Chapter 13

"Amy, when did you get back? Your mother and I didn't hear you come in." The teen glanced up to see her father, Jacob Rose (whose once vibrant aqua-colored fur was now tinted with gray), poking his head around her half-opened door.

"A little while ago," she answered, "Sorry I didn't check in. It's been a pretty long day and I guess I spaced."

The elder hedgehog nodded, adjusting his reading spectacles, "Did you have a good time with your friends?"
"I…yes, I did," she said, smiling assuredly up at him.

He grinned cheerfully, leaning against her doorframe. It was nice to see her happy for a change- for a girl with as few problems as he could discern (and admittedly, he was sure he didn't know every facet and detail of his daughter's life), she certainly was melancholy a lot… "That's good- any big plans for tonight?"

"Nah, I'm pretty beat," she said, "Just gonna play around on the computer for a bit, then turn in, I think."

"Alright- your mother's putting on some hot water, if you want tea or anything in a little while."

"Okay, sure. Tell her thanks and to leave a mug out for me."

"I will," he assured her, walking over to give his daughter a one-armed hug, "Have a good night; see ya tomorrow."

"You too," she said, placing one hand over his for a moment, "Love you."

"Love you too, honey," he said, kissing her on the cheek. With that, he left the room, softly closing her door three-quarters of the way behind him.

Settling back against the pillows at her headboard, Amy let out a small sigh. It was true, she was exhausted, but there was just too much spinning dizzily in her head for her to sleep. She'd said she'd update the blog, but the prospect of picking a proper place to start was daunting. So much had happened… She raised a hand to her lips instinctively. On the roof, Silver had almost…almost…

She shook her head, blushing. 'I can't believe I nearly let that happen. I swore I would save that for Sonic. But…Silver…' She couldn't get his voice out of her head – so shy, so sincere… How could she have never realized?

Gerald flipped his pocket-watch open, 'Midnight…he's probably asleep by now,' he thought, replacing the timepiece before silently entering his adoptive son's room. The house was still and dark, the only illumination for the old man to follow coming in the form of the moonlight through Shadow's lone window. It was messy, unkempt, and dusty, which, while typical of a teenager, could partially be blamed on nurture, 'It's not like my workshop is any cleaner…' He smirked just slightly: nature versus nurture- now there's a battle he was more than familiar with.

Every damn day he had to watch his son-…no, his creation…struggle with his own inner programming to do what society, what his family told him was right. It pained the doctor to no ends to watch Shadow try to cope with something so far beyond his control, an enemy combatant he didn't even comprehend existed. The temporary black-outs, the violent tendencies, the inability to fully appreciate the immeasurable worth of life itself, the incalculable strength were all byproducts of his creator's missteps. Kintobor ran a hand tiredly through his extremely thinned hair, watching Shadow sleep peacefully, 'How could I have been so blind? How did I let them take it this far…?'

"Ah, Dr. Kintobor, how good to see you again!"

"How is he doing today?" Gerald asked as he traded his dark overcoat for the white lab coat that hung on the back of his desk chair.

"Well…" the younger man, a lanky, red-haired, recent college graduate by the name of Claphin (Ph.D. pending, he was going to graduate school on the government's payroll, thus worked for them on the side) frowned in confusion, spinning in his swivel chair back towards the computer monitors. As chief (or rather, the only) assistant to Doctor Kintobor on Project 'Shadow' it was his duty to get into the laboratory early in order to get everything prepped and ready for the start of a fresh research day. The lab was medium-sized sterile-clean, from the white-tiled floor to the steel, reinforced walls.

Several tables were pushed up against the walls, some containing scattered papers, logs, and research books, but most were merely stations for the extremely advanced, government-provided computer equipment. In the very center of the room, in an enormous, illuminated pipe filled with liquid, floated the results of their months of work: a tiny, nearly complete, hedgehog-humanoid- created entirely from the genius of Doctor Kintobor, "His vital signs are stable, but…"

"…But…?" Kintobor asked, turning towards the amniotic chamber, hands clasped behind his back.

"I've been observing some changes in his design specs," the younger man continued, "Not in the physical make-up or anything, but certainly in its brain- have you been doing work without telling me?"

"I haven't," the elder man shook his head, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, "I wanted his brain to develop as naturally as possible, given the circumstances. What sorts of changes have you noticed?"

