PROLOGUE
“Thank you... thank you, everybody... thank you!”
The coastal area of Station Square had erupted with rapturous applause at the appearance of the President of the United Federation. He was a rarity: a popular politician, and with good reason. His was an age old enough to make wise, informed decisions and yet, simultaneously, young enough to keep ‘in-touch’ with modern society. There was almost no need for winning smiles and catchy slogans.
Especially after the hardship he, and his people, had endured. The memory was fresh. Some buildings still carried the scars of the Black Arms. This was only the President’s second big public appearance since surviving that terrible nightmare... his first, an impromptu victory speech on the steps of the White House.
The crowds had been given time to gather for this one. And boy, he thought as he gazed warmly across the sea of diverse faces, had they. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, had all packed themselves in between the tall buildings. Miniature flags were waved. Balloons were released into the calm, cloudless blue sky. Every single pair of eyes was either fixed on his podium, or on the camera with which they happily snapped a memento of the historical address. He straightened his scarlet tie. Hopefully, his words would match his impeccable outward presentation.
“Wow,” he chuckled into the dozens of microphones arrayed before him. It was a genuine reaction. No acting needed. “There sure are a lot of you here today! That’s just great, that really is... again, thank you, Station Square!”
It was his own little rockstar moment. They loved it, whooping and cheering.
“And a big thank you, also, to those of you across the world who are tuning in at home,” he added directly to the myriad of television cameras pointing his way. “Wherever you are today and whatever you’re doing to help support us, you have the gratitude and respect of your president. I really mean it.”
He let the buzz subside before he started his speech proper.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am grateful for the celebratory mood which has greeted me here this morning,” the microphones amplified. “We sure do have a lot to celebrate, after all. For we, the people, have chosen this day to come together, to mark an important milestone in our history. And while we enjoy that milestone, and have our fun, we must remember the reasons behind it. So while I could talk for hours about victory, I want to focus on the battles yet to be won.”
Honesty was something to be respected in a politician. The miniature flags fell still. Much of the ambience settled into a comfortable feeling of acceptance and willingness. He had their ear. People were paying attention.
Good on them.
“Let me start, then, by addressing the principle of the Sonic Relief campaign...”
ACT ONE
The GUN Commander stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Captain Stone at the centre of the Bullpen. Both men inadvertently relaxed into decidedly militaristic stances. Almost to attention, hands clasped behind their backs, they were products of relentless training. High above them, the largest of the plasma screens laid out all available intelligence and data thusfar collected on the Nemesis. Statistics, maps, photographs and live feeds all clamoured for their attention. Short haircuts and smart tunics were near-motionless as they pooled their deductive dexterity.
“It’s time for a different approach,” said the senior in both rank and age. “Running at them isn’t getting us anywhere. And enough of this Code Black nonsense, too... it clearly doesn’t work. And it makes me claustrophobic.”
Stone nodded. “I agree, although not about the claustrophobia.”
The comment was blanked. “Where does that leave us?”
“Compromised,” was the unfortunate reply. “No matter what we do, the Nemesis are one step ahead. Our efforts are rendered nothing more than reactionary, so long as the traitor is still at large within this facility. We can only watch, waiting for the next armoured train to be hijacked... or worse.”
“Not true,” the Commander countered. “We have some leads, don’t we?”
“Theories and shadows, sir. Nothing concrete.”
“But they’re better than nothing. Be a little more proactive.” A white leather finger reached out towards the plasma screen. Stone saw where his superior was pointing and recognised a transcript of the Nemesis interrogation. “Your own words, Captain.”
“What of them?”
The Commander read a line aloud. “Who were you working with earlier? Dark fur, around three feet tall?”
“Oh, sir,” the younger officer shook his head. “Shadow claims he saw somebody fitting that description but, even if he did, those details are pretty vague. Furthermore, Shadow is still in intensive care.” It was regrettable, but true. “If the Nemesis answered my question and had confirmed the existence of this... mystery figure, then I’d suggest pursuing it, but if you want my honest opinion?”
“Always,” came the nod.
“A trick of the light. Like I said, all we have are theories and shadows.”
There was a grunt from the Commander. He folded his arms, his favourite post of late, and scrunched up his weathered features into a frown. “Theories, eh? Like the one you had about Agent Rouge?”
