Chapter 4: The Night
He felt his stomach churn in nausea at the sea of images before him. Of course, he held his tongue. It would be most unwise to anger the despot seated to his right. The diminutive hedgehog boy glanced nervously at his father, who was watching the screen in detached interest. Why he was forced to participate in such activities was beyond him.
His father seemed to have acquired an insatiable thirst for blood in all it's forms, whether he was reaping it, or watching it be shed. About every week or so, he and his son would have some "bonding time", which, when interpreted from Shadow-speak, was "you do something I enjoy". On those days, Dawn was forced to watch violent movies, or spectate torture sessions... all of which made him nearly throw up. But the worst part wasn't even the the sickening smell of the blood, but the guilt. When the prisoners looked into his eyes, the sorrow he saw there made him shake with remorse... after all he was only thirteen years old.
He had been born about seven years after his father had assumed control. The circumstances surrounding his birth had always been a delicate topic. His father didn't talk about anything much, but talked especially little about his mother. All Dawn ever managed to get out of him was that his mother had named him... and no more. He had lived his entire life without knowing his mother, and assumed she was dead. He wished with all his heart that he could have known her, and wondered if perhaps her death was what had made Shadow the way he was.
As with all other weekly sessions, he felt as if there was an internal pressure inside him, waiting to explode. Some part of him wanted to please his father, yearned for his approval, but all of his being wished that there was some other way to earn his affection. He had considered, a number of times, running away from home... but he knew what folly such an undertaking would be. Surely, his father's men would find him, and Dawn would be severely punished for his wrong-doings. His father had said many times, he could tolerate a liar, forgive a murderer, even grow to love his own enemies (he never elaborated on what he meant by this), the one thing he could not suffer was a traitor.
Dawn detested everything about the Royal Palace, it all looked the same to him. All the politicians and soldiers who came and went were the same, all the meals were the same, the books were boring... and all other recreational activities were of such a nature that they made him feel sick. He had however, found one saving grace in the place, one feature he loved.
He was not at all afraid of heights, and enjoyed looking out from high views, and surveying his surroundings. In general, all that he saw was dismal and grey, but there were some more lighthearted sights. Once he had seen a man dressed in rags, beard down to his collar standing on a street corner and singing for coins. He was actually quite good. After awhile, a small crowd began to gather round him and watch, their curiosity and boredom overcoming their fear. Another time, he had seen a pretty girl who was pushing along a cart, and selling flowers.
The palace was totally devoid of any of the opposite sex, or at least that's what Dawn thought... He had never seen a female politician, a female soldier, or a female house-servant. There were only two times when he got to see a girl at all. The first was when he stood on his balcony, peering down at the city. He had tried to determine what it was that made them different from him... without any success. So far the only differences he could see were softer features and longer hair. Surely there had to be a better explanation than this.
The second time in which he might encounter a mystifying girl was when he was actually out and about in the city. He never had long to observe them, as he was usually spirited away by either his father or accompanying soldiers. His insatiable curiosity had only grown more ravenous with time. Once he had tried asking his father about girls. His father had given little explanation, using strange words which were rather large, and he had no comprehension of. He remembered hearing the word estrogen, and had guessed that it was one of the differences he had been looking for, but all his father's books were of a painfully boring nature, and he dared not peruse them for the answer.
The numerous politicians who crept about and shuddered at the sight of Shadow were sickly, disgusting men, and were no fun at all. Most of them were either interested in the same things as his father, or engrossed in equally or more vile subjects... such as genocide.
But here on his balcony, at least for the moment, he was safe. He could allow his mind to wander freely, and his eyes to watch in mild interest, the forms of the passing people below. Dawn had invented a special game he liked to play up here, he would make up names and lives for all the people who passed, and mumble them to himself.
"That man is Jeremy Donnson, and he works at a concrete plant. That's why he's all dirty. He's been drinking lately, because he's losing his house..." Dawn uttered, staring down at a bustling man in a grey overcoat. Moving on to another target, he started again.
"He's William Baker, and he manages the tire plant. They've been running low on rubber lately, and he doesn't know where he's going to get any more." Incredibly, Dawn would remember the pseudo-lives he had bestowed upon people, and expand upon them when the same person passed. Eventually, some people who passed by every day had epics written about them, tales of loss and struggle. He wondered if he ever managed to get close to what their real lives were.
Suddenly, Dawn felt a firm hand clasp his shoulder, and looked back to see his father glaring down at him. The ever-present frown painted on his face, his eyes seemed even darker than usual, something was surely amiss.
"Son, what are you doing?" the ultimate dictator questioned, raising one eyebrow in suspicion.