"Well, the nanobots show numerous activation times when neither of us were in the labs," Claphin began, scrolling through a log on the computer screen to his right, "Each time performing operations in the frontal and temporal lobes, though why, to what effect or extent I can't tell yet."

The bright blue eyes behind the old man's glasses clouded over. This didn't bode well, someone using the equipment while they were out. "We'll need to get a CAT scan immediately. See what the damage is…"

The younger man nodded, "Also, I was using the nano-cam earlier and I observed what looked like numerous needle marks in its back, neck, and arms," he added nervously.

"Say what?" Gerald asked, rounding on him, "Have you run tests to locate any foreign substances in his bloodstream?"

"Tests are running now sir, but…" Claphin trailed off, rubbing his hands together anxiously, "Not all of the marks look fresh."

"How old to they look…?" he asked warily.

"Two months, but the creature will heal in time," came a new, third voice from the doorway, "Its remarkable resilience is only one of its many talents, of course…"

The young man snapped to attention, but Gerald turned furiously towards the tall, square-shouldered man who had just entered the room. "Brigadier General Grier…" he said sourly, "I thought we'd agreed at the start of this that my work was not to be interfered with. Just what in hell's name have you been doing here behind my back?"

"And I respected our agreement- until your little discovery eight weeks ago," Grier stated calmly, stepping into the room. He was dressed in a formal, deep green military dress uniform with a cap adorning his shaved-bald scalp. A dozen foot soldiers followed him into the room, flanking the walls behind him.

Watching the small crown amass, the old man scowled. He knew exactly what Grier meant by 'little discovery'. During a standard, cellular scan, it had been revealed that the infant's body was harboring a massive amount of energy – the sort that when found in naturally born humanoids resulted in what( in layman's terms) could be called 'gifts' or 'powers', extraordinary physical and/or mental abilities that humans had yet to tap into in their own genetic lines. The origins of such developments were still unknown, and it had been a shock to him to find that the product of his work had developed them. How they would manifest themselves had yet to be revealed as well, as they could not until the child was a bit older. In his current incubation stage, it was anyone's guess. He just hadn't realized the military who had funded the work would take such an interest in doing the guess work.

"We were content to let you have this little pet project of yours, as the results of your research could have gleaned some information into the development of a humanoid in a controlled setting, but after we discovered the notes you made on this creature's latent abilities, well…" the Brigadier General trailed off, smiling unpleasantly, "Do you know the true name of the Department for Sentient Research and Development, doctor?"

"I was under the impression that was its true name," Gerald replied.

"The official name, certainly," Grier nodded curtly, "But the brass simply refer to it as the Cloning Department. Your creation now has an enormous amount of potential for the military, so we've been bringing in our own engineers and scientists to…help it along, in that direction…"

"So I've noticed," Gerald said, "What exactly is it that you've done, Brigadier? And to what purpose?"

"We've improved it: strengthened its body, given it a complex concoction of drugs in order to feed its instinctual side, made minor modifications to its brain to better suit it for military assignments. Someday this 'Project Shadow' of yours will make the perfect super-soldier we've been looking for; what with the humanoid population almost twice that of our own and the sudden increase of crawlers with natural-born 'powers', the military feels that a man-made creature such as this has the potential to be the ultimate executor of whatever…drastic measures may someday become necessary."

Gerald scowled. 'Of course…leave it to our government to prepare for war against the humanoids…' "Do you have any idea how dangerous that sort of tampering is?" he demanded, "He'll grow up volatile – violent! How do you expect to control the strength he's bound to have, much less get him to follow orders?"

"You're welcome to stay aboard to help us, doctor," Grier said, though he didn't sound too enthusiastic, "But, as I mentioned earlier, we have our own team and our own plans for dealing with this wonderful monstrosity of yours."

Working under these fools was a concept that disgusted him, but abandoning the project wasn't an option. He needed time to think. "Perhaps…" he said, exhaling heavily, "Given the circumstances, it would be beneficial for me to stay on. Just to be sure you don't destroy my creation before you get a chance to use it."

"Doctor…" Claphin protested quietly, shooting the elder man a betrayed look, "We can't just let them do this to him!"

Gerald turned towards him, gesturing for him to remain silent. Protesting outright would do very little good, especially with a coldhearted bastard like Grier. If anything was to be done, it would be impossible if they were forced from the facilities.

"Him?" Grier chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the young man, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you'd grown attached to it, Mr. Claphin…"

"He's a living thing, just like any other," the young man said, fists clenched at his sides, "How he was born shouldn't matter."

