PROLOGUE
Shadow the Hedgehog was in agony.
He climbed, fighting through the pain. Whimpers accompanied each movement. His tiny body shook violently, as though a wasps’ nest had broken at his core and hundreds of the insects were swarming against his innards. Limbs buckled. A sneaker slipped on the scaffolding and threatened never to find safety. Somehow, the rockets along its sole ignited just in time.
It was an effort he did not have. Shadow peered down.
The ruins of Circus Park were far below. A lethal fall. Huge structures were a model village to his perspective. The danger was palpable... and yet the climb continued. Every motion involved caused a yell. Every inch scaled was a torment.
Self-sacrifice.
Keep climbing, keep moving. Keep going.
Heroism.
The lonely spire swayed treacherously in the sky. It had not supported weight in a long while, even a weight as small as the hedgehog. Creaks and groans punctuated the vocal discomfort. High above, the orange sun beat down rays of unrelenting heat. Not a breath of wind acted as counter. With mostly black fur and spikes, Shadow was a magnet to warmth, absorbing temperature like a sponge does water.
The higher he got, the worse it became. The damaged spire thinned out. Scaffolding became unrecognisable. Razor-sharp edges of ripped-apart steel glistened close, reaching out to cut flesh. One succeeded in drawing blood.
Shadow winced and temporarily lost his grip.
Keep going.
His arm flailed and eventually wrapped itself around a rusty beam. Heartbeat raced far beyond normal speeds. Shadow was panting loudly. The suffering. The heat. The pain. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and cried out as he pushed against his legs. First left, and then right. They found new footholds. Higher. Better. Progress.
Keep climbing.
More.
A twinge of fresh agony shot through his weakened body. Shadow arched his back, spines bristling. His voice caught in his throat, making a pathetic noise of protest. It was becoming too much to contain. Slumping, he fell forward and hugged the spire. It lurched under his weight. If it were to collapse now... no. Stop. Keep moving, keep climbing. It will hold. Keep going. Reach the top.
Blinking through his torture, Shadow looked desperately to his quaking wrists. The golden rings clamped there were aglow. They burned against his gloves; thin wisps of smoke were hissing from beneath them.
And the cracks along their surface were widening. He had minutes... seconds.
For he was a ticking bomb.
ACT ONE
Ten Minutes Earlier...
“Son of a bitch,” Stone whispered. “They’re robots!”
The GUN second-of-command had to say it. Shadow was too deep in thought, having pulled away the mask of the Nemesis and exposed the cybernetic visage that now stared back at him. That was to say, it seemed to stare. There were no eyes from which to make such an assumption. The entire head was just a mass of gears, clicking and whirring under battery power. It was a miniature maze of metal.
Shadow took a step closer. Very few wires were on display. In fact, inside the whole head, he counted two. One led to a small box with a speaker... obviously, the voice of the Nemesis. It came up through his neck. For a brief moment, the hedgehog considered tearing open the leather jacket which, until now, he thought covered a muscular chest. Why not pry? See what made him run? Shadow paused. No. That would achieve nothing. Besides, the Nemesis had been scared of his robotic form being revealed, had he not?
“Who built you?” he decided to ask instead.
The ball of machinery sitting atop the broad shoulders tilted. It registered the question, but gave no answer.
Captain Stone finally had something constructive to say. “Shadow, wait. Look. Some of the technology here seems quite old... gears and pins, like the inside of a clock. Yet the voicebox and, at the back, there,” he pointed. “A circuit board.”
“I know,” Shadow balked at being patronised. “That’s why I asked.”
“This isn’t the work of one man at one time,” Stone persisted, trying to regain control of the interrogation. He shifted his weight, squaring off against the Nemesis bound to the chair and pushing his six feet against Shadow’s three. Blue eyes squinted into the mechanical head. “I think we’re looking at one of two possible outcomes. Either somebody found an army of old robots and upgraded them... or the Nemesis upgraded themselves.”
No reply.
Just a small red light. It flashed on within the head.
Stone ignored it. “What of that person you were with earlier? The one Shadow saw you talking to? Did he upgrade you? Does he maintain you?” Still no reply. “Is he controlling you, giving you your orders? Did he tell you to hack the GUN mainframe? What does he want intel on the Black Arms for?”
Gears clicked. Not a word came from the voicebox.
But the red light was flashing faster.
