held was beyond exciting. She was not looking forward to the inevitable moment of returning it to the proper authority. The distant sound of a pair of coaxial rotor blades was reminder enough.
They were walking together, side by side, across the desert floor and away from the carnage behind them. Getting no answer to her previous statement, Rouge repeated herself with an increase in volume.
“For what?” she eventually managed to get Shadow to reply.
“For saving my life back there,” the bat laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?”
Shadow returned to silent contemplation. Rouge was about to repeat herself again and force the conversation when the distant beat of the tilt-rotor grew louder. She turned to see the beast-like shape eclipse the sun as it swooped down to collect them. It was the Night Hawk, she knew, and it would be expecting her... and the Chaos Emerald. With a focus renewed, she turned on Shadow and snatched the sparkling blue gem from his grasp. The fallout was expected.
“What are you doing?” the hedgehog snapped.
“Unfortunately, the right thing,” Rouge told him. “As much as I’d adore this emerald for myself, it has to be returned to its rightful place.” She paused with sympathy. “You’re really not used to this good guy thing, are you?”
Shadow lowered his head. “I saved you, didn’t I?”
“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten!”
They were closing on the edge of a dust wall. On the other side of it sat the Night Hawk, the ride home for Rouge. She had no time to put up with silence, no patience for trying to have a conversation with nothingness. Her feet stopped moving. She turned and reached out, placing a hand on Shadow’s arm.
“You did the right thing, you know.”
Shadow frowned.
“Destroying the Nemesis,” Rouge explained herself. “I know you and I aren’t staring at this emerald for the same reason. But if it helps, you did the right thing.”
It was the best she could do. She was hardly the most compassionate individual in the world by any standard, and yet she was no villain either. Ultimately, and regardless of the terrible desperation he had just rescued her from, Rouge cared for Shadow. Recent history had certainly been complicated, for both of them. She knew he had connections to the Black Arms invasion. A psychiatric report was not required to point out his conflicted personality, either. If she could just reassure him in some small way, with nothing more expensive than words, then she would try.
Rouge thought that would be it. She never imagined getting a response.
Shadow surprised her. “I want to join GUN.”
For a brief moment, the bat looked into the hedgehog’s eyes and searched for the punchline within. When she drew blank and realised that he was being serious, she simply nodded and handed him back the Chaos Emerald. He understood the huge gesture and returned the nod. There was nothing to argue.
“One little detail, sweetie,” she warned. “You don’t recruit GUN. They recruit you.”
Dust cleared. The tilt-rotor waited patiently.
Rouge led the way. “So... consider yourself recruited, Shadow the Hedgehog.”
EPILOGUE
“The train was destroyed?”
“Entirely.”
An emotionless mask, splashed with neon paint, nodded in acknowledgement. It turned to peer down at the tabletop beneath it. Joined by a comrade, the Nemesis showed no sign of mourning those killed during the desert pursuit. Instead, he calmly continued to work, as though the news was to be expected.
They were standing in the centre of a large arena. It had recently been covered by a garish tent, a big top, but the fabric had been burned away. Circus Park was a dilapidated shadow of its former self. Gone were the juggling robots and fun little acts. Rather, bullet holes riddled the walls and blast points marked the floors. Scars of a war hard fought, and ultimately lost, were bleak reminders that even the most escapist of places could fall victim to ambition, fear and greed.
The Nemesis had found the empty shell of the circus oddly fitting. Somehow, against the backdrop, the oversized bikers did not look out of place. They had scrawled insignia and graffiti across many surfaces. It was done with the leftover neon that failed to grace their clothes and masks. Otherwise, there was little that needed changing. A few overturned tables and chairs created makeshift furniture from the forgotten garbage. One Nemesis even sat in the hollowed-out shell of a badnik. Despite having not been a part of the battle that had raged here, they seemed almost victorious in their claim to the area nonetheless.
From the tabletop gaining all the attention in the arena came an eerie green glow. It was an electronic device no bigger than a dinner plate. The screen of it, responsible for the glow, was showing a small area of coastline. Topographical overlays and grid locations littered the otherwise empty space it represented. Reading through their masks, the pair of Nemesis gave satisfied grunts as they completed their review.
“The map is complete,” one said aloud, confirming to the other.
“And what of our enemy? Did they detect our hack?”
Head shook. “I was unable to tell. Our assistant believes not.” There was a pause before the conversation of distorted voices continued. “But does it really matter whether we were detected or not? The map is complete.”
“Elaborate.”
The Nemesis picked up the device and switched it off. He turned towards the rear of the arena, where a veritable armada of armoured vehicles were being fuelled and loaded with weapons and ammunition. Soon, it would be leaving Circus Park by land and air, heading for the location on the map without delay. Following his comrade’s gaze, the other Nemesis gave a short nod of understanding.
“Circulate copies of the map,” he growled. “We leave at daybreak.”
Written by Glenn Scully