Stone began to defend his judgement. “If the shoe fits...”
“It wasn’t her.”
Both men wheeled at the interruption. It was a voice they never expected to hear so soon in the Bullpen. Yet, defying all reasonable expectations, here he was. Walking normally. Signs of injury non-existent. Determination blazing in his red eyes and, most importantly, a fresh pair of golden rings clamped around his wrists.
Shadow the Hedgehog seized their full attention. “Rouge is no traitor.”
“Well, er...” Stone faltered. “Forgive me for wanting proof.”
“I saved Rouge from the Nemesis aboard that armoured train,” the hedgehog elaborated for his human colleague. “When I broke into the engine, I caught them by surprise. They were holding her at gunpoint and had no time to stage the scene. If she were in league with them, I would have seen it.”
Stone’s coincidence-based assumption was effectively disarmed.
The Commander let out a quiet sigh of relief. Levelling suspicion at Rouge the Bat had troubled him greatly, especially when he could find no viable counter-argument. He owed a debt of gratitude to Shadow for his timely arrival.
But ever the restrained military man, he settled for a perfunctory nod.
“Welcome back, Agent Shadow.”
Rough, wild terrain was causing the trucks to lurch and bounce. What had started as sparse swampland and the odd evergreen bush was rapidly thickening into a tropical jungle. The Nemesis cared not for the inconvenience. The further away from civilisation they drove their makeshift convoy of scavenged vehicles, the harder they became to track. Not only that, but each Nemesis had fitted an internal gyroscope. Seated in statuesque rows, none toppled over, despite their considerable weight.
Seated in the front of the truck, leading the convoy, two of the robotic thugs were hard at work. The cabin was designed to hold three abreast, but it barely contained their hulking forms. One held a small communication device in his mechanical clutches. The leather glove made his hand seem almost human as he punched in a code.
“In which vehicle is our guide?” he asked before entering the final number.
“The fifth,” the driver’s mask told his comrade.
Up ahead, the large bell of a mushroom stood in their way. The Nemesis yanked on the wheel and swerved to avoid it without slowing. Any normal being would have found the resulting experience bone-shaking.
Beside the driver, the call was made. “Good. He must not know of this.”
It took a moment. The device finally spoke. “Awaiting instruction.”
“You are already in position?”
“Affirmative. I have selected the prime location from which to achieve my goal. But there is a limited timeframe.”
“We anticipated as such. Estimate a minimum.”
The familiar, identical voice of another Nemesis took longer to reply. Were it not for the din of the rainforest striking the exterior of the truck, one might have been able to hear the gears of his processors calculating an answer. “Factoring the delayed commencement and regular pauses, I estimate within the hour.”
“Set up your equipment and be ready for the command.”
“Acknowledged.”
The communication device fell silent and was placed inside a pocket. Outside, the jungle continued to whip past. The driver kept his visual sensors locked on the improvised road ahead as he spoke.
“Such a goal,” he referred to the call, “will provoke our enemy.”
“No,” the other Nemesis observed stoically. “Such a goal will cripple them.”
“...are a people blessed by heroes.”
The President took one of his designated holds. It allowed the Station Square crowd to give cheer to the mention of those who had saved the world, literally, on repeated occasions. With a smile, he soon continued to bolster their legend.
“Creatures have been unleashed upon our cities and towns,” he reminded them, “and aliens have fallen from the sky! Unimaginable things, battles hard fought by the brave and the bold among us! But the likes of Sonic the Hedgehog, no matter how fast they may be, cannot be in two places at once. Hence the name of this campaign, which you voted for and which I hope you will support.”
His tone had become increasingly serious. The smile had vanished. It was with a grave expression that he pressed on with the speech.
“There are corners of this world besieged not entirely by malevolence, but rather neglect, poverty and famine. There are enemies, like hunger and disease, which cannot be defeated by any one individual. Our heroes protect us from external threats and we are eternally grateful for all they have done... but they cannot be expected to fix everything. We must face up to our own social responsibility. We must learn from their example!”
The applause grew louder. It was not for the ills of the world, but rather for the man who illustrated them. The man who vowed to combat them.
The man who, at that moment, was being aligned in the crosshairs of a sniper scope.
By a Nemesis.
ACT TWO
“Sonic Relief...?”
