"What do you mean, he's waking up?"
Gerald Robotnik, at the dawn of his sixty-second birthday, thought he was prepared. After the birth of his three sons, two grandsons, and one only granddaughter, he thought he would be ready for anything. Yet here he was: in his pajamas and old slippers, in a half-daze, listening to the panic on the other end of the communicator slowing rising in his own throat.
"The release was only planned in one week!"
"I-I'm aware, Sir!" Panic, as Gerald would be ashamed to admit, was a dangerous symptom of fear. The most contagious of diseases. And the poor scientist's fear was especially pregnant. "The last check-up didn't show anything abnormal, right, so I, I–"
(breathe.)
"Well, don't just stand around! Start the release procedure!"
"But, if it's a false–"
"I'll be here in a minute." And, without waiting for the usual return, Gerald turned the communicator off.
He turned around, throwing a lab coat over his shoulders, just to conceal the misery of his current attire. A swore flew under his breath, overtaken by sudden dizziness. This one had been built from the ground up. He could have been just a little more respectful of his creator's sleep. That was a thing parents cannot get used to either. The long sleepless nights; unable to find solace in Morpheus' arms, if not woken up to the cries of a starved little being, it was out of fear they would suffocate in their own drip, without watch. Unfounded paranoia in this day and age, but it was ingrained in the human body.
But no, of course not. Always had to be something wrong.
And this subject had been so promising. The only one to go so far into his development, in fact. One week left, and he would have been ready. Stable. Perfect. So why–
"Grandpa?"
Maria appeared, leaning against the panel door, with half-closed eyes and a dropped lip that did not follow her train of thoughts.
"Wha'z goin' on?"
Gerald tried to remain calm. "Just a little emergency in the lab, dear." He even offered her a smile. "Sorry I woke you up."
Yet his stress must have transpired, somehow; because Maria remained strangely solemn. "… T's'okay," she said, voice barely a whisper. "You should go."
"… Right." For a second, his eyes lingered on her. Then he forced them close, dissipating the vision, and rushed out into the Ark's corridor.
The residential wing and the scientific division were close together, naturally, for those little emergencies. But Gerald was old, and he was in a panic. He felt that his legs would never be fast enough to reach the laboratory in time. And he had in mind this last vision of Maria, out of bed, not even a teenager, free harm on the drip, guiding her like a cane for a blind man. No, Gerald could not stand to lose another one.
His heart would not stand it.
Gerald would not do the mistake he did on his first son's birth. They were just eighteen, he and his then-wife – it was an older time, when a loveless marriage was the only option for them to save face in front of their families. He did not expect to be a father on the day of his nineteenth birthday and did not come to the delivery room. He thought he had been an adequate dad, at least, but he regretted missing that moment of Dmitri's life.
For a brief second, he wondered how it might feel for the subject–
(breathe.)
(I can't breathe.)
And ran faster, throwing to the corner of his mind the pain in his knees.
Bang!
They met in laboratory number five. Most of the night team was already there. He also recognized a few faces from his usual team, likely awakened by the commotion, agglomerated like a single entity in the middle of the room. No wonder the poor thing would be suffocating, with so many faces around his capsule. Benett – or Benny, the scientist's name escaped his memory at this moment – noticed him first. "Sir! We're so glad–"
"Did you start the release?"
"Well, yes, we started to drain the–"
(I can't breathe!)
Bang!
Everyone recoiled. Gerald barely concealed his annoyance. "Open the capsule."
"But, Sir…"
"I said open the capsule!"
Benett – or Benny – swallowed heavily before turning to the console. The head scientist moved towards the capsule. They're just ridiculous, he thought, probably loud enough for the whole team to hear. He could not blame them, really. It had been so long since they started the project, since their first failure – they probably all remembered the destruction the Biolizard had been capable of. They had started to believe it would never come to term, just like the soldiers said, in hushed breaths: might as well be a ghost-hunter, trying to catch a shadow.
And Gerald saw him.
There was nothing to say about the black hedgehog – after all, he had built him, had overseen his growth for the last few months –, yet he felt overwhelmed by a strange feeling of… Inadequacy. It had been the same with his third son. In the middle of the night, rushing to the hospital in his father's old car, just to rush out at the glimpse of little Alek's head. Nurses warn you about these things; but you think, as a man, that you are above such failings. You are not. You cannot handle such pure existence.
He was
(I can't.)
alive.
… Not for long. The subject thrashed limply against the glass one more time, bringing Gerald back to reality. He turned his head. "What are you waiting for?"
"I started it! It needs some time!" And, sure, he could hear the cogs over the capsule grinding, trying to lift the glass, but that was a painful effort for the machine. Every growl was an eternity to wait.
And meanwhile, the subject was drowning before his very eyes. "We don't have time! Can't you see?!" There would be a lot of barking around, an old reminiscence, that he would have to apologize for later.
But finally, the capsule broke open. The liquid poured out on the ground. Gerald did not hesitate to walk in the flood to embrace the subject before he fell. Ripped the tubes entangling him. He barely reacted to the touch; just a brush, an inexperienced hand trying to hold onto his own, as a last-ditch effort to remain grounded. Into this realm.