“We’re not getting anywhere,” the human snarled, wheeling away in frustration. “Our only option is to take it back with us. We can pull him apart. I wager the circuit board will fit into one of our servers. We’ll download its memory.”
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Shadow turned to Stone. “That would waste time.”
“Do you have any better ideas, then?”
“He was afraid.”
Stone laughed at his shorter colleague. “Afraid? In case you hadn’t noticed, this thing is a robot! It’s like you, Shadow, it doesn’t have emotions!”
The hedgehog kept his tone calm and level. “You’re wrong.”
Flash, flash, flash, flash, flash.
“Oh? About the Nemesis... or about you?”
“He didn’t want me to expose him as a machine,” Shadow still mused, regardless of the snipe. He returned to gazing at the open face. It was an eerie experience, as though looking through a transparent skeleton and seeing a naked brain. If only it were so easy to see the information they needed, but they were asking the wrong questions. Shadow tried a different approach. “Why were you afraid of being exposed?”
The red light stopped flashing.
That did it. “Preservation of self,” the Nemesis said blankly.
“What do you mean?” Stone snapped, incredulous that Shadow had gotten an answer when he had not.
The voicebox clicked. It produced a new sound. Words said in a new voice.
A recorded audio clip.
“Whatever happens, your fate is sealed.”
“But that’s...” Stone glared down at Shadow. “That’s you speaking!”
Shadow was no longer listening. He was staring with ever-widening eyes, back inside the cybernetic muddle of the Nemesis’ head. Back to the red light. It had, once again, started to flash. Now faster than ever.
It dawned on him with barely any time to react.
“Suicide...!”
Deep within the subterranean GUN facility, they saw it happen live. In one frame, it was just another square of junk in the Circus Park debris field: a makeshift roof made of scrap metal, only special because of who stood beneath it. In the next frame, however, it became a violent blossom of fire and smoke.
Whispers of shock did a lap around the Bullpen. Officers and agents immediately started to make all kinds of queries. Satellite feeds struggled to keep up with them. What yield? What caused it? Any survivors?
The Commander, standing firmly central to the action, gave orders from the radiance of the plasma screens. He could no longer keep the circle as small as he wanted. Perhaps it had been his fault. The Code Black lockdown was his idea... although Rouge the Bat had guided him towards it. Suggested ghosting the cameras. Told him to use Shadow as a field agent. There was an echo in the back of his mind.
Somebody had alerted the Nemesis to GUN.
Rouge was the only person to leave the Bullpen since the lockdown.
Was it her?
No. There was no proof. “She can’t have,” he grunted to himself, head bowed. “I do trust her. I do.” And besides, he had more immediate and pressing concerns. Like, for instance, the possibility of two dead agents in the middle of Circus Park. Self-doubt, or the doubting of others, would have to take a number.
“Get on the comm,” he barked, “and dispatch medical teams, now! Go, go!”
Dust settled around them.
Captain Stone was coughing loudly. He stumbled to find stability, resting against a large chunk of the aftermath. Dirt and grime smeared his handsome features. His hair was matted, the ends of some blonde strands singed. They had been perilously close to the Nemesis upon detonation... or so he vaguely remembered. It was all a blur in his memory. Concussion was making it difficult to focus. Ears were ringing.
In fact, it was only with thanks to two factors that he was not scattered in a gruesome mess across Circus Park. The first was his stealth armour. It had a dense polymer weave that suppressed the shockwave from explosions.
The second was lying very still, several meters ahead of him.
For a brief instant, the dark side of Stone’s ambition made him stop. Shadow was utterly motionless. Maybe he was dead? Stone did want him out of GUN, after all. Out of his way. Would it be so cold? Leave him. Walk away. Let the tragedy of loss subside and then get back to climbing the career ladder.
Another blur of memory made a timely arrival. Hands, pushing him to safety.
Gloved hands.
He lurched forward. “Sh... Shadow...? Shadow, can you hear me?”
The hedgehog groaned an unintelligible reply. At least it was a sign of life. Slowly, fighting his own after-effects, he rolled over and sat upright. Stone checked him for serious injury and found none.
But Shadow had a much bigger problem. He was staring with intense dread, downward at his wrists. Stone caught his expression. “What is it?”
“Just... just get away,” came the warning. “Get away from me! Run! Now!”
ACT TWO
The titanic shape of the FX-474 dominated the skyline. Flanking to the left and right, GUN Sky Hawks broke formation and started to secure an aerial perimeter. Electronic eyes scanned the wreckage below. Whatever they detected was shared with their squadron leader, and they were soon picking out a lonely lifesign.