They were hunched over a glowing workstation together, with hedgehog seated and human standing behind him. Shadow was waiting for the next reel of mugshots to be retrieved, and chanced a look around the Bullpen. The Commander followed his eyeline towards a smaller monitor. It showed a live news feed of the speech at Station Square.
“Oh, that,” growled the old officer. “Some big charity campaign to help fight inequality in the world. I dispatched a security team to lock down the perimeter as a precaution, so we have to keep an eye on it, but things seem to be okay.” He stopped to note Shadow’s wrinkled nose. “Ah, of course... the name, right?” Then, as if on cue, the workstation pinged success and started to display more mugshots. “Come on, Agent Shadow. Keep being the hero and maybe one day they’ll name a charity after you, too.”
They were trawling through the archives in search of some luck. Every face shown matched a known felon who, in turn, matched the vague description Shadow was able to give of the individual he had witnessed at Circus Park. It was tedium defined.
Shadow had given up saying “no” to each one. Instead, he had taken direct control of the keyboard and managed to tap through at a much faster pace. Early on, he had found himself included in the search results. It was an odd sensation. The file photograph was poorly rendered and a challenge to discern detail, but it clearly showed him in conflict with a small force of GUN soldiers.
The Commander had kindly reached over and hit ‘delete’.
At the end of the fruitless parade, the workstation screen went dark. Shadow saw himself in the reflection. Was it possible? The Nemesis were machines... but no, all of the androids had been destroyed, had they not? At least, he thought they had. He frowned and tried to form a better image of his mental snapshot.
Black fur.
Three feet tall.
Sneakers of red and white.
And...?
Frustration caused the hedgehog to snarl aloud. He remembered seeing more, but a lot had happened since, and in such a short space of time. Details had been lost. Amnesia was not a new experience... and yet such history did little to calm his annoyance. Rather, it only served to increase it.
“Okay, we tried,” the Commander interjected. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
Shadow ignored the advice and sulked regardless.
“What about the Nemesis you captured?”
Still sulking. “What about him?” The query was curt.
“From what I hear, it was apparently afraid of being exposed as a machine. You were the one to remove that mask... and then it said something about ‘self-preservation’...? Any idea what it meant?”
Despite his foul mood, Shadow played along. It was better to be helpful than be nothing at all. “He was referring to the act of suicide,” he ventured. “Clearly, the bomb was designed to trigger in the event of anybody learning of his true form. He was afraid of being exposed because he knew it meant his death.”
“You mean,” the Commander picked up, “sentience? The Nemesis are sentient robots?”
“It’s nothing new. I know of a self-aware robot.”
Before the extended branch of the conversational tree could advance, military heels clicked nearby and a salute was thrown in their direction. It was Captain Stone. His salute was returned by his superior.
“Sir, you wanted to be informed when the President’s speech was ending?”
“Yes, good... thank you, Stone...”
In a darkened hotel room overlooking the podium, the Nemesis sniper was also aware of the impending conclusion.
To his right, a communication device vibrated. He answered it. “Yes?”
“Maintain this channel,” said an indistinguishable voice.
“Affirmative.”
“What is the progress of the public address?”
“He is entering his summation.”
“You are to strike him, and only him. It will deliver a clearer message to our enemy than a massacre.”
A single high-velocity round was loaded into the rifle’s chamber with a final click.
One target.
One shot.
“...and that pride, in all of you, makes the experience of being your president all the more rewarding. You have my gratitude and my continued promise to serve you, the people, first and foremost. That is why I support you, and directly endorse Sonic Relief, because you have spoken and you will benefit from the money we...”
“What was that?”
The Commander frowned at Shadow. “What was what?”
“Go back,” the hedgehog demanded, approaching the monitor on which they viewed the end of the President’s speech from Station Square. The technical records agent on duty asked his superior for confirmation with silently raised eyebrows. She got the nod and started to rewind the image. Shadow jumped at it after a few frames. “There!”
“Enhance,” the Commander ordered.
It was a camera angle designed to absorb the scale of the event. From behind the podium and over the President’s shoulder, it captured the majority of gathered faces and, providing a backdrop, the lower floors of some buildings.
Shadow was pointing at a window in one such building. “It’s a Nemesis!”
The shape was unmistakable. Framed by the open window, overlooking the action.