"I was just... watching the people." Dawn muttered, while staring at his feet. He had always found his father a bit intimidating, he was so smart, and strong, and cruel... he was scary.
"Come, I want to show you something." Shadow commanded, and turned to leave without making sure Dawn was following him. He knew that he was. The child hedgehog strained to keep up with his father's long strides, and nearly tripped over himself. Shadow moved through the palace deftly and quietly, his shoes did not click on the floor like his son's did. Perhaps this was from years of practice of walking softly, or perhaps it was because Dawn's shoes looked like they were too big for him.
Dawn was a near carbon copy of his father. Etched in his fur was an obsidian black, slightly and almost indecipherably lighter than his father's midnight black. He was considerably shorter than his father, giving him the look of a younger Shadow. His muzzle was pale from under-exposure to sunlight, and tearing down his quills were Shadow's trademark crimson streaks. They were a bit thinner than Shadow's, and had a glossy shimmer to them. Dawn sported a pair of enormous, round eyes with giant, curious pupils. The irises were a bright, almost glowing violet, of an extremely dark hue.
Dawn looked at his father and saw everything he aspired for, everything he wished to be, and at the same time, everything he hoped he would never become. One day, he hoped to be that strong, with those bulging muscles, that tall... but he prayed that he would never become that cruel. Still, he did not hate his father... could not hate his father.
Suddenly, the pair stopped walking. They were standing directly in the center of Shadow's dark throne room. Dawn did not like this room, and avoided coming here as much as he could. Shadow stepped away from him, and sank into his throne. Only his brilliant garnet eyes were visible from the darkness. Shadow's son stood in a circle of light in the middle of the room, which cascaded down on his head from a window in the ceiling. He was surrounded by the darkness, and wondered numbly what his father intended.
"My son... every day you grow closer to becoming a man. Every day... the hour of your ascension draws nearer. You will be King. You would have power over the whole world, power to do... whatever you wished. You could build a society of scientists, and cure all diseases. You could command it, and civilization would take to the stars, and explore the universe. You need only say a word, and thousands of willing slaves would fall at your feet to obey. And yet you persist in your efforts to resist." Shadow's voice was low and level, and to Dawn's surprise, contained no anger. In fact, it sounded kind of sad.
"The reason for this is simple. You do not truly know what you are being offered, what kind of power I wield. I believe you need to taste it for yourself, you need to sample what it is to hold power.
"Until now, I have strictly limited your privileges. Not any longer. From now on, you are second in command of the entire kingdom, none shall be above you but me. Now, consider this for a moment. Anything you order shall be done. Anything you desire shall be given to you. Anywhere you wish to go, you shall be taken. Give it a try..." Shadow indicated a servant standing to their right. Dawn bit his lip and turned to look at the man. There were so many things he wanted, so many answers, so much he wanted, but he knew that his father was baiting him.
"May I please have a lemonade?" Dawn asked, but jumped at his father's following exclamation.
"No! Order him to get it for you! Don't ask him! And above all, do not use the word 'please'." The king growled, slumping in his throne and cradling his head in his hand.
"Get me a lemonade now!" he said in his most intimidating voice, but only to please his father. He hadn't really meant it, and felt guilty afterwards. The lemonade relieved his guilt.
"You see, when you assert your authority, you get what you want." Shadow hissed, before standing up and leaving his son in the midst of the dark, empty throne room. Only the echo of his father's cold words and the harsh reality of his fate were left to accompany him.
* * * * *
"What do you think about that Sonic fella?" Nathan asked, while tinkering with a piece of machinery. He looked up from his work to glance at his friend, and wiped some oil off on his tattered shirt.
"You'd best beware of him. I knew him way back when. He's a lot smarter than he looks..." Knuckles muttered, while inhaling on his cigarette.
"We need fellas like him. I'm glad to have him, he's got spunk and experience." Nathan shrugged, returning to his work for another second.
"I'm not, I wish he'd died years ago." Knuckles remarked, and it was the truth.
"You really don't like him?" It was more a statement than a question, but the fact that Nathan was surprised made it sound and look like he was inquisitive.
"I like him alright I suppose. I don't wish he'd died for my sake... I wish it for his. I know him, and when he finds out the truth... he won't be able to take it." Knuckles mused, while stroking his chin. Knuckles observed Nathan a bit longer before he turned to leave, but was stopped by a booming voice behind him.
"Not everybody belongs in a world of broken pieces. And I don't hold it against him." Nathan scolded, before returning to his silence, and his work. Knuckles left without replying.
* * * * *
Since she had received her secret mission, Julie had remained distant from her other comrades. She had always believed in over-preparing. Now was certainly not the time to change her mind. She was having some trouble focussing, her mind kept returning to unresolved issues in her soul, until she was gradually convinced that she wouldn't sleep a moment until the king lay dead.
