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Reckoning

She was floating, that’s what it felt like. Drifting upon a sea of ethers, up and down, back and forth, with memories breaking the darkness like a flash of lightning during a storm.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to awaken, becoming aware of the waking world around her. She heard sounds of various beeps and other such noises that one associated with a hospital room. Why would she be…?

Then she remembered. The battle, the chase, Norrack, her friends…

She opened her eyes fully, leaping up, scarcely aware of a restraining hand that was suddenly upon her shoulder. She looked over, and saw her father, relief and concern shining in his eyes. Wordlessly, he embraced her, sobbing quietly. To say that she was startled would have been something of an understatement, but after a second or two, she returned the embrace. To her further surprise, she felt her right arm move at her command, and drawing back, she saw it.

There was a silver prosthetic where her right arm had been, neatly connecting to the flesh. It was rather simple, lacking even a covering, so it looked like a mess of wires and servos right now. Nonetheless, she wondered how long she’d been out for her to have had that put on.

“You’re awake,” her father said abruptly, holding her close, but she pushed him back slightly, looking into his tearing eyes.

“What about the others?” she asked, fear in her voice, praying that her friends were not… she couldn’t even bare to think about it.

“They’re fine,” came a new voice, and peering over her father’s shoulder, she saw Uncle Chuck, looking somewhat ragged, a datapad in his hands. A frown crossed his face. “Well, I shouldn’t say fine, but they’re alive.”

She looked at the old scientist, who frowned, and then sighed, before looking back at her.

“We found at about the same time we found you, two days ago, all hunched up together,” he said. “Bunnie and Antoine were out cold, and Derrick was half mad with pain, took a couple of shots at the guys who found them. Fortunately, he missed.” He paused for a moment, before continuing. “We got off okay, due to some interference on the part of the Blue Brook soldiers, but we still had wounded.”

“How bad?” She dared to inquire.

“Antoine’s like you, except he’s missing an eye as well,” Sir Charles said, “Lupe’s got a couple of broken ribs, Rotor got his chest burned pretty badly, but he’s fine other than that, and Mecha managed to fillet Colonel St. John’s face before our help arrived.” He stopped there, as he thought about how to break the news of her best friend to her.

“Bunnie?” the princess asked.

In a somber tone, he told her what had transpired. The news had hit her hard, and she started to cry into her father’s shoulder, her will finally collapsing as she heard that her friend, the girl that had practically been a sister to her all these years, would never be normal again.

Then there were the children. They’d done all they could, but while bacta was a miraculous substance, even it had its limit. It merely rapidly accelerated the bodies natural healing and regenitive capabilities, it could not regrow limbs, or in Amy’s case, heal a spinal cord that had been so utterly shattered that there was little left to put back together. As it was, she would likely be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of her life, and they’d had to reinforce her backbone with so much metal that she wouldn’t even be able to go near a metal detector without setting it off.

Tails fared only a little better. He’d carry the scars of those flames with him to his grave. Hearing that her child had been maimed like that brought more tears, but the old man could hardly blame her. Indeed, he was tempted to cry himself, and was prevented only by the fact that he couldn’t shed tears in the first place.

“Then there’s Derrick,” he said after a couple of minutes passed. She looked up at him, and he sighed. “He’s got four ribs that we had to surgically go in and glue back together, his right femur was compound fractured so violently that it virtually shredded his leg muscles in that region, and his left fibula and tibia were both in about thirty different pieces…”

“Will he be okay?” she asked, knowing what she was about to hear wouldn’t be good.

“We’ve repaired most of the damage, but I can guarantee that he’ll carry a bad limp for the rest of his life,” the mechanized hedgehog said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “His fighting days are over…”

Sally remained silent, knowing that this would be a crushing blow to the old warrior. She wondered how he could take it… if he would be able to take it.