The Brigadier General merely shook his head, "A sad conclusion from one with aspirations to one day be a scientist- detachment is key to all endeavors. For example," he raised his right hand, then brought it down again swiftly. Behind him, one of the soldiers brought his rifle up, aimed it right at the young man's head, and depressed the trigger.

'Son of a –!'It took everything the old man had to keep the rage from bleeding through his shocked expression as Claphin fell, dead before he hit the floor.

"Tomorrow this facility will be shut down and the project transferred to a more secure location," Grier stated, blood from the dead body trickling slowly down the tiles, marring the tips of his spit-shined, black boots, "Oh-seven-hundred-hours; do be on time, Doctor."

Gerald nodded, forcing himself to meet the Brigadier's gaze. "Of course."

Without another word, Grier exited the room, flanked on both sides by his soldiers.

As the door hissed shut, Kintobor let his shoulders slump, turning sadly towards the body of his fallen assistant. 'The bastards…What a waste of talent…' He removed his coat and draped it over the young man dutifully, remaining crouched beside him, head bowed for just a short moment. When he rose again, his jaw was set and his eyes were on the infant in the center of the room.

"Good evening, Doctor Kintobor, sir- back again so soon?"

"I can't afford to stay away long," Gerald told the guards stationed outside the laboratory door, "With so much that's gone on while I was unawares, it'll take days for me to get back up to speed."

The night-duty guards (as the time was now nearing oh-one-hundred hours) nodded, "Go right on in, sir," the first stated, standing at attention.

"We'll make sure you aren't disturbed," the other added, shouldering his rifle.

"Thank you, gentlemen," the old man nodded to each courteously, then continued inside.

The doctor closed the door behind him, adjusting his laptop bag on his shoulder, 'The floor is spotless- I wonder what they did with that poor young man…' He grimaced, but merely stepped forward into the dimly lit room. He sighed, seating himself at the main console, 'Oh well, I'd best get to work…' He removed his portable computer from its bag, then connected it into the mainframe.

'That should just about do it…'Gerald smirked faintly. It had taken over an hour, but every scrap of information concerning Project Shadow (at least that he could access) was now erased from the government's system, transplanted onto his own computer. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head tiredly, then focused his gaze on the large tube in the center of the room, 'Now, what to do with him…?'

The orange-liquid inside the tube was well-illuminated (especially compared to the rest of the room), which accentuated every facet of the tiny, man-made hedgehog. Its short, black fur and spikes were floating freely in the fluid and there were a number of tubes stuck in its body in order to feed and nourish the little creature. Gerald sighed, coming so that his nose was only a few centimeters from the glass, watching his unconscious creation. He could kill it easily enough and logically, it was his best option: he was getting on in years, certainly past any reasonable age to try to raise a child. Also, without the proper time to study exactly what Grier had done to it he had no idea what the creature would be capable (or incapable) of.

The doctor placed his hands in his pockets uncomfortably; as a man of science, he practiced no religion, but he could recognize his current conundrum had religious overtones: he'd trespassed into God's domain by creating this little life and now he was being punished- Claphin killed, his career (after tonight) essentially over, and Grier…Grier wanted to… 'It's best this way,' Kintobor thought firmly, his right index finger hovering over the power switch on the console attached to the tube. He'd already disabled the security cameras and alarm systems in the room, so no one would find out until it was far too late. With a simple flick of the switch, fifteen months of effort would come crashing to an abrupt end, in a matter of minutes, but strangely…that wasn't what was bothering him, 'It's necessary…,' he thought miserably, his eyes watching the hedgehog sadly.

Inside the tube, the infant's nose wrinkled as his face scrunched up in effort and for the first time, he forced his eyelids apart. Wide, red eyes peered out at his creator curiously.

Gerald's eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open, 'My God…He's finally awake!' He pulled his hand away from the power toggle and pressed his nose up against the glass, "Hello…" he whispered.

The hedgehog cocked his head, raising a tiny hand towards the new face. Speech was something that would develop with time, but the connection of the greeting was felt without the verbal confirmation.

Doctor Kintobor smiled broadly under his bushy mustache, blinking back a bit of liquid from his eyes as he raised fingers to touch the glass of the tube directly across from Shadow's. He could feel a lump sitting heavily in his throat, the same sort that he'd had when witnessing his only son's first few moments of life, so many years ago.