When she had a moment of quiet, she found herself making lists of things she wished to do before she died. She knew that if she were to die, none of them would end up accomplished, but it made her feel better to think that she might see some photographs of the Grand Canyon before they blasted it to rubble and excavated some iron deposits.
As instructed, she had told no-one of her secret endeavors... apparently not even commander Nathan was aware of her mission. Stevie always said that he believed artists performed best when you told them what to do, not how to do it. For this reason, he had left her methods entirely up to her own decision. She had decided that she could never beat the despot in a direct confrontation, and she would try to snipe him from a palace window.
She had always been a dead eye shot... hitting him wouldn't be the problem. The true challenge lay in getting into position, in sneaking into the palace. The Royal Palace was one of the most secure locations in the city, possibly the world. The place was protected by hordes of soldiers Then there was the matter of the King himself. He was said to be quite formidable. She would only get one shot before the entire garrison was alerted to her presence. There was no room for mistakes. Even if she succeeded, she would likely be captured. But it didn't matter. Along with the king, the Regime would die.
Stevie had said before that the King was the Regime. He held all true power. And all the soldiers and politicians in his army, the very population of the world, was held under his sway by fear. So great was his power that none could stop him. Once he was dead, it was predicted that the Regime would break out into civil war, and destroy itself in a manner of days. Then, all would be set right. Too bad she likely wouldn't be around to admire the fruits of her own labors. But it often was that way, that great men and women never lived to see their dreams come true. Perhaps it was simply the way of the world.
* * * * *
Sonic rolled his eyes and sighed, this was old news. Since he was relatively new to the Rebellion, it seemed that his superiors thought he knew nothing about anything, and needed to be educated. Despite the fact that he had demonstrated numerous times the knowledge of how to fire a gun and flank and enemy position, they insisted on teaching it to him. Idly, he supposed that they wouldn't have jobs if they didn't tell new recruits useless stuff. Still, he wished that the last couple days before the attack could be spent more recreationally.
There were so many things out there he hadn't seen, hadn't experienced in years, or never experienced before... so long had he been under the grip of the Regime. He no longer felt the sensation of always being watched, but nevertheless it seemed no matter where he went, Camerov could track him down and do what he did best.
He found Stevie and Nathan rather interesting, but the both of them were extremely busy with preparations for the attack. And so in the spare moments he could steal, he found himself squandering his time doing mostly nothing. It was nothing new to him, he'd more or less been doing nothing for the last twenty years, but he thought that was what he'd joined the Rebellion to escape. Perhaps he was just a discontent.
"You look bored Sonic, is anything the matter?" ironically, most of the officers and soldiers who were higher rank than him were younger than him, including the sergeant who posed the question.
"It seems that my preparations for the attack are complete; I have nothing to do." Sonic sighed, while glancing around for something to occupy his attention. The minutes had seemed to crawl by for the last several years, but even more so than usual in the last two days.
"Why don't you read a book?" the sergeant retorted, and was surprised when Sonic took it literally.
"Yeah well I only have one book, and I've read it a thousand times." he explained. The soldier looked surprised and then confused, and he looked at Sonic a little closer.
"Why don't you just check out a new one from the library?" he stated more than asked, as if it were the obvious solution.
"Why didn't anyone tell me you guys have a library? Where can I find it?" the cobalt hedgehog replied excitedly, his emerald eyes widening.
"Down that hall, fifth door on the left." the sergeant said while pointing down a particular hallway. After thanking the soldier, Sonic somewhat merrily made off to find the library. All the libraries had been shut down a couple years after the Regime takeover, and although he hadn't seen one in years, he still remembered what treasures they contained.
As he made his short trip to the library which seemed to be made longer by his condition, he pondered the base a little. It seemed to him as though it was actually more of a town than a military installation. Sure, they had their army and their weapons, but Sonic had also seen civilians, who were working in factories, tending to fields, and fishing, he'd seen school busses loaded with children thundering down the pavement, he'd seen a cat chased up an oak by it's mortal enemy, the ever grouchy pit bull... and now a library.
From what he'd been told the base was populated by a total of over thirty thousand refugees from Station Square and the surrounding area. Each was fed and housed, and each did some job or another for the Rebellion. The brave joined the army, the less brave worked in the factories. All the Rebellion's weapons had to be manufactured, the Regime placed trackers in their weapons to keep civilians from stealing them. Food, medical supplies and raw materials however, were fair game when it came time to raid the Regime's supplies. They always had to be careful when they were recruiting out of the citizens in the city. Anyone could secretly be a Watcher, and alert the police to the location of their base. If the Regime ever found out the location of their installation, they would be quickly annihilated.
