Introduction

Professor Gerald Robotnik, the Commander and all other related characters copyrighted by Sega.

o

o

o

o

- -RAGNAROK DAWN- -
-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-

-Written by Tylec Asroc-

The little planet was a drop of precious aqua hanging in the eternal darkness of space. The mighty star it orbited unleashed eternal light, but the planet so blue radiated life. It was a sanctuary, a hope shining through the night, a miracle of order, a child lovingly shaped with intent and care.

The blink of an eyelid swallowed the blue planet like dark jaws.

The prize so blue resurfaced, spewed core to center as the maw released. Under the lens of the black Observer drone, the blue sphere rippled.

Another blink: furious nips of predator jaws as the probe snapped up data and magnified scans of the target's two orbiting satellites - and zoomed in further, collecting stats. off the man-made asteroid sphere; calculating, considering ...

The probe jettisoned its spore pods.

The manual typewriting unit was a relic of olden days, much like the battleworn fingers slamming its keys.

.
The raid of the space colony ARK - that is to say, the actual takeover - was the simplest part of operation. The colonists were unarmed, the scientists untrained in combat. In the end, a single, twelve-man squadron was all it took for the Guardians of the United Nation to conquer the satellite.

.
The commander was old, firm and his uniform well-decorated. A crisply stacked pile of paper stood attention at his elbow, modestly titled: An Officer's Memoirs.

.
Looking back, I see it as a brilliant coup d'etat - and a classic model upon which all successful invasions are founded: success lying not in waves of brute strength, but a slow and calculated operation of infiltration and deception.

The shuttle transporting my squad was timed and masqueraded as a supply vessel bringing parts and foodstuffs. Colony Control accepted us without any thought to ill-intention. Point one of invasion: Deception and Subtlety.

Still, any successful conquest requires one addition further: a man on the inside. Undercover Intelligence Division operatives made contact with every scientist who returned to earth on "shore leave". They weren't all your 'Pure, Uncorrupted Intellectuals' working for the betterment of mankind - and the dear wish of money and research grants could still hold an allure thousands of kilometers above the atmosphere.

When our shuttle landed, our inside agent - our Rat - had already transmitted all necessary security codes and clearance to commandeer operating systems. The colonists quickly found their protections and security measures turned against them. Blast doors became jail bars, and security cameras became spy nodes.

.
He was branching off into philosophy. Personal ... personal ...

.
The ARK raid was my first opportunity to take a position of command. The responsibility was, I should add, thrust at me rather suddenly.

.
The Prototype threw its leatherhide tail at the soldiers - the vibrations alone kicked them off their feet like a scatter of toy men. Monstrously-sized reptile growing machinery pods from its spine, its eyes - its toothless maw hissed and lunged down the length of its powerful neck to snap a man between its jaws. The beast shook its catch like a dog - bones crackled - and flung the body into the wall.

The corpse seemed to stare Private William Stryker directly in the eye - its slack jaw pleading. Stryker stood and opened cover-fire. "Fall back! Everybody - move!"

.
Deception is simple enough. The actual fighting - the unveiling of intention, the reduction of situations to physical domination - is always where the plan screws up. On paper, we completed all our mission objectives, but to speak honestly, the operation was a disaster. To begin with, the Prototype was fully functional - it could not be killed - and we were forced to improvise by weakening and encapsulating Professor Robotnik's monster. Stalemate.

There were other unprepared-for ambiguities ...

.
The bald professor cawed in agony as they destroyed his life's work - bullets shredding the incubation tanks, boots crushing venous reptile eggs and grinding down into lizard skulls. They blew apart the computers for good measure.

Sobbing on the floor, Professor Robotnik clasped Stryker at the knees - "Stop it - I beg of you! I can save her - we're close, we're so close!"

"Oi - bossman, what about this one?" Conner tapped his rifle butt to a secret wall panel - and the final tube now revealed.

The professor wailed and tightened his hold. "No, NO!"

"This tube's got Project Shadow insignia all over it, bossman. You know the orders."