The infant opened his mouth, but only air bubbles were emitted, floating lazily towards the top of the chamber above his head.

Thankfully several of the little tubes in the creature carried oxygen straight into its bloodstream, since the doctor hadn't been sure of when its lungs would be strong enough to begin function- much like an umbilical cord did for a naturally-born fetus, 'I can't kill him now…' the doctor thought, shaking his head weakly, 'Not anymore, not like this. It's stupid, rash, irresponsible, perhaps, but…he's awake, he's a success…he's looking at me…' "Welcome to life, Shadow the Hedgehog…"

Gerald reached out to stroke his now-nearly-adult son's head. Escape from the facility had been one of the easier tasks of their life together. One well-placed, potent computer virus had sent the entire complex into chaos and in the ensuing commotion, he had slipped out, the hedgehog sedated and bundled under his overcoat. With no remaining records and both him and his creation missing, they had no proof that the project had ever taken place. And that put him at a bit of an advantage. If he could find someplace remote enough, keep a low profile, there was very little chance of them ever being found.

'Well…hopefully,' He admitted grumpily, sitting down lightly on the edge of his son's bed. He reached up and gently pulled the light beige sheet down to Shadow's waist, then began carefully removing the restriction rings from the hedgehog's wrists.

Lying low was more difficult than he had ever imagined. His son's natural abilities, coupled with the modifications the government had done had made him a force to be reckoned with, and he'd been reckoning with it since the day he'd brought him home.

He was programmed to be a killer and raised to blend into the average population, two ideologies constantly in friction, the outlet of which was a hair-thin temper, frequent violent outbursts, and a sour attitude. Though he'd never had the proper tools at his disposal to properly study the modifications made to his original designs (and the fact that Shadow had gained powers without his intention), Gerald had still managed to discern a few of the noticeable changes: the 'daydreaming' occurrences, for example, were triggered when his bloodlust was arisen, in the aftermath of a fight or when his power wasn't being properly contained…

Both of which, when happening simultaneously as they were now, spelled nothing but trouble. Which meant the rings needed adjusting, as they did every few years, almost on schedule right around the time of a move from one home to the next. The old man lifted the sheet back over his son's sleeping form and rose from the bed. It was going to be a long night…

'Isn't this familiar…' Charles Hedgehog sighed, shaking his head in relief and disapproval as he stood over his sleeping nephew's bed, "You're gonna give me a heart attack one'a these days, disappearing like that," he whispered softly, placing his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorway, 'It's the same old story everyday- just 'slipped his mind' to tell me where he was going today. Someday something'll happen to him, he'll never come back and I'll never have a clue…' The darkness had a nasty habit of dredging up the quiet, nagging fears that, in the security of the light, he could manage to bury deep within the annals of his mind, 'I stand by what I said earlier, Jules,' he thought tiredly, glancing out the window up at the starry sky, 'I don't think I make a very good guardian…'

"Charlie? You home? We brought someone special on his very first out-of-the-house trip to see you…"

"Jules? Izzat you?" the distinct, gravelly voice of Charles drifted up from the basement, the faint sound of hammering dying away, "Hang on, I'll be right up!"

"We'll be here," Jules Hedgehog chuckled, setting the Baby Travel System (an over-glorified, multi-purpose car seat/stroller/swing contraption that didn't quite seem worth $200) on the couch in his brother's living room.

Charles reached the top of the stairs quickly enough, smiling brightly- ever since the stray (Muttski by name) he'd picked up a decade ago had died a few months back, he looked forward to visits from his brother more and more, as it could get pretty lonely living by himself, "There's the happy couple!" he chortled, trotting over towards the cobalt-blue and deep-lavender colored hedgehog-humanoids.

"Good to see you, Charlie," Bernadette said, embracing her brother-in-law warmly before guiding him over to the couch excitedly, "Come here, youhave to see how much bigger he's gotten since you saw him in the hospital!"

"Letting him out of the house already?" Charles joked as he allowed himself to be lead over to Jules and the high-tech baby transporter, giving his brother a firm handshake and a one-armed hug.

"We figured we couldn't be the only ones getting cabin fever," Jules said, reaching down to unbuckle his two-month old son from the carrier and lift him into his arms, "Up ya go, boy. Say hi to your Uncle Chuck."

Charles bent his knees slightly to get a better look at the tiny, blue hedgehog, "Hey there, little guy," he smiled brightly, offering his nephew Sonic (whose wide eyes were examining this new being curiously) a single gloved finger by way of a mock-handshake, lightly grazing the infant's exposed, flesh-colored stomach.