Stepping through the doorway, Sonic's nerves were quickly calmed by the quiet atmosphere of the library, and all his doubts were put to rest. The librarian smiled at him as he entered, and he offered up a grin in return. Stepping off to search the bookshelves, he sorted through their selection of books, and was amazed by their variety. They had children's books, fiction, self help... but not just salvaged books from before the Regime... they also had brand new books. Books written by members of the Rebellion, a new generation of writers, poets, and artists. One particular book immediately drew Sonic's attention and captured it, refusing to relinquish it.
The book sat on a stool on the far end of the library. Its cover was extremely dusty, as if no-one dared touch it. It was bound in solid black, and there was no title printed on the cover. Its pages were lined in crimson, and a presence seemed to possess it, as if the book were alive. Sonic eyed it for a moment, mentally debating about whether or not to take a closer look. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he strode forth to examine the mysterious book.
Its strangeness was most certainly not in its appearance, it looked fairly normal. He was just about to pick it up, when he heard that he was being spoken to, and turned around the address the person who was trying to get his attention. The librarian was scolding him with her eyes, but she looked more fearful than annoyed.
"Don't you know that you're not supposed to touch that book?" she whispered even more quietly than normal.
"No, I didn't. Why can't I touch it?" Sonic asked with great curiosity, while casting it a exploratory glance.
"You really don't know. Because he wrote it!" she raised her voice slightly as if her vague reply was urgent.
"Who is he?" Sonic asked, dumbfounded and not yet accustomed to the taboos around the base. He was not yet aware that they didn't like to directly mention the King on base, and therefore referred to him by using rather bland pronouns such as "he, his, him", with a strange tone of voice.
"You know... the King..." she spat as if it left a sour taste in her mouth, glaring at him and daring him to push her further. Comprehension dawned in Sonic's eyes and he looked at the book again, and his curiosity overflowed.
"Are we not allowed to touch it?" he asked carefully, while staring at it rather than her.
"There's no rule against it, it simply isn't done! Every person who has read that book has suffered horrible nightmares!" she explained, her manner grave.
"My life was a nightmare for the last twenty years. Any dreams that are caused by reading a book will be nothing compared to the living hell I've endured. I believe that this is the book I wish to check out." Sonic insisted, while gingerly picking up the cursed black book and dusting it off.
"It has no title on the cover. What should I call it?" Sonic asked, while examining the inside.
"It is called The Black Book."
* * * * *
Dawn lay on his bed staring at the roof in his room. The high ceiling mocked him, his dimly lit quarters allowed darkness to abide in the corners. One would expect that a prince would have a room filled with his hearts desires. That couldn't be farther from the truth, Dawn's room was nearly bare. A tall oak dresser sat in one corner, some fluttering white curtains cloaked the door which led to the balcony, and a simple desk intended for the purpose of his studies was off to the side. Other than these few objects, nothing was present beside his bed and a few scraps of paper.
He found it a constant challenge finding something to occupy his time. His father was constantly busy, and seemed to have little time for him. When he could take a moment from his work and spend it with his son, it was usually on an excessively gruesome activity. The palace was a depressing place to be out and about in, so exploring was utterly out of the question. Seeing the surrounding city was always a relief, but Dawn couldn't help but feel as if he was being shown only what they wanted him to see.
The soldiers were all stone faced and serious, never indulging his childish needs. (They were exceedingly good at hide and seek, but only when he had done something wrong.) The politicians who sulked about either ignored him entirely or regarded him with snide, conceited glares and stinging remarks. He slept much of the time. Dawn often wondered if this was his destiny, to live in dreary misery for all eternity. His father always made it seem like he should have no reason to ever leave the city... A prospect that made Dawn slightly angry at his father. His anger quickly subsided when he was reminded of the ferocity of his father's wrath.
He was an immensely curious child, and he always felt as if he were starving. Food was plentiful beyond comprehension, and it was certainly warm within the palace, but it seemed there was a draught of new and interesting things to discover. Dawn felt as if every day were the same, and before long, lost all track of time. Today became yesterday, tomorrow became the day after. It had been like this for months now, and Dawn felt as though he would die if he didn't get out soon.
Any fascination he displayed apart from a lust of power was generally strictly rebuked, and he had learned that the less he spoke, the less trouble he got into. It was nearing the day of anniversary of his birth. This was the one time of year he got excited about. What made it different from other days was that on his birthday, as surely as the sun rose, his father would appear without warning and give him something... his present. This was the one time in which his father seemed to melt and show kindness. At the very least, for that day, there seemed to be no resemblance between his wise, kind hearted father, and the cold, cruel hedgehog who normally stalked the walls.
