"You've secured Eggman?!"
Michael Reznov immediately rises from his Oval Office chair, stunned at what came from the Commander's mouth. The grizzled old man stands in front of the President's desk, having interrupted their weekly meeting to answer a distress call. From the sound of things, the call was most definitely warranted.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SONIC TOOK THE EMERALD?!" he bellows, his roar of anger loud enough to be heard through the entire White House. "How did he get in?!
The President listens to what half of the conversation he can, his eyes wide with surprise. It seems this goose chase for the seven emeralds has escalated to Prison Island. While the loss of GUN's most powerful artifact isn't ideal, all Michael yearns to hear is the assurance of Station Square's safety.
"YOU LET EGGMAN'S HELPERS WALK AWAY?! SON, I WILL FLY ACROSS MOBIUS TO TAKE AWAY YOUR BADGE PERSONALLY!"
The Commander turns off his earpiece and paces around the small room. If it were not for its neat decor and the presence of the most powerful man in Mobius, the exasperated commanding officer would've thrown over a desk. Instead, his brewing anger is left inside where it fuels his already high blood pressure.
"Commander?" Michael asks, anticipating the update.
"Eggman has been detained," the Commander exhales, turning to face the smiling President.
"That much I heard. Thank goodness. I figure a celebration is in order. Though, it might be premature depending on what other news you have for me."
"Well, President, your 'war hero'-"
"OUR war hero," Michael corrects, eyeing the Commander sternly.
"-has made off with our most powerful weapon," he finishes.
"Do we know why?"
"I'll tell you why! Because he's an undisciplined, destructive teenager who thinks he owns the world! We need to make an example out of him."
"Making an example out of the hero who has now saved the world from Eggman's tyranny a second time," Michael says, sitting back down. "I'm sure that'll bold well with our citizens."
"The citizens aren't the ones keeping the streets safe," The Commander retaliates. "They're not out there defending our borders. That's GUN's responsibility."
"Tell me, Commander, have you stopped to consider why Sonic would steal the emerald? Perhaps because of our dishonesty?"
"What would you have me do, Mr. President? Disclose confidential information with a Mobian child? If anything, this proves he cannot be trusted. I will rally all forces to take back what is ours!"
Agitated, The President begins to smooth his forehead. Without the accolades, success on the field, and iron grip command, the man in front of him could hardly pass as a reasonable asset to maintaining Station Square's peace.
"We should have moved the emerald to a more secure location," Michael mumbles tiredly.
"I disagree, Mr. President," the Commander says. "Prison Island was our best bet for fortification, always has been for years. I hope you don't take a cue from our beloved 'war hero' and doubt GUN's security. To think he had the nerve to tell us to evacuate."
The President's head snaps up, his eyes enlarging in a panic.
"Evacuate?" he echoes.
"Yeah, apparently the little runt wanted to relay that message. Can you believe the audacity-"
"You fool!" Michael stands back up, gripping his desk. "If Sonic tells us to evacuate, that means something is coming!"
"With all due respect Mr. President, what could possibly threaten Station Square of all places?"
A bright, blinding red glow flushes out the sun's yellow light. It pierces through the two windows of the Oval Office. Curious, but more alert, both men approach the see-through pane on the right to get a better look outside.
At first glance, the sky appears to be bleeding. Suspended below the red clouds about twenty meters in front of the White House is someone or something covered in a red aura. On both sides of it rest the city's many skyscrapers. Crowds of predestinations have completely stopped what they're doing, looking as though they're frozen in time. Each of their eyes glances up at the hovering figure obscured in its own light.
"What on Earth is that..." Michael mumbles, starstruck at what he's seeing.
"A target," the Commander answers, adjusting his earpiece. "Attention all agents, this is your Commander speaking. Do you see that eyesore in the sky? Hard to miss right? Well... you know the drill. Let it rain."
On command, a wave of bullets and laser beams erupt from all around the large city, prompting each gawking civilian to snap to their senses and run for safety. Even from his distance, the Commander can make out the multitude of pellets and beams making contact with the strange figure, much to his satisfaction.
"How pitiful."
Processing the clear, loud, deafening voice, the Commander's grin fades. He and Michael exchange worried glances, both baffled as to who they're dealing with.
To answer their question, the figure's aura dims to a sight more tolerable for the eyes. The figure, to everyone's surprise, is a Mobian Jackal. Not a robot, but a being of flesh and blood who can emit such light. The wind blows against his white dreadlocks. Finally, it dawns on the Commander that none of the stationary agents' weaponry has so much as phased the glowing entity.
Without warning, a red shockwave disperses from the Jackal's body, ceasing all attacking gunfire and causing every citizen who has yet to seek shelter to fall to the ground. The Commander quickly takes Michael's shoulders and turns him away from the flying bits of glass that shoot out from the Oval Office's now obliterated windows.
"What is he doing now?"
Wanting to know what prompted Michael's question, the Commander looks back at the Jackal through the rectangular opening where the window used to be. He gasps. The Jackal has a hand pointed right in their direction.
"GET DOWN!" The Commander screams, tackling the President to the floor.
The ball of untamed electrical energy flies from Infinite's right hand and toward the large, sophisticated building. In seconds, the two meet, and the latter folds on impact, completely crumbling down. Nearly nothing is left of the White House once the dust settles. Only a messy ruble.
Below him, screaming civilians continue packing into whatever safe haven they think they can find. Restaurants, retail stores, pharmacies, banks, all of it. It's enough to earn a slight grin from the hovering Jackal.
"Pest control is a duty beneath one such as myself. I'd much rather watch."
Morphing the color of the sky was easy. In fact, it came as natural to the Jackal as breathing. But now comes the time to truly test what his power can do. His eyes close as the enchanting glow of the ruby glows brighter on his chest.
On the empty street below, a swarm of small red cubes comes together, materializing into a Mobian Jackal. Like his creator, his fur is a light shade of black save for the end of his long, bushy tail with a white tip. Wrapped around his forehead is a loose, green bandana.
To his right, another Jackal forms, with this one bearing the same physical similarities. Though, she wears a distinguishing uniform. A simple green top and brown, dotted pants.
Two more Jackals appear at their side. One of them wears a red barret and has sports tape covering their arms and legs. The other wears a red scarf and Tuscan beige gloves and shoes. Each of the four Jackals wields a scarlet sword that matches their blank, soulless, glowing crimson eyes.
More and more of them come to life nearby, sharing the same appearance as the first four. It's not long before an army fills the street. A vengeful army.
"Jackals, retake the world that rejected you."
A roar cry shakes the city, followed by united marching.
"I will no longer wear the face of a ghost," Infinite says, placing both hands on his face.
Now having gotten used to his newfound power, creations take but a second to bring to life. That's the amount of time it takes for a silver-covered mask to shroud his face completely. Both ears are much larger, sporting two circular, swirling black and white lines engraved within them.
His left eye can see clearly through the mask's red visor, unlike his right which is covered by a black lighting-bolt-shaped symbol.
"This is my real face."
...