“Captain Stone, this is FX-474... Captain Stone, please respond.”
He sat comfortably in the nose of the tilt-rotor, nicknamed the Night Hawk by all who flew her. The young, fresh-faced GUN pilot showed no sign of nerves or anxiety on this mission. Not as he had recently, during the desert pursuit. Then, he had been treading a tightrope of dual responsibility. He answered to the Nemesis. He was a traitor. A mole within the ranks of GUN itself... and yet GUN had ordered him to chase, engage and potentially destroy a train filled with Nemesis.
The moral implications of betrayal.
How auspicious, to have few morals at all.
“FX-474, this is Stone,” the headphones finally began to crackle. “I see you.” And indeed, the pilot could see his superior, too. Banking sharply, the ground filled the side window. The figure down there was small and remote... but waving, standing upright. Alive. “Find a place to set her down. Meanwhile, I want you to order the Sky Hawks south-east, towards that structural support that’s still standing.”
The pilot yanked back on his control stick. Around him, the Night Hawk lurched to a midair halt. The massive coaxial tilt-rotors either side of the cockpit, beating out their thundering cacophony as always, twisted themselves upright.
“Affirmative, Captain.” Switches were toggled and the Sky Hawks were dispatched. The headphones were also deactivated, allowing the enjoyment of private sarcasm. “If you stood out in the open, you stiff-assed moron, I could set her down on your head. Save the job of killing you later on.”
As a descent was made, Stone called again. “Location fix?”
“Three clicks east of you, sir,” the pilot answered, crisp professionalism masking his true nature. From the grey steel underbelly of the Night Hawk, wheels emerged and groped for the ground like the talons of her namesake.
“Okay, I’ve got you. I’m en route.”
A console started making excited artificial noises. “Uh, Captain?”
“Go ahead.”
“The Sky Hawks have picked up a single lifeform due north-east.” There was a shape on the scanners. Upwardly-turned spikes. Oversized footwear. “It looks like Agent Shadow... but sir, his readings are going haywire.” Then more data came through. The pilot frowned and wondered which of his employers would be more interested in the readings. “And he seems to be climbing the support!”
Stone either knew already, or simply failed to care. “Just be ready to go!”
“Go, Captain? Where?”
“Anywhere that isn’t within a five mile radius!”
Frantically, the pilot began to make an illegal duplicate of his logs. He wanted to see every second of this unfolding drama.
And, without a shred of doubt, so would the Nemesis.
Shadow reached the top of the spire.
Nowhere left to go. No higher to climb. No escape. It had to be far enough. It had to be, or his excruciating heroics were all for naught. But he had done his best. He had pushed himself further than he thought was even possible. He had made it. The top of the spire. As far away as he could get.
Wrists burned. His gloves were smouldering. The pain made him gasp aloud as he threw his aching body to the small square of flat metal that formed the summit. The hue of the golden rings was now bright enough to blind. The cracks had spread, meeting one another midway and uniting in a terrifyingly foreboding alliance. Pure white energy spilled out. There was more smoke. Not from the gloves, but from the rings themselves. Damaged in the explosion. Broken beyond repair.
They were overloading... and determined to make their last moments of existence truly spectacular.
And destructive.
Shadow forced his own coherence. He gritted his teeth as he stood up, defying his shaking legs. Beneath red and white sneakers, the steel scaffolding creaked and rocked gently in the calm morning sky. Dizzying height caused him the least worry. Rather, he found it almost comforting to be so isolated and alone.
It was his most private moment.
Sweat dishevelled his fur and spines. Blood trickled from various wounds. Physically, he was devastated... but that was not the source of his shame.
Suffering trembled in his weakened throat.
Self-loathing goaded his mind.
He was a weapon. A thing to be used. He was exactly what he did not want to be. Exactly what he was running from. He was striving to overcome it, to overcome his very nature, and he was failing. A weapon. An uncontrollable source of power and hatred that people had manipulated and misled.
And, like many weapons did, he was about to malfunction.
He could not fight what he was. Such realisation was crushing. All it had taken was one unfortunately-angled piece of shrapnel. No matter his intention. No matter his heroism. No matter becoming an agent of GUN, or upholding his promise to Maria. No matter the lives he saved or the sacrifices he made. All it had taken was one piece of shrapnel, and everything was undone.