Last year his father had given him an all purpose electronic device. It strapped onto his wrist, and served a variety of functions. It told the time, displayed information of any kind, could play some games he didn't recognize... At first he had been entirely enamored with it, treasuring it as his most precious possession for several months. Of late he had grown to use it less, but he still appreciated it and valued it highly. He was in great anticipation of what his father would give him this year.
His birthday was a week away and the ebony despot had already appointed him second in the kingdom. And that's when it hit him. What was he doing sitting in here burning his life away when he could simply order to be taken out to tour the city. He could give the command, and they would have to allow him to study females more closely... and perhaps finally make his allusive conclusion as to their differences. (At this time, Dawn was more or less raging with hormones, but knew practically nothing of the opposite sex. He was ruled by curiosity.)
And yet somewhere in him, he knew that was what his father wanted. His father wanted him to taste power and become addicted like him. After pondering it a moment, he decided that one could only become power lusting if one abused and overused their power, like his father. He decided that as long as he used his power for a good purpose, there was nothing inherently wrong with its use.
Quickly gaining the attention of a servant, he made his wishes known, and within moments, he was preparing to leave for the city. This time, he was not to be accompanied by his father, or a procession of soldiers, but rather a single body guard who was to ensure his safety. The guard explained that he was instructed to interfere in situations only where Dawn requested it, or he deemed it a possible hazard to Dawn himself. He reflected that this could mean anything, but that it was certainly progress.
It felt great to be trusted by his father. The feeling of his father's regard only made the idea of seeing the outside world that much sweeter, and he reveled in his surroundings, as bleak as they were. Without even thinking about it, he continued to play his game where he assigned fictional life stories to those he passed by. Mustering his resolve, he even said hello to a passerby. The person greeted him with a smile and a light reply, but their eyes seemed hollow.
Everyone he saw looked like half a person, as if the spark of life were gone from their eyes. Like wretched, ramshackle robots they marched around, taking in everything through dull, narrow eyes. He deduced that they only smiled at him because he was a child. Absently he wondered if there was anyone at all in the whole world who was happy. From his current impressions, he guessed not. His previous euphoria had washed away, the grim reality of the world before him was beginning to sink in.
Surely if his father knew how bad things were, he would take action. Surely, his advisors were lying to him and keeping the knowledge from him. Dawn knew that his father was cruel, but he also knew his father to be just... fair in his cruelty, everyone suffered equally. A thought occurred to Dawn that chilled him to the bone. If these were the conditions in the heart of the capital, what were things like in the slums and ghettos? What was it like in the prison camps?
Dawn did not and could not believe that his father could be responsible for such suffering, surely there had to be another culprit. He looked at his escort for reassurance, but all he received was a blank stare. Sadness clouding his vision, he trudged onwards. Now that he finally had the opportunity to see everything that he wished, he found that the more he saw, the less he wanted to see.
The horrors passing before his eyes burned into his mind. Families torn apart by death and war, rampant starvation in the world's wealthiest city, and police brutality that shocked Dawn to a state of numbness. After a period of careful observation, Dawn determined that in general, people's souls were as hollow as their eyes. When one citizen came under the "justice" of the Regime, all those around simply quietly move onwards, or even turned in dissidents to make themselves look better.
The women were just as much shells of humanity as the men, and they were just as dead in spirit. Every once and awhile, Dawn would see a person who still had a glow in their eyes, who still had some fight left in their spirit. But they looked weary beyond words from years of fighting and losing. Dawn watched in silent horror as brother betrayed brother, the poor stole from those poorer than themselves, and the police enforced not the law, but their personal whims.
He began to reconsider his decision never to take his father's place as King. His indignant rage began to bubble up, like lava threatening to explode and rush from the volcano's summit. He considered the idea that he could assume power and repair all injustices, that perhaps he had been given not a burden, but an incredible opportunity to fix things. After mulling this over a bit longer, he decided that he'd seen enough, and asked to be taken back to the palace.
* * * * *
The ultimate dictator slumped in his throne, his crimson eyes shining with an unearthly light. He drummed his fingers rhythmically on his stone armrest, while the wheels in his head turned furiously. Professor Gerald had originally designed him to be hyper intelligent (with the processing speed of a super computer), and the ebony hedgehog had only grown more intelligent with time.
To the casual observer, it seemed that Shadow the Hedgehog acted randomly, that it was possible, even probable, that he was insane. If you studied him closer you would know that this was not so. Insane people to do not plot, do not scheme, they only act. Everything Shadow did was with strategy, was planned out in a particular way in order to achieve the results he had desired. His plans took every possibility into account, and he was right about ninety nine percent of the time.