A Nemesis with a gun.
“Get me our security team there,” the Commander barked in a panic. Somebody dashed to his side carrying a satellite telephone and he snatched it without thanks. They had seconds to spare.
“Sniper, sniper, SNIPER!!”
It was too late.
“Fire.”
Without emotion or regret, the Nemesis did so.
And hit his target.
ACT THREE
The President of the United Federation had fallen.
Anarchy spread from the podium. The effect was akin to somebody dropping a pebble into a pond, just to watch the ripples. Expressions in the crowd changed in sequence, from initial confusion to horror, ending up with faces blurred in their haste to flee. Only their screams remained crisp and clear.
The emergence of plain-clothes police and GUN agents from the masses did little to lift the mood. Many people saw weapons being drawn and had no idea whether they were looking at a helpful assistant or the assassin’s accomplice... or worse, the actual assassin. Thanks to the tall buildings that encased the gathering, the gunshot was still heard reverberating in the air, making a direction of fire impossible to tell. Handbags and have-a-go heroes lashed out, attacking the very forces trying to protect them.
In the uncertainty and disorder, nobody was listening to reason.
Nobody was listening to instruction, either. Despite the best efforts of the communications devices plugged into the ears of the security team, the GUN Commander was drowned out by the madness of the moment. As a result, nobody looked to the hotel window. Nobody saw the broad shoulders of the Nemesis retreat inside. Nobody saw his rifle packed away and nobody saw him leave the scene.
Those who stayed were only looking in one direction.
The podium... and the President.
News cameras were turned away, no ratings worth the indecency of watching what could potentially be his last few seconds of life. Unless they had x-ray capability, however, they were in no danger of seeing through the crowds of Secret Service. In their black suits and sunglasses, they formed a barrier of sheer muscle. Calls were made. A medic was plucked from the entourage and literally carried inside the tight circle. Her diagnosis was pointless, her on-site treatment a mere placebo.
And then approaching sirens began to wail nearby.
The Bullpen was silent. Not even a computer dared to beep.
Somebody had transferred the live news feed to the main plasma screen. They had all seen the bullet tear into their Commander-in-Chief, their beloved president, in vivid detail. There was no mistaking the reality of the situation. The impact on their morale was nothing short of total devastation.
Shadow the Hedgehog bowed his head and closed his eyes. He had seen it coming.
Captain Stone was open-mouthed and perfectly still.
The Commander seemed unwilling to trust his own dual-coloured stare. His grizzled face darted around the Bullpen, making sure every monitor and workstation showed the same footage. There was no mistake.
With a roar, he found a wall and punched it.
Hard.
An hour later and energy had returned to the subterranean GUN facility. Every single frame of the footage was being watched and rewatched, over and over, by rooms filled with analysts and experts. All options for a retaliatory strike against the Nemesis were being explored. No matter how outlandish the plan, the Commander wanted to hear it... and, given his reactionary temper, nobody held back.
Finally, success came to them. A bright spark. A good idea.
Shadow was collared almost immediately. He was being checked over by medical, at the behest of his superior.
“Is he ready?” Silver hair leaned around the door.
The nurse moved to answer, but was beaten to it by her patient. “I’m ready.”
“Walk with me,” the Commander ordered. Shadow complied and left the stunned nurse behind. In the chrome corridor, the briefing began. “Okay, we have a lead. It isn’t much, but our satellite surveillance put two and two together. With regard to Circus Park, we were watching that whole area and the Nemesis still got away. Further research indicates a disused sewer system. They must have gone underground and deliberately bypassed our satellite for a reason.” There was anger in his voice. “My guess is, their mole doesn’t work in satellite control, or can’t get access to it.”
Shadow glanced up at the mature gentleman marching along beside him. Any trace of his recent empathy had vanished. The age he had shown beforehand, in acts of kindness and good faith, was gone, to be replaced by a razor-sharp edge of military mentality. Given the circumstances, Shadow had to agree with such change.
“Where do the sewers lead?” he asked.
“To too many places,” the Commander replied, “but only one had the resources to replace all of the vehicles they’d abandoned. We picked up a trail leading away from there, but it went cold at the outskirts of the Lost Jungle. Judging from the tracks they left, however, we can estimate a dozen trucks and jeeps.” Together, they rounded a corner. An elevator waited for them up ahead. “Come on.”