“And then there’s you,” the scientist continued with a slight nod, gesturing to his datapad. “Physically speaking, you’re fine, aside from your arm, but…” he trailed off

She looked into his eyes, and realized what he must have been talking about. Fear gripped her, and she placed a hand to her stomach. The flash of anxiety passed after a second though. She wasn’t quite sure how, but she knew that her child was okay, that by some miracle, it had survived all that she had been through.

“Sally,” her father said, his voice almost breaking, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why,” she responded, trying to keep her tone neutral and devoid of hostility. There had been enough of that.

“I figured as much,” he said, his shoulder slumping, as if the whole sky had suddenly fallen upon him. “Bean… Sally… I’m sorry, I’ve been…” he couldn’t finish, though, and broke down into tears again.

The girl reached forward, and gently embraced her father, letting him cry on her. A sad smile made its way to her face, and she wondered how badly this decision would haunt him. Hundreds were dead because of a mistake he’d made, but looking at him, how pathetic he seemed now, nothing like the monarch that she knew, she couldn’t hate him for it. He’d been blinded by his need to defy the man who’d destroyed his kingdom and his people to the point where he couldn’t see the truth.

Gunter came to mind. The cougar and her father weren’t really that much different. They’d both been so desperate to do something, anything, other than run away that they hadn’t realized they had no hope of victory.

But there would be other battles, at other times, and she would be certain that they never made that mistake again. Robotnik would yet be cast down.

Sir Charles cleared his throat a moment later, causing them to both look up at him. “I hate to interrupt, your majesties, but there’s something we need to discuss,” he said, his voice sober, an undertone of worry detectable in it.

“What?” the king inquired, pausing to wipe away some of his tears.

“Rotor, Reynard, and I have been discussing this with some of the soldiers around here, and we’ve decided that we need to launch an attack at Robotropolis, now,” he told them, deadly serious.

“What?” Maximilian stated, utter baffled by this. “But our losses have been catastrophic, to say nothing of the soldiers who died trying to free the prisoners from the battle as they were taken back to that wretched city!”

“My lord,” Uncle Chuck began, very calm, almost eerily so. “We have to strike now or this war will be over before we know it. Robotnik has the plans from the ARC project, he has a fresh supply of prisoners, and he has a cache of kaiburr crystals.” He paused, staring them dead in the eyes. “He has everything he needs to make an entire squadron of Norracks, or, Goddess help us, an army of them!”

They let that thought sink in, and Sally felt dread pool in her belly. They had barely been able to defeat a single ARC trooper, and a lot of that had been luck. The thought of any army of them, of hundreds of armored and shielded killing machines charging about a battlefield, sent fear through her like she’d never before known. If Julian was allowed to construct such a force, there would be no stopping him. He would use those cyborgs to crush every last bastion of resistance arrayed against him.

She nodded, and looked at him. “Who’s leading the assault?”

“Myself and Rotor,” he replied. “He’s already back up and about and we may need his hacking abilities. As for me, well, age doesn’t bother a robot.”

With that he turned and left, no doubt heading for an armory.

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Deep in the command center of Robotropolis, the purple furred walrus was leading his group forward. He was nervous, to say the least. So far, they had encountered exactly zero resistance. No Swat Bots, no Hover Bot patrols, not a single thing. They might have been jamming and killing cameras all along the way here, but this was blatantly ridiculous. Frankly, the Freedom Fighter’s gut instinct was blaring ‘it’s a trap!’ as loud as it possibly could. But he knew they couldn’t abandon this mission. They had to take bullet head down and Snivley while they were at it, or else their cause would be lost.

He scanned about again, one side of his vision tinted slightly green from the camera that was attached to his helmet. The others, with the exception of the children and Derrick, were watching their progress. The kids were not watching for the obvious reason of this was a take no prisoners mission, and the Mandalorian was still out cold from his surgery.

They were practically to the control room doors, and still no guards. Well, he thought to himself as he shifted his grip upon his submachine gun, if this was a trap, then it was time to spring it.

He drew out a door breaching charge, and as their target came into sight, he slapped it on. Then he waited for the others to get into position. He nodded over to Sir Charles, and then remotely activated it.