Stryker shoved the professor away, stepping up to assess the black anthropomorph suspended in green liquid. "I thought he was building reptiles?"

"He's not part of the project!" the professor whined. "He's - he's a lab assistant! We - we had an accident - yes, an accident! He's ... he's in a coma!"

Conner loaded a fresh clip. "All living specimens," he repeated. "Nothing survives."

"He's a sentient being, you waste of flesh!"

Stryker's boot connected with the doctor's chin and sent him sprawling. Conner's grinned, chuckling his approval. He awaited the order.

Stryker chewed his lips. "Call for backup - I want this furry loaded on the shuttle." Conner's look was a step from mutiny. "If the old man's moved on to mammals, then HQ needs to be informed. And we'll need

.
According to our gung-ho briefings, we were going up there to shut down a mad scientist and his god projects (ooh-rah!). The commanders knew us well - we needed to believe we were doing a service; a goodness for our country. Up on the ARK, away from internal politics, I found myself questioning the validity of our mission.

.
His solitary boots clicked through medical bay, empty as the black void hovering outside the frosted windows. Only ... shivering. Someone - in the far corner, under the bed. He knelt on one knee and peered into the crevice.

She gasped and curled tight. He drew away.

Eleven, twelve; no older. Her face was like chalk and her arms so thin he could see the blueveins shimmering through her skin. Her wrists were pierced with nodes for IV drips and her nose was leashed with an oxygen tube. She clutched the air canister like a sort of stuffed animal, gulping down frightened, raggedy breaths.

"Ssh. Hey now, don't cry." The armor - it had to go. He pealed the helmet off his clipped brown hair. Black gloves came off, exposing the man's pink skin. "See?" He offered his callused hand. "It's okay; no one's gonna hurt you - I promise."

Her fingers were tiny, a feather touch in his palm. Back home, Marlene was five months pregnant; he wondered if his son's hands would feel so soft, so vulnerable.

"You're gonna be okay. I promise."

.
Two days spent subduing and encapsulating the Prototype; another two inventorying and transporting vital GUN research equipment (we made the scientists carry everything like pack mules, of course). The wanted researchers were collected and ticked off like a items on a grocery list - Howards, Cliffs, Robotnik etc. As for the rest, our shuttle had no room, and our Guardian commanders no interest in taking spare parts.

No witnesses. Guilt by association. Those were our orders.

My control over the squad was threadbare. Danny's death scared us all (not so young and invincible any more.) We were soldiers and we needed someone telling us what to do. I just happened to be the most coherent.

I tried to keep the executions clean, organized, but at age twenty I was the youngest of us all - the mascot, really - and once everyone wore out their adrenaline and shock, damn pride kicked in. They looted the bodies, pulled off wedding rings and jewelry for their ladyfriends, stole lab equipment as souvenirs and flushed Lord-knows how much junk out the airlocks.

It galled me - to have my orders belittled and disobeyed.

But I endured, content so long as I kept my stowaway, and kept her safe.

.
He marched for the medical bay, extra rations stuffed in his vest. Today was different - someone had already opened the doors.

Stryker quickened his pace. Voices - Conner, Jeffs. "Hey, hey! Look who we missed."

He rounded the doors - She'd been backed into the corner by his squad-mates. "Hold Fire!" he ordered.

"Will? Hey idiot, you missed one."

He measured his steps slowly, one at a time. "Hold Fire," he hissed through his teeth.

Jeffs sighed. "There he goes again - thinks he's king of the world!"

"She hasn't been ID'd. Hold Fire."

"Oh right - like they need us to bring a kid back!"

"I gave you an order,

They exchanged glances, silently conferencing. Both men smiled. "He's right," Conner grinned, forcing down Jeffs rifle. "C'mon - let's go."

He stared them down like a hawk until they exited the facility. His legs crumbled like sand and he panted on his knees. Her face gasped out terror, but slowly, as their eyes met, a smile resurrected.

Conner's rifle barked from the doorway. Her eyes jumped.

"Oops," he shrugged. "Butterfingers."