Shadow followed obediently. “They’re hiding within the Lost Jungle.”
“It’s all we have to go on, but it’ll do.” The elevator closed behind them and dropped. They ignored their lurching stomachs. “I’m dispatching two battalions. Captain Stone will lead the first. You get the second.”
“Me?” It was all very sudden. “Lead a battalion?”
The Commander reached into his grey tunic and produced a small piece of paper. It had an address scrawled on it, an address he handed to Shadow. “You’ll have help. Go here before meeting up with the troops.” Despite the reassurance, it was not difficult to miss the slight apprehension in the hedgehog’s demeanour. “Look, I don’t have time for you to have a crisis of confidence,” came a quick reprimand, “so if my trust in your ability is misplaced, let me know and I can assign somebody else.”
“No,” Shadow shook his upturned spikes. “I’ll do it.”
With smooth brakes, the elevator came to rest and opened up. After walking down another short tube of blue-lit chrome, the familiar juxtaposition of the hangar bay greeted them. Any trace of refined architecture was gone. Steel girders supported the bare rock walls. Gritty concrete crunched beneath their feet.
“Oh, and just so you know,” the Commander added, drawing back the attention of his shorter ally. “The President is still alive... but only barely. He’s in a coma as a result of his injury. The bullet missed his heart by a degree, if that, but grazed his spinal column on the way out.”
“So,” Shadow clarified, “the Nemesis intended to kill him?”
“Without question. Do me a favour, and remember that when you find them.”
The coastal area of Station Square was eerily peaceful.
Around the podium, the crime scene had been closed down. It was an open-and-shut case, so brazen and blatant a shot that nothing more could be learned from studying the point at which the President fell. The last act of the investigation was to remove the police tape and restore public access to the area.
The crowds, though, were to be found outside the hospital at which the President was being treated. Not many people wanted to return to the location of their nightmare. Only a handful braved the experience so soon.
One small boy with blonde hair and bright eyes searched the litter. He had lost his hat in the stampede and his mother was helping him look for it.
“Mom,” he called out, “over here!”
She rushed to his side but found no hat. Instead, he was holding a tattered leaflet for the speech. It bore the proud blue logo of the Sonic Relief campaign.
“There’s always hope, right, Mom?” the boy asked as he fixated on the leaflet.
Mother looked to son with tears of pride.
“Yeah,” he was whispering to the logo. “Everything’ll be okay... you’ll see!”
EPILOGUE
The address turned out to be a penthouse suite in downtown Westopolis. He screwed up the small piece of paper it was written on as he dashed inside. Given the nature of recent events, and the way in which the Commander handed it to him, he was uncertain of whether it was classified information. Not that it mattered. The Nemesis had infiltrated GUN. They seemed to know their every move. Finding an address would be the least terrorizing achievement they had thusfar managed. All the same, he discarded the paper. Only after a cautious sweep of the immediate surroundings did he approach the door.
It opened before he could knock. “Shadow! Why you?”
“Come with me.”
“No, hold it right there, honey! I’ve been out of the game for a few hours, if that! I do have a life outside of GUN, you know!” From inside the suite, warm light reflected off a variety of glistening surfaces. Shadow let his sight wander. He could not begin to estimate the monetary value of the countless jewels and diamonds on display. “And what,” their owner continued to protest, hands on hips. “Just because you come and land on my roof, I’m supposed to drop everything and follow you?”
The hedgehog bared his teeth. “I don’t have time to argue. Are you coming or not?”
“Why should I?”
There was no sign of a television in the room beyond. No radio hummed in the background, either. Such absence explained the attitude. It was safe to assume that news of recent events had not travelled to the penthouse. Shadow balled his gloves into fists and curled his toes into the soles of his sneakers. If it had been anybody else, he would have walked away. Instead, he blurted out a rare admission.
“Because I need your help!”
Silence. Never before had such words passed his lips. To do so embraced weakness, and he was anything but weak. He was the Ultimate Lifeform. Others were supposed to ask him for help, not vice versa.
It was enough to pique curiosity. “What happened?”
“They shot the President.”
Without hesitation, Rouge the Bat cancelled her complaint and left her suite.
“Let’s go.”
Written by Glenn Scully