The tiny charge exploded, blowing a fairly good sized hole in the doors. After that, came the grenades, two flash bangs, two smoke grenades, and a couple of EMP’s to be safe. Then they slide thermal visors on, which had been specifically hardened for this mission, and went through the door.

Once again, the sheer lack of resistance surprised them. The walrus motioned for the rest of the group to fan out, to try and find their quarry. He had to be here somewhere, but he was beginning to have the sinking feeling that the overlord was not in this particular building. If that was indeed the case, they needed to find him, and fast.

He heard a soldier cry out and then hit the ground, and he whirled around, thinking it an ambush.

However, no fire came from some hidden doorway or alcove, and the man who’d tripped seemed to be okay. Rotor moved over to help him, wondering what he could have stumbled over.

He almost didn’t see it as he approached the man, who was getting to his feet unassisted, his boots clacking on something that didn’t sound completely metallic. He stopped and looked down. In front of him was a large object, barely a shade warmer than the floor and air around them. The man must have stumbled over it. The guerilla soldier wondered what it could have been, and checked the watch on his HUD. The smoke from the grenades would probably take about another fifteen seconds to dissipate, and then he would find his answer.

The seconds ticked by, each one making him more and more agitated. However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when it cleared and he removed his goggles. There was a collective bit of gasping, followed by terse whispers, and the walrus realized they would be unable to complete their mission…

…Because someone had beaten them to the punch.

It took him a moment or two to actually realize that this was Julian in front of him. Blood was everywhere, dried trails of it coming from dozens of holes in the despot. One arm had been sliced off, and his face was twisted into a mask of absolute horror. Rigor mortis appeared to have just barely settled in, meaning that who or whatever had done this had killed the tyrant less than four hours ago. Such a thought barely registered with the resistance soldiers, though, who were trying to wrap their minds around what they were looking at.

“Holy Goddess,” the Freedom Fighter remarked, staring down at the corpse, “are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yes,” he heard Sally say over the comm. line. “How…”

“I don’t know,” he remarked, prodding the body, half expecting it to suddenly reanimate, “but something got a hold of him. Look’s like some sort of wild animal almost… You don’t suppose that he was attempting to roboticize a drexyl, do you?” He said, laughing weakly.

“Would be a fitting end for him,” the princess spat. “Have your guys spread out and try to find Snivley, if we don’t bag him, he might be able to pick up where his uncle left off.”

“Roger that,” Rotor said, steel in his voice, and a faint bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, this whole mess might finally be over with. He turned to his troops, and barked for them to begin a systematic sweep of the whole region.

Sir Charles was the last one to leave, stating that he wanted to check something out, and he’d catch right back up with them. As they left, he reached down into a utility belt, and withdrew a small vial. Some of Robotnik’s blood hadn’t completely dried yet, and he was able to get some into the container. Carefully placing the cap back on, he noticed something about the body.

While the majority of the wounds appeared to be long gashes and did indeed make it look as if a drexyl or some other large predatory creature had mauled him, one wound was different. It was a stab wound, right through Julian’s heart. It was deep, almost going all the way through the overlord. It looked to be the death wound, and Sir Charles was a little confused by it, as it seemed so different from the rest of them.

He couldn’t afford to waste any more time, though, and he hurriedly replaced the vial in his belt, before leaving to catch back up to the others.

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Panting, grunting, stretching one arm out over the other. Had to get out of here, had to escape. Stupid uncle of his, should have just left him to die. No, couldn’t do that could he? Had to take him in, had to try and make him into the latest super weapon. If he weren’t already dead, he would have shot him.

Such were the thoughts of Snivley as he desperately tried to flee the city of Robotropolis. He wasn’t making good progress, as it was hard to escape quickly when one couldn’t use one’s legs. The irony was thick there, being kneecapped with his own pistol, before being forced to shut down the security forces, and program some tech bots to repair that wretched fiend and fix his armor.