He hated himself.
The rings finally broke away. Blown to pieces, they tinkled as they fell, spinning the entire distance and disappearing into the abyss of garbage. The power they contained was unleashed in a rush.
Shadow closed his eyes. He knew what was coming... and he could not stop it.
Arms were thrown outward. Head thrown back.
Energy coalesced. Around his hands, around his feet. Around his torso.
It hurt.
The blast suddenly soared outward. It formed a sphere of terrible power, expanding rapidly without limit and with Shadow at the core. The ultimate power. No control. Free to annihilate whatever it touched. He knew it would quickly consume Circus Park and vaporise Captain Stone in the process.
But with distance came the time he needed.
In one final burst of effort, he pushed upwards into open sky.
And screamed for his life.
ACT THREE
The Commander folded his arms. Watching. Waiting.
Deep within the subterranean GUN facility, the medical bay had an impressive capacity to treat injury of any kind. Nurses and doctors were plentiful, well-versed in any number of battlefield wounds. Just as the corridors that led to it, the walls were chrome and the lighting was a gently pulsing blue. A central triage area, dominated by a state-of-the-art biobed, acted as a hub to the multiple, more private recovery anterooms.
It was into one such anteroom that the Commander stared pensively. The frosted glass doorway had adjustable opacity, just as all the glass within the facility had, and he altered the controls to allow a direct line of sight. Heterochromia of green and brown flicked back and forth, from the beeping life support machine to the occupant it sustained.
Shadow the Hedgehog.
Despite the cuts and bruises that marked his face, the Ultimate Lifeform looked peacefully serine. With eyes closed, he slept. The small tuft of white fur gracing his chest rose and fell at a steady pace.
The Commander turned at the sound of approaching boots. Sporting his own scars from the explosive suicide of the Nemesis, Captain Stone entered the medical bay and zeroed in on his superior. Back in standard grey uniform, wrinkle-free and pressed to perfection, he gave a quick salute.
“What have you got for me, Stone?” asked the Commander.
The younger officer hesitated. His was a verbal report, the Night Hawk having returned him to the GUN facility mere minutes ago. There had barely been time to change and clean up, let alone put pen to paper in a formal debriefing. The facts he brought along were relayed by word of mouth, and a furtive glance into Shadow’s recovery room was more than enough to delay his voice.
“It’s alright,” the Commander picked up. “He’ll make it.”
“That’s what concerns me, sir.” Stone maintained his bluster of anti-Shadow rhetoric. “I’ve just heard the latest updates from the Bullpen. Three satellites were knocked from orbit by his little outburst. Atmospheric tremors forced a passenger jet to make an emergency landing, and the pressure gradient has been altered across a quarter of the planet. In short, sir, he made a big mistake today.”
Silver hair shook in dismay. “You’re a cold man, Captain Stone.”
“With all due respect, sir, aren’t you?”
A chuckle. “No... I’m an old man. Over the years, I’ve learned to take a few more things on faith.” Dual-coloured eyes returned to the sleeping Shadow. “Like him. Time was, I hated his very reason for being. Just like you do now.”
Stone felt a conflict of emotions. “What changed?”
“He proved himself,” the Commander explained to his subordinate. “He did the same with you, earlier, when he saved your life.”
“Oh, sir, we weren’t standing that close to the Nemesis when it detonated,” came the error in dismissal, “and my experimental armour took the brunt of the...”
“Not then,” snapped an interruption. “Why do you think he climbed that spire, hmm? Why do you think he redirected that overload of his into outer space?” There was no pause to wait for an answer. “Stone, he’d totalled the car. He knew you’d never make it on foot. And with no control over his power, teleportation wasn’t an option, either. Circus Park? A worthless junk pile, not to mention the Nemesis you’d taken prisoner had blown itself up. So, what was left to protect, eh?”
It dawned on Stone like a rush of blood to the head. He sought clarification. “Me...?”
“Bingo,” the Commander grinned. “You.”
“But... why?”
“Because he’s trying. Has he made mistakes in the past? Yes. Has he corrected them? Well, mostly. Were his actions today another one? I don’t think so. And like I said, at my age, I’ve learned to take a few more things on faith.” Gravely, the tone descended to make maximum impact. “He can’t fight what he is, Stone. He climbed that spire to save your life... and look at him. It nearly killed him.”