.
His fingers left the typewriter, his body reclined into the chair. The print stopped, but his memories continued, their chains loosened.

There had been no tickertape parade, no celebration for his squad of earthbound astro-soldiers. Back on Prison Island they were debriefed mercilessly - the report on Danny's death; the 'ambiguities' in the Project Shadow - and spent long days drilling the "True Story" of their last week. War games; Private First-Class Dan Ryan had an allergic reaction; buried at sea.

He accepted it all. He didn't want to remember.

Last to be discharged, he returned to civilian uniform and trudged for the docks. His squad-mates had also found themselves held up at the pier for the shuttle. They were all gathered in a rowdy circle, grinning and hooting as Conner showed off some sort of pill-shaped capsule like a girly picture. He pushed his way forward to investigate.

His scowl immediately deepened. "What the hell is that?" he demanded.

Conner pretended to be surprised. "Come for a peek, eh? Just some plant, I borrowed - found it in one of Robotnik's labs."

William kept his tone slow and heavy, so the fool could understand what he had just done. "You took that from a research lab. You took a specimen from a research lab."

"Hey, not bad Willy - you're catchin' on!"

He had the boy by his collar and slammed him into gunwale. "You little creeper - we went up there to shut down that nutjob and his projects! Not to bring his crap back here! Look at it!" The capsule was in his hands now and he shoved the opened pod at Conner's face. "Look at this sick thing and tell me this shit grows out of the ground!"

The slime was pasting over Conner's cheek, dripping into the corner of his mouth. The capsule held a rock - a barren, black rock without a trace of soil, split open like an eggshell and allowing a thin-stemmed violet bulb to push its perfectly round head into the air. The solid-purple might have been forgiven, the thorns too, but the slime! The plant - or the fungus, more likely - was oozed over in a thick black bile like oil, squeezing pus-like from tiny openings. He shoved it so close they could hear the slime eel out.

"Lay off - It's a stupid plant!"

"You disobeyed my orders, you unduly executed hostages - You murdered a child!"

Conner, clenching his teeth against the weight, remained unimpressed. "Y'know what, Willy? We ain't on Asteroid M anymore, and right now you ain't got anything past me on rank. So suck it up and clamp it!"

The squad forced them apart, pinning back his arms, gripping the space capsule to his suit. His eyes scanned the faces his comrades, the black scowls. His power had dissolved into the atmosphere - nothing could pin authority to his voice.

But he would not be conquered! Struggling free and shoving Conner into the pier, he pitched the mutated flora into the harbor. A swallowing splunk claimed the freak of nature, pulled down out of sight, spiraling a smoking trail of oozing, black ichor.

They beat him down - for spoiling their fun, for pretending to be more than he was. All he remembered was the final smash of his nose. He still felt it now, rubbing his face, and the misshapen, ugly pillar flattened over his grayed features. In youth he had always pulled naturally into a scowl and a sneer, but his damaged countenance now had no choice in the projection.

.
"Pvt. Stryker."

The cool voice woke his young self, hours later. A hand on his shoulder. His counter-attack came automatic - but his attacker had skill great enough to shrug off the disabling throw. "Oh - it's you ... Sir," he added, still unsure how to address the auxiliary member of the ARK raid. An anthro - a cat with ivory fur who could somehow sneak up on even GUN soldiers despite his colouring. He still wore his black commando gear.

The commanders had introduced the mammal only in the final briefing mission before shuttle launch. The squad had received no name, rank or serial number - only instructions that the cat had been tasked with a priority mission and that any orders given were to be enacted. The cat - No-Rank, they called him, and only when they were sure he was gone - had abandoned the squad immediately after colony landing. He reappeared two days later, clasping a deep jewelry box to his chest and took up residence in an observation room until they were prepared to depart. No one ever found out what gem lay in the box, or why its corners seeped an unnatural, green glow.