Ordinarily, he would have attempted a double cross, but not this time. No, not after all that he had seen the ARC trooper do when he was properly enraged. He didn’t trust himself to be able to kill the cyborg before it could counter attack, especially after it had already shot him twice with his own weapon. On some level, he supposed he should have been grateful that he’d been allowed to live, but as it was, it looked like the commando might have done that just so he could find himself in the hospitable company of the Freedom Fighters.

He’d seen them on the move, had barely managed to remain out of sight. Soon, they’d know the truth, and then they’d swarm over this city, tearing it apart looking for him. Fear clutched at his soul, as he thought of what would happen if he were to be caught. His beatings at the hands of Julian would doubtlessly be pleasant by comparison.

That fear spurred him onward, and he frantically clawed at the dura-crete underneath him, not caring a whit that he was tearing his nails off and bloodying up his hands in his frenzy to get away.

He knew he wasn’t going to make it, though. Within two hours, guerilla strike craft would be zooming down these streets, and then they’d have him. He almost wanted to weep.

It wasn’t fair, dammit! He was supposed to topple that bloated sack of flesh and take over! He was supposed to rule this world! Now, now, because of his uncle’s idiocy and insistence upon theatrics and a good laugh, it had all come tumbling down in ruin.

A shadow fell over him, and he abruptly looked up, fear spiking through his heart as he thought that the Freedom Fighters had found him. Much to his surprise though, this person wasn’t with them. At least, the diminutive Overlander didn’t think anyone within their ranks wore a cloak like that. The person looked down upon him, the only thing visible being its glowing red eyes.

“Evening, Jonathan,” he said, his voice neutral as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I take it your day hasn’t been fun?”

“Who… who are you?” the little man asked, somewhat surprised to hear someone calling him by his real name after all these years.

“At the moment, quite possibly your savior,” the person replied enigmatically, and Jonathan could hear a smile in the tone.

“What do you mean?” the little man asked, not daring to hope.

“I have great plans for this world, Jonathan,” the Mobian replied offhandedly, “but I cannot do them alone. I will need someone with technical expertise on my side, and I can think of no one more qualified than you.”

“What would I get out of this?” he asked, somewhat suspicious. This seemed too good to be true, and while he didn’t want to be left here to die, he didn’t relish the prospect of being an underling again.

“You’d live to see the end of the day for one thing,” the cloaked person responded. “And in the long run… power, respect, a place by my side when I am done…”

Jonathan mulled it over in his head, thinking about it. It was tempting, but his uncle had made a similar offer to him thirteen years ago. Finally though, that stubborn streak in him that had simply refused to allow him to give up and die (and he had certainly felt like ending it all at several times these past few years) reared its head again, and he nodded. The Mobian stepped forward, and gently picked him up off of the ground. He then turned, and faced towards the edge of the city.

“I suggest you hold on tight,” he said, his tone quiet.

The Overlander meant to ask what he was talking about, but found his words swept away in a scream as they shot off. The buildings move by in a blurred fashion, so swiftly that he could not tell one from another.

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He had everything he needed set up, and now he placed the data disk into one of the many computers of his hideout and waited for it to load up. He’d told the others that there had been some stuff that he’d needed from his lab. It was true for the most part. He needed answers.

As he began to navigate the enormous amounts of data pertaining to the ARC project, he reached down and withdrew the vial that he had. When he finally reached the files that had been locked down by the level seven security code, carefully inserted a drop of Robotnik’s blood into a receptacle that this particular computer had.

It took nearly a minute to confirm that the DNA sequences were the same, but when the machine was finished, Sir Charles found himself with unlimited access to whatever it was that Robotnik wanted to keep from them. He anxiously clicked on the largest file, which turned out to be a security camera feed.

“Is everything ready, Snivley?” Julian asked as he appeared on the screen.

“Yes sir,” the little man replied, shaking his head in an affirmative nod.

“Good, wake him up,” the overlord said, placing both hands behind his back. “This is going to be priceless!”