The GUN second-in-command was already gazing at Shadow through the glass door. With a rather articulate speech, his superior had done the unthinkable. It was a foreign feeling. One he had never experienced before.
No. No... career comes first. His mind stalled. Stop this nonsense.
The Commander knew exactly what to say. Just to give one final push. “You’re a good officer,” he added quietly, leaning over. “But what makes a great officer is having the ability to stand up and be counted.”
That did it.
Stone opened the door.
Boots... military boots. An even stride.
The Commander. Surely.
Emerging from unconsciousness, Shadow the Hedgehog opened his eyes and expected age, wisdom and authority to greet him. Instead, his stomach tightened as he recognised Captain Stone standing over his bed.
For a tense moment, nothing was said. Human looked down at hedgehog in silence. It was a struggle to think. To remember. Most of Shadow still ached. He had been completely drained of power, his golden rings smashed by the Nemesis’ suicide. When that memory rose to the surface, Shadow drew up his wrists with genuine alarm. Nothing was there. White gloves, red and black cuffs... but no rings.
“Relax,” Stone reassured him. There was something different about the man. Shadow gave him a curious frown as he continued. “When I saw what happened, I had our people trawl the records from the Space Colony ARK as we flew back here. We know all about your inhibitor rings, and we’re currently crafting you a new pair.”
Shadow took the advice and relaxed, but only slightly.
“I wanted to say...” Stone began again. He faltered over his words. Shadow could definitely detect a change. Then the last of his memory came flooding back, and he wondered just how much the GUN officer realised. Judging from what Stone finally managed to say, he realised enough.
“The effort it must have taken, to contain that power alone... look, I didn’t deserve to be spared. Not by you. Never thought I’d say this, but... I apologise.”
It was certainly a surprise. Especially when the hedgehog weighed it against his instincts, which had previously condemned Stone as a villain... somebody with secrets, somebody to distrust. Maybe it was the fault of the painkillers that flowed through his tender veins, but Shadow truly believed the gesture. He reminded himself to allow error. Judgement was something he was quick to dispense and, as a result, it had been wrong before. Stone hardly did himself any favours, allowing his career-driven bullying to easily embellish treachery where none existed.
But he was undoubtedly trying to make amends. “Rest easy. We need you back.”
Too tired to argue, Shadow acknowledged with a faint nod.
Before falling back to sleep.
“Permission to alter my official recommendation, Commander?”
“Permission granted, Captain.”
“Well, to borrow your own succinct words on the subject, sir... he’s in.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Now, permission to speak freely?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I’d still sell my own grandmother for a promotion.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it...”
EPILOGUE
“Five minutes, Mr. President!”
He was to be found amidst a gaggle of speechwriters, advisors and cosmetic artists. The call was given the briefest of thumbs up, without any eye contact. Pages of notes, mostly scrawled in illegible handwriting only he could decipher, infested every available flat surface in the room. It was as though, in their distractions, that paper had learned how to procreate. Buzzing chatter drowned out all but the bravest of yelling.
“I’m still not happy about the comment on page six,” one young aide was debating with a pundit. “In case you hadn’t noticed, our moon isn’t exactly round anymore.”
“It is at the moment!”
“Luck of the lunar cycle,” the final authority interceded. “Cut it.”
The pundit looked disappointed, but had no choice. “Right away, Mr. President.”
“And where’s my red tie gotten to?”
Fast thinking came from the aide. “Take mine, sir!”
“Thanks, kid...”
They stopped speaking to quickly exchange their neck ties. More chatter washed in to fill the void. Another call came through. Four minutes. Showtime crept ever-closer. More layers of voices overlapped. More objections. When it came to politics, there was always a counter-argument to make.
Eventually, there came a breaking point. “Alright,” he bellowed, “everybody out!”
The room cleared in seconds.
His hair was as neat as it could be. He wore make-up, much to his vexation, but apparently image was everything. As such, his suit was brand new, and would probably never be worn again after the speech.
But he did look rather good. He had to.
Holding only the most recent few pages of his speech, he stepped towards his entrance and waited patiently. The usual adrenaline gave him a boost which he always welcomed. Sure, he would make it look easy... but it never was. Especially given the planet’s recent history of hardship. Conflict. Invasion. His job was to stand in front of them and use their grief to bind them together. Play conductor for an orchestra of billions.
He put on his best smile.
The cue came.
“Ladies and gentlemen... the President of the United Federation...!”
Written by Glenn Scully