But that remaining one percent was the bane of his existence, in some ways, he had gone insane. One of the many pursuits of his life was perfection. After all, he was the ultimate lifeform, why not be the perfect being too. Shadow had become a perfectionist in the hopes that he could become perfect. If delusions are insanity, Shadow belonged in an asylum. The formation of the Rebellion was a result of that one percent of error. He still punished himself for allowing that to happen. No matter, it would soon be undone.
Shadow found it necessary to train himself daily, despite commanding the largest army in the world. His reasoning had always been that one of the many ways he maintained control was by being powerful himself. Every advantage he could claim he would, every weakness he could marginalize he would, his strength would be secure, his victory decisive. This was the way his mind worked. The world was a simple relationship of cause and effect.
Cause: I control more power. Effect: my power is more difficult to take away. That was the main relationship he ascribed to. Shadow's life was a constant hunt for more power, more advantages, more plan Bs and backups. He had become paranoid of late, and had been harshly scrutinizing those around him. Even his son had not escaped his accusatory stare.
Other than his paranoia and his obsessions, the King was rather happy with the way things were going. All his plans were unfolding just as he had hoped, it seemed nothing was going wrong, but this naturally meant one thing. That it wouldn't last. It had been Shadow's observation that things never went good for too long until a catastrophe hits. His fears could always be drowned in a sea of comforting scarlet.
Sleep was the one thing that never came easy to Shadow. He had such great power, in general if he desired something it was his. But he dared not take any drugs (someone could try to overdose him on purpose), and for some reason, his soul could not find rest once night fell. It had been that way for years. The affects were beginning to take a toll on his body.
He was always irritable, always exhausted, even when he didn't show it. His eyes were beginning to redden (the white parts), and he found difficultly concentrating sometimes. He had his scientists working on a short term cryogenic stasis module to substitute for sleep. They said that they would be done in a couple months... a couple months ago.
For some reason, the one thing Shadow could never escape was the feeling of being angry. For the longest time, he had no idea who or what he was angry at. He had simply boiled with fury at everyone, even those who had done nothing to earn his displeasure. In time, he had come to realize that it was himself that he was angry at, that he could not live with himself.
He could usually ignore these qualms, but lately they had been getting worse. Shadow found that an excellent way to relieve stress was to take out his anger on any prisoners who abided in the dungeons of the palace. Much to his irritation, he would have to carefully guard himself around his son. In order to convince his son that there truly was no poison in the goblet of power, he would have to take a more gentle approach.
His musings became sporadic, he felt a light hammering on the inside of his right temple. It was obvious by now that his son would not be convinced by force. He had been out of practice for a long time, but perhaps it was time to bait flies with honey rather than vinegar. Maybe it was time to make his son feel important, wanted... so that his thoughts would not wander so much.
In some ways, Shadow was eager to pass down his mantle to his son. He could never tire of the power, but of the responsibilities that came with it, he was weary. His mind was beginning to weigh heavily with the troubles of holding a totalitarian empire together... but not just any old dictatorship, he literally was in full command of every square inch of the globe.
It is said that one should never hope to reach the pinnacle, only hope to move ever higher. The reason is that once one reaches the top, the only place left to go is down. Shadow felt as if he had once held his ultimate dream in his hands, but that it was now slowly slipping through his fingers like dry sand. He no longer truly cared what his son did with his power, only that he did something with it.
Years and years ago, a man penned these words: "Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely." They hold as true today, and tomorrow as they ever did. The world had always been divided up into haves, and have-nots. Was it simply the way things were? Were the poor doomed to always be poor, and the rich fated to spend eternity searching for happiness in their riches, and never to find it? Shadow had wondered, many times, if perhaps he was not the Regime. Perhaps the Regime was something bigger. Maybe the Regime was the greed that lived in all their hearts. In a way, perhaps Shadow was just as enslaved as any of them, enslaved to his greed and his power. And while he so desperately clung to his chains, he also searched for someone to pass them down to.
* * * * *
The Master Emerald breathed. It did not expand and detract like the lungs of a living creature, but its dim light pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm. It was very much alive. All the guardians of the past had their spirits sealed inside, and it was their collective wills, along with the first wielder of the gem, who made up the emerald's consciousness.
Surely, if they could refuse Shadow anything, they would, they had no desire to do anything but good. But it was not for them to say whether or not the use of the emerald in any particular way was for the greater good in the long run... no-one could predict that. They only had the power to resist, not to refuse.
For years now, they had stood firm against all his advances, repelling him every time from obtaining infinite power. If the near omnipotent gem had given in, surely the reign of darkness would never lift. A being as powerful as Shadow with full control of the power of the Master Emerald would be invincible. Yet every so often, the ebony dictator would make his way to Roujin Fortress, and "visit" the emerald. First he would try stroking it, and purring warm words. Gradually, as he realized he was being ignored, his anger would flare, and he would scream and rave, becoming violent and unpredictable.