It was only then that the old scientist noticed that the two Overlanders were standing in front of a shielded holding cell of some sort. There was an operating table of some kind in the middle, hooked up to various machines. He couldn’t see who or what was on the table, but he hazarded a guess that it must have been Norrack. His heart went out to whatever pour soul that had been. Curiosity was there, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder who the man had been.

Snivley typed something into a datapad, a confirming note resounding throughout the room as he pressed the enter key. The command must have remotely injected a stimulant of some sort, as a couple of seconds later there arouse a groan from the table. It was followed by a swift gasp of surprise. The old man noticed the distortion in the voice, and truthfully he was surprised. He had thought that the partially mechanized voice the cyborg had had was something having to do with his helmet. Robotnik must have taken it deeper than that, apparently messing with Norrack’s vocal cords. That did strike him as odd, and he wondered why the tyrant would have done such a thing.

His answer came a moment later.

“What the hell?” Norrack said, his tone slightly groggy.

“Glad to see you are awake,” Robotnik stated, and Sir Charles could hear the malice and twisted joy in his voice. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you back to the land of the living… hedgehog.”

If Uncle Chuck had still had a heart, it probably would have stopped right then. He blinked once, and then twice, his mind unable to process what it had just heard. No! He thought to himself. That couldn’t be!

Unfortunately, it was the truth.

A scream of pure, bloodthirsty rage came from the holding cell, and Uncle Chuck heard the sound of metal being ripped apart. In another instant there came the sound of an impact against the shield. Snivley yelped and leaped backwards, giving the roboticized scientist a clear view of the other side. Had he still been able to breath, the air would have departed his lungs.

It was Sonic, and pain tore through the old man in a manner he would have never thought possible.

His nephew, no, his son, his boy, the child he had taken in a loved as if he were his own, stood on the other side of that barrier, hate on all of his features and murder in his eyes. Where once had been his arms and legs, were now mechanized replicas, ending at the shoulders and the hips. The rest of his body was intact for the most part, though Sir Charles could see the scars that covered his chest and face, The mirrored the skeletal system, tracing his ribcage along his torso, while eight of them cut jagged lightning bolts like lines outward from the center of his visage. The old man wept inwardly, for he knew what had caused those.

Adding to the level of ferocity that these new additions gave him was the fact that his build was heavier, his muscles more pronounced now, as if they’d been chemically enhanced. Sonic’s quills were also slightly shorter than he remembered, and his subconscious mind chalked that up to them being scorched off. He was surprised that there didn’t appear to be any scars from burns upon his son, but that thought was a small one indeed.

Snarling, his scarred visage twisted into a mask that looked so wrong upon him, Sonic reached back, and slammed his right fist into the shield, sending shockwaves through it.

Robotnik began to laugh, that accursed, mind grating laugh he always used when things were going exactly as he wanted them to. “Well, hedgehog, I must say I rather like these new additions to you.”

“Yeah, they’ll look lovely when I’m holding your heart in my hands!” the Freedom Fighter snarled, a look in his eyes that would have sent chills down the spine of a demon.

“Oh I don’t think so,” Julian said, shaking his head slightly. “But if it is blood you lust for, rodent, then I believe we had better get started. Snivley,” he called, turning to his nephew, “activate the neural chip!”

In the next moment, Sonic slid to his knees, a cry of pain coming from him.

“No!” Uncle Chuck shouted, his voice cracking, watching the lines of agony on the face of his son, watching him grab his head, shaking it, slamming it against the shield, trying to do anything to get rid of the pain.

Sobbing, he killed the video feed, unable to watch it anymore. Then he broke down, shoulders heaving, broken, wretched cries coming from him.

For what seemed like ages, he wept. No tears were shed, but by the time it was over with he was slumped down on the floor, rocking back and forth, his face buried in his arms.