"Come on," he whispered. "You came so far…" A little whimpering sound escaped the subject's throat. Instantly, Gerald's analytical brain turned on. He raised his voice, bringing the hedgehog's head over his shoulder so he could breathe a little. Felt the little heart feebly beat against his own chest. Or tried to hear it.
The other scientists said nothing, did nothing. Why could they not react? "Bring me something to operate on! A clean tube! And–" They already started to scatter, like bees out of a beehive. "A blanket." He knew why. They did not know how to react. Most of them were young, young enough to accept such folly in the first place.
In-between, Gerald had had a second son. Alek had an older brother. He had been long desired. Succumbed to the same damning disease that was eating his granddaughter's body, at a time nothing could be done to even buy him some time. Gone before they could even name him. He knew he was not going to let that happen again to Maria.
To him.
(breathe.)
A pair of scientists rolled back with a cart of medical supplies. It would have to do for an operating table; Gerald did not want to lose any more second than they already did. Slowly, he laid down the hedgehog's body on the cart. Slowly, firmly, he had to take his little hand away from the lab coat. It was such exceptional strength newborns had, no matter the species, no matter the method they were brought into the world, to cling to their parent.
A muted voice of a scientist reached his ears through the beating of his own heart. "Is there anything we can do?"
"… I need someone to hold the tube," Gerald said, moving the subject's body on his side. His hand came close to the mouth.
He's barely breathing.
He had to remain calm and professional.
Gerald pressed his fingers around the hedgehog's mouth and gave a closer look down his throat. Ah. No wonder the poor thing could not breathe: there was a thick blood clot stuck. He had no idea how it formed. Certain promises made by certain beings were apparently as empty as the stars they came from. But he would worry about Black Doom later. Much later.
From his other hand, he started to introduce the tube. He weakly squirmed. Gerald did not know how aware he was at that moment, but, still, he offered some encouragement. "Stay strong, Shadow. Just a bit longer."
And he heard it, or maybe it was already too late for such an immature body. Had to hope it was the former. "Turn it on!"
For a few seconds – though they felt like eons, there was no noise but the machine pumping. The blood draining, slowly. Gerald kept one hand on the tube, the other over the hedgehog's cheek, his thumb brushing the skin.
He had never been a strongly religious person – some would say this entire project was spitting at Solaris' face – but in his head, he was listing and praying all the gods in the universe.
Lord, please. I can't lose him now.
(breathe!)
Gasp!
The first breath made everyone jump. Followed by painful coughs – then Gerald realized it was his own sigh, releasing the fatigue from the last few minutes.
"Okay." His voice was low, afraid to acknowledge the moment, else it would stop. "Blanket."
As soon as the professor removed the tube from his throat, the hedgehog's body instinctively tried to curl up on the cart table. Gerald's other arm came to scoop him, wrapping the blanket around. Against his own chest, he felt the rapid beating of his heart, catching up like a belated train.
"Good boy," he whispered. One eye tentatively opened, looking back at him – the most beautiful amber eye he had ever seen, in complete objectivity. "You did it."
(you.)
(you gave me my breath.)
(right?)
The eye closed again. Blissfully unaware of the commotion his birth had caused.
"Professor?" One of the scientists opened his arms with an indulgent smile. "We should probably bring him to his room. Check his vitals."
"… Right." Still, it was painful to abandon him in the hands of another and watch this virtual stranger's back take away who was, at the moment, the Most Important Thing in his life, with the irrational fear that a simple blink would make them vanish forever.
Only then did he feel his legs collapse under him. "Professor!" An arm took his own under. Otherwise, he would have fallen on the lino. "Are you alright?"
"I…" I succeeded, he thought in a daze. I created the Ultimate Life Form. He is alive. He was in my arms and looking at me. It's wrong. But it's right. "I'm fine," he summed up his thoughts. "It's just the stress. Thank you."
A scientist brought back a cup of water. Gerald emptied it in a second. It felt great. He had not realized he was this thirsty.
"Well," said another. "Congratulations, Professor. It's a boy."
And they all started laughing nervously, an infectious disease, running across the room, as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. It was the birth of a new being, after all – they would replace the midnight drinks with sink water, the congratulations cards with review clipboards, but the feelings were the same.
"Professor?" Benett – he remembered now, it was definitively Benett – spoke up with an apology in his voice. "I've got a question."
"Yes?"
"… The subject. You've actually called it Shadow."
Gerald frowned, popped his lips together, but at first, no word came out, as if his lips had forgotten the shape of it. Did he say that, really? The head scientist knew why he would not have – and why it worried his colleague –, yet that did not sound too out of place."Well, that is the name of the project," he explained. "'ULF1-05' is a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"
Benett did not argue, but he frowned, unconvinced. And, to be fair, Gerald was not convinced himself. In the heat of the action, he made that one lapse of judgment that would haunt him in his final days: he had gotten attached to the subject. He could not deny it. One might say without exaggeration, he loved him.
That was the only thing his three sons, and two grandsons, and let us not forget his granddaughter – had needed to prepare him for. To love the new addition to their family, unconditionally:
Shadow the Hedgehog.