Every now and then, Shadow's bastard son would appear. He never stayed long, but his admiration of the Master Emerald was typical of a child... awe. The emerald had looked into his soul, and seen that he possessed a pure heart, he had only the desire to do good. Tikal was particularly bitter of those guardians who were sealed in the Master Emerald.
That day Knuckles had failed to protect the emerald, she had angrily scolded him one last time, before sealing herself within the mighty gem. She rationalized that the elders would need all the help they could get keeping the emerald out of Shadow's control. For now, they remained successful, but many of the guardians had grown weary, and cynical. 'For how long' seemed to be the million dollar question. They could do nothing but hope they would be rescued before time ran out. From the general feeling among those trapped inside, there wasn't very much time left. Tikal had begun to lose faith in Knuckles. Perhaps this truly was the end.
No, it would not end like this, could not! She would not allow it! Tikal's anger flared, causing the emerald to glow. She charged up her own personal power, causing violet crackles of energy to dance around the gem. The light grew even brighter, and the dank chamber suddenly became very stuffy and hot. Tikal unleashed all her power at once, and placed an eternal seal upon the Master Emerald. The emerald flickered in response, blinking on and off.
Tikal was no more. But in her place she had left an unbreakable safeguard to protect the power of the Master Emerald. Now, even if the wills of all the guardians were broken, it would take two to harness the power of the emerald. And Shadow wasn't known for sharing. Surely, he could find no-one who wished for the same things as him. At the very least, it would seriously deter him. Just before she vanished into nothingness, Tikal had used a last portion of her power to send a telepathic message to Knuckles.
She had simply said this, "Save us. Save us all. We are here."
* * * * *
Today was the last day before the attack was to fall. It was quieter than usual, normally, the facility was bustling with excited chatter. Today, a contemplative air seemed to float about the rooms, and sound seemed as though it was muffled. The possibility that everything would be a failure and that they would all die lingered in everyone's minds.
Sonic had begun to read the book that was supposedly written by the King. But he had only read a couple paragraphs. What he had seen had made him sick, he could not continue. Printed on the page was a justification... the King claimed that the ends justified the means. He had said nothing about what those ends were. Sonic was curious as to just how much of that propaganda the King actually believed.
Everyone around him, even Camarov, was silently enjoying their meals, and ignoring him. Except one. The relentless stare still followed him. Sonic found his curiosity beginning to get the better of him as his stole glances at her unflinching gaze. It seemed to him that she was trying to communicate something without words, but he had no idea what.
Whatever she meant to tell him, her piercing azure eyes continued to bore through him, but after awhile he took no notice. As before, Knuckles consumed only meager amounts of food, and ate no meat whatsoever. Sonic had asked around, and apparently the stubborn echidna had decided to "punish himself" for losing the Master Emerald. He had explained that when he thought of the monstrous things the Regime could be doing at that very moment with it, he could barely keep himself from screaming, much less force himself to eat or sleep.
Knuckles had changed. His warm expression had shifted into frozen glares, his eyes were dull and cold. He looked even stronger than he had all those years ago, but he carried a weariness that was not physical. His habit appeared to have little effect on him, but apparently he hadn't been doing it long... In twenty years it would surely put him in bed for good.
The children who normally roamed the halls of the small city were gone today, adding to the silence of the adults who were present. Even now when a small head could be seen here or there, no noise was made by the young ones. Sonic pitied them. To have been born in these times... he would rather have never lived at all. One of the children looked vaguely familiar, and he got up out of his chair and followed the retreating form. Pushing past a couple of others, he came face to face with a young fox boy.
The resemblance was uncanny, the child had a creamy yellow coat of fur, brilliant cobalt eyes which shone with uncommon intelligence, and finally, the one in a million that gave it away instantly, a pair of tails which swished back and forth in rhythm.
"Son, does your name happen to be Prower?" Sonic asked with a raised eyebrow. The youth regarded him a moment before making his cautious reply, he was sure he looked less than trustworthy.
"Is it any of your business?" the fox replied, although with no spite, only with a healthy wariness.
"If it is, I believe I may know a relative of yours... perhaps your father." Sonic explained, gesturing at the boys tails, as if that explained everything.
"You know my father..." he pondered, before re-examining Sonic. He carefully scrutinized him from head to toe, before his eyes brightened and he seemed to decide something, "You must be the hedgehog he always talks about!"
"Ah, so it seems my reputation precedes me... and old Tails hasn't forgotten me. May I see him now?" Sonic chuckled, as all his troubles seemed to leave him. The smaller fox's smile faded, but he nodded nonetheless. Without another word of explanation, he turned and left, with Sonic following closely behind.