Perhaps, though, if he had not been so eager to acquire what he needed to unlock the secrets of Julian’s files, he would have realized something about earlier. Julian’s death wound, the stab through his heart, had all the earmarks of being done with a fairly long bladed weapon, a sword. However, the wound had been cauterized, sealed as if by fire…

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He stared around at the ruins, scarcely daring to believe what his eyes and his memories told him. His home was in ruins, every last structure burned to the ground. Corpses still littered some areas of the field, and he could see the craters where Jackhammers had hit home, and the smoking ruins of what had once been Wraiths.

It was a scene straight from the Nine Hells.

But what made it all the worse was the fact that he had participated in this. He had cut down his fellows. He had burned them alive, had shot them, gutted them, and beheaded them.

Choking back a sob, he wandered over to one region of the village. After a few minutes, he stood in front of the remains of a hut. The coals and embers had long since died, but a bit of smoke still wafted up, curling about in complex patterns.

He stepped into the ruins, moving over to a particular area before hunching down and sifting through the rubble. For some time, he did this, until he found something. He pulled it out, staring at it, silently marveling that it had survived.

It was a simple ferrosteel ring, slightly charred, stained black and grey with sooth and ash. He felt tears come to his eyes as he continued to look at it, to twist it back and forth in his left hand.

Once, what seemed to be eons ago, the ring had been a splendid, shining gold. It had been only paint, of course, as real gold was a little bit hard to find in the middle of a war like the one they had been involved in. He’d made it himself after that night that he and Sally had spent together, and had been planning to propose to her with it after they’d won.

What a twisted, macabre act of Fate that he should find it again now, the sole surviving relic from what had once been his hut. It was no less twisted that his own position now. Robotnik was dead, slain at his own hands. But so were hundreds of his comrades.

He could remember every face, the fear in their eyes, as he’d slaughtered them. The blood of scores of innocents was upon his hands, upon his soul.

What would they think of him, of the monster that he had become? He clutched the battered ring to his chest, sobbing quietly. Sobs became full throated wails, and the local wildlife quickly left the hedgehog to his sorrows. All the while, he held onto that ring, gripping it as if the universe would end if he were to let go.

His grief was interrupted, though, by a sound that was familiar to him. He heard a humming, almost like an audible shimmer. He twisted instinctively, looking over towards the Ring Pool. One of them was coming up. It broke the surface of the water, shinning like a halo, golden, beautiful, pure.

An irrational hatred filled him at that moment, as he looked upon that old reminder of his life, surfacing now as if to remind him of all that he had done. Roaring, he jumped to his feet, drew his kaiburr sword with his repaired right arm, and charged.

He ignited the blade as he rushed towards that old symbol of himself, his eyes narrowed dangerously behind the visor of his helmet. Moving faster than most could have followed, he vaulted into the air, flipping over and bringing his blade down upon the power ring with all of his might.

The blade shattered it, and a golden explosion filled the area, causing his visor to darken almost instantly. An alarm warbled inside his helmet, letting him know he had nearly depleted his shields, but he gave it no heed as he stood there, waist deep in the waters of the pool, which were now much warmer than they had been a few seconds earlier.

He looked down at the other ring, the one he held in his left hand. Closing his eyes, he deactivated his weapon and sheathed it. He then turned, and began to slowly move out of the village ruins. They’d probably found his handiwork back in Robotropolis, and it was only a matter of time before they came back here. He couldn’t be found, couldn’t go back. Not after all that he had done.

Gently, reverently, he placed the ring into his utility belt, before running off into the woods at top speed.

His sentence was exile. He could no longer live among this world, among the pure souled people he had fought alongside of, and the people he had loved.

An image of Sally filled his mind, and pain lanced through him, almost causing him to stumble. He tried to banish that image, but found that he could not. In a way, though, it served to strengthen his resolve in this matter.

Better they think him dead, than alive as he was now.

He knew where he would go. He wasn’t certain exactly where it was, his memories of it, which seemed sharper now that he was what he had been meant to be, were still somewhat vague, but he knew the rough area of where he needed to start his search.

It was an appropriate place for a creature born of shadows and darkness to reside…