Conner and Jeffs had whispered their back-and-forth conspiracy theories - an incognito general come to deal with some scandalous affair (Yeah right - no way they'd let a Furry rise that high!). Perhaps the cat was an Enforcer (Yeah - an' I'm a robot!) Even he had shook his head at that theory - The 'Enforcers' were an urban legend whispered through the barracks - a secret caste of assassins and covert operatives dealing out the direct will of the High Council. 'One Man Armies' pulled in whenever a general needed something unethical done, quick and invisible.

The cat was certainly an impressive stealth agent - but still a cat, an anthro - and he never forgot that while they spoke. "You handled your mission well, Field Commander Stryker." No-Rank still addressed him by his emergency leadership title. "You think clearly under pressure."

"Yeah, whatever. Sir," he added, playing it safe. In one minute they'd spoken more to each other than the entire week. No mention was made to his injuries; he wiped his nose (hurtssomuch) and scanned the harbor for personnel transports.

The cat folded back his arms and joined his observation of the sea. "Have you considered the officer corps, Field Commander?"

"An officer? I just follow orders, Sir." His squad's looks of contempt; disgust filtered to the forefront. "Yeah right - I'm not cut out for that scrap."

The cat was not amused by the flat-out rejection. "You are a leader, Pvt. Stryker. You are focused, determined. The Guardians would certainly strengthen under men of your resolve." He focused his slit-pupiled eyes directly on the human. "Your skills deserve to be acknowledged. To be respected."

He in turn narrowed his eyes at the cat. "This is some payback, isn't it - shoving your rank up in my face, eh Furry?"

The cat chuckled quick and curtly. "I'm beyond your hierarchy, Field Commander. But I'm not so far removed that I can't influence it." He stepped in close, forcing something into his hand.

"My letter of recommendation. Put it through the regular submission. It won't be refused."

He'd looked over the envelope - plain, stationary white with three black characters inked down.

E-22

E? E-series? As in - "Hey - just what -"

Vanished, disappeared like a specter or a mist. He spun around, but the pier stood empty, as though the white cat had been some imagination.

The envelope remained, though it seemed an apprehensive prank without its owner. He gave a quick look around, and stuffed it into his vest pocket.

.
He stumbled home - a bungalow with a broken screen door, floor littered by a crib, stroller, the baby toys they'd bought in their excitement - in the first rays of sunlight. Marlene was in the kitchen, eyes transfixed on the TV. She and the rest of the world held their breath: a meteor had struck the Space Colony ARK. The satellite, the scientists, had not survived.

In the corner of her eye she noticed his bruises, turned gasping. "Will? Will, what happ-"

He dropped his bags and pulled her into his arms. He held her - coveting her, crushing her; dotting her with kisses - so afraid to lose this dear thing. He kneeled before her and placed his cheek to her pregnant chest, communing with the world alive within his beautiful wife.

"Will ..." She'd been afraid, of course. He was never so affectionate as before duty required him to leave her. "Will, I went in for an echo test." Her head bowed, averted. "We're having a girl." She knew well of his fantasies of Father and Son, united soldiers. "Will, I'm sorry."

"A girl," he whispered back, tears in his eyes, a smile reborn. A beautiful baby girl with golden hair ...

"I'm going to enlist in the officer corps," he told her, caressing her hand to his cheek. Commander, analyst, director - something removed from the front lines, from death and the danger of leaving this precious family.

He would change things - he visioned himself reining power over the Guardians. He would guide the most powerful military on the planet - and he would make them obey!

"All for you," he whispered to the new life inside. "You're gonna be okay. I promise."

.
While Marlene unpacked his bags he changed out of uniform, to shower, to cleanse himself for this new day - and felt something foreign in his suit-jacket pocket. He pulled out a crumped note paper, smeared with his blood.

That was right - he'd found it on the pier, used it to wipe his injuries. (Facestillraw.) What was it, anyway? He folded out and smoothed the blue-lined note card, watermarked with the Project Shadow insignia. He turned to the door, to ensure he was alone. He closed the bedroom door and read over, the placard fallen from Conner's capsule, classifying the specimen within.

Retrieved from meteorite Beta-Alpha 11.15.05. Unknown species. Composition matches no recorded Earth specimen.

Composition matches no ... what ... ?