After a period of uneasy silence and turning corners, the finally reached the Prower residence. Sonic burst in somewhat noisily, he was excited to be reunited with his little bro after all these years.
"Yo Tails, why didn't you tell me you hung out with these bastards, I'd have dropped by a long time ago!" Sonic said in a loud voice as he came through the door. When a couple seconds passed and he received no answer, he peered around nervously.
"Tails?"
"Who are you and what do you want?" a voice called, but Sonic could not see its owner.
"Is that you buddy? Its me, Sonic, don't you remember me?" Sonic called. A moment later, Tails was in the room.
"My God it is you Sonic!" But the two were no locking in a warm embrace. Sonic only stared at Tails, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. Tails shrugged and replied quietly.
"Its not that big of a deal anymore." Anymore? How long had he been like this?
"Tails... How long?" was Sonic's distant reply. Tails unleashed a length sigh, before slowly answering.
"Three years. I've gotten used to it now. Hardly even realize they're not there." How could his friend Tails be saying these things? There Tails sat, a good strong young man of twenty eight, in a wheelchair, a pair of inhuman stumps where his legs should be. Except for the amputations, he was indeed a striking individual, and it did not surprise Sonic at all that Tails had a child, perhaps children. The jealousy over the fact that Tails had a son and he didn't would come to him later. For now he was in utter shock.
"What- What happened?" Sonic muttered, turning his head away, he could not bear to look at his intelligent, capable, attractive friend sitting there resigned and legless.
"Battle wound. Got knocked off my feet by a frag grenade. Took one of my legs clean off, shrapnel got in the other. The wound got infected. The limb had to be amputated in the field. No anesthetics." Tails told his story without emotion, as if he were recounting someone else's injuries, not his own.
"Were you compensated?" Sonic mumbled, eyes still wide.
"Generously. I have a pension, and I received a war medal. Honestly, everything is okay my old friend." Tails chuckled, but Sonic's fiery reply soon silenced his mirth.
"No, everything is not okay. In a world where young, strong men have their legs stolen from them in the prime of their lives, everything is not okay. And for what reason? Because they stood for liberty and freedom. And for that, they took your legs. And some damn medal and a check won't ever bring that back. Everything is not okay, nothing is okay." Sonic's rage had slowly died down when he realized that he was screaming at Tails, and not the true culprit. Once again, he vowed to destroy this evil.
"I'm content. One can only move on. It hasn't affected my life that much, I finished my major and now work inventing and building new devices for the Rebellion. As long as there is some way I can help, you can bet I will." Even with the passage of twenty years, the birth of a son belonging to him, and the loss of his legs, when you got down to it, Tails was still fundamentally unchanged.
The main changes it seems were physical; he was still the same old helpful, concerned Tails. Most of those on base called him Miles. Sonic did not ask why. No-one else looked at him differently, so Sonic wondered why he could not bring himself to accept that the strapping individual in the wheelchair was his old friend. He didn't think him and less of a person because of it, but somewhere in his brain, it just wouldn't compute. He couldn't visualize Tails legless then, now or ever. As for himself, he could fairly easily picture himself laying in a coffin, flowers clasped in his hands. Was there no-one left in the world who wasn't broken by the Regime?
* * * * *
The grey sky boiled above Station Square. But they all knew that no rain would fall. A frozen wind whipped through the semi-abandoned streets. The sun could not be seen today. The darkness was too thick. Within the palace, the twisted mind of Shadow was watching and waiting, planning out his next sick plan for maintaining absolute power.
On his way back to the palace was the unsettled Dawn, his massive, curious, purple eyes softly releasing tears of sorrow. His sadness seemed infectious, those citizens who were around him seemed to catch it and begin crying as well. Perhaps the whole world was crying with him.
Just outside the cursed city was the army of revolutionaries, the Rebellion strike forces, led by Nathan and Stevie. The attack was soon to commence. It would not be long now before the hammer fell on Roujin. Within the attack forces, Knuckles considered his priorities. Just this once, he was putting his own ulterior motives above his orders. As long as he secured the Master Emerald, he didn't care about anything else. Sonic was still troubled from his conversation with Tails, and it was plain on his face.
Julie was getting in position. She was utterly prepared, utterly calm. He repeated a phrase to herself over and over, assuring herself: "He'll soon be dead"… again and again.
Meanwhile, the skies grew even darker, and the thunder of weapons sounded in the distance. The attack had begun. Now it was time to perform her duties. It all depended on her. But as she was secretly making her entry to the Royal Palace, she was being keenly observed by a pair of innocent, violet eyes. The night was fallen. Now they simply awaited the dawn.