"He's a pistol, Chuck, I tell ya," Jules said proudly, "Look at how sturdy he is already." And the way he was holding his son (under the arms, scrunching his shirt up unceremoniously), though it merited a worried glance from his wife, was testimony to the statement. Sonic was clutching Charles' finger with both hands, head well-supported on his own, and not a weak grip either.

"Quite a head of quills he's got there," Chuck grinned, patting his nephew gently on the head with his free hand, glancing over at Sonic's mother, "That must've been fun…"

Bernie shuddered, blushing slightly, "I try not to think about it. I'm just thankful this set grew in recently. The set he had when he was born was marginally smaller."

"Ah, I see; that was a pretty quick molt then," Charles nodded sympathetically, turning back to his brother and newborn nephew, "Well, you've got one thing right, Jules: he's certainly a tough little guy- ain't 'cha, Sonic?" he asked the tiny hedgehog cheerfully, moving his well-wrapped index finger up and down slightly.

Encouraged, the child let out a gurgling laugh, clambering to hold onto the now-moving target, as if the object of a rudimentary game.

"So, what brings you three out to my neck of the woods?" the lighter-blue hedgehog inquired, now mixing up his up-and-down movements with horizontal motions as well, "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"We figured it was about time the two of you met," Bernie answered, "Sorry we haven't been in touch sooner, but he keeps us so busy these days, we really lost track of things."

"That's quite alright," Chuck replied casually, reaching forward carefully with his free hand to tickle his nephew, "You're all welcome to visit anytime."

"Thank you," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently, "We'll be making time for it more often, I promise."

"Excellent- though I suppose that means I'll have to start stocking up on actual food rather than TV dinners," Uncle Chuck pondered aloud, smiling appreciatively at them.

"Aww, I never minded TV dinners," Jules said with a laugh (though it was drowned out by his son's excited squeal).

"Though you really should be eating something a bit healthier for your own sake, Charles," Bernie said.

Charles rolled his eyes, "That's what the bowl of fruit's for," he replied dismissively, pointing to the white, plastic bowl that served as the centerpiece of his coffee table.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, not looking at all convinced, "Jules, why don't you give him a turn holding Sonic?"

"Sure," he nodded, carefully transferring his son over to his brother's waiting arms, "Better get some practice in now, Charlie- someday some girl's gonna force you to settle down and have one for yourself."

Chuck shook his head, cheeks tinged pink, "Well, at least one of us is optimistic about that. I'm not holding my breath."

"Aww c'mon, what chick could resist a 39-year-old bachelor handyman, right Bernie?" Jules chuckled, sitting down on the couch next to the all-purpose baby-transporter.

"Maybe if he was a bit less of a hermit," she said teasingly.

Charles snorted indignantly, cradling Sonic gently in his arms as he turned his gaze down to his tiny nephew, "You parents are a pain in the butt- yes they are, yes they are…" he cooed, smiling.

The child nodded, not understanding of course, but mimicking the movement happily as he reached up towards his uncle's face, tugging on his graying mustache.

Uncle Chuck winced slightly, "Cute kid you got here, bro- couldn't've happened to a more deserving pair," he said quietly.

The couple exchanged a warm glance and Jules took hold of his wife's hand as she settled down on the armrest next to him. "I count my lucky stars every day, trust me."

Charles nodded slowly, watching Sonic affectionately. The last several years had been particularly painful for the Hedgehog family: first came the death of Charles' parents, then Jules and Bernie suffered through not one, but two straight stillbirths. The graves of the two, the first named Manic and the second Sonia, were now situated on the family plot beside those of their grandparents.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Jules cleared his throat. "Listen, Charlie, there's another reason we came by today…"

"Hmm?" the mustached hedgehog grunted softly, still having fun playing with the infant in his arms (such a well-behaved little guy!).

"Well…" Bernie began, "With everything that's happened in the past few years, we've been doing a lot of thinking…"

"You mean about…?" Chuck trailed off. From the looks on their faces, he already knew the answer, "I see…"

"Not to be morbid or anything," Jules said quickly, "It's just that…if anything should ever happen to us…"

"We were hoping…" Bernie continued, "…that you could take Sonic."

Were he not aware of the fact that he was holding a newborn in his hands, Chuck's startled reaction would've been considerably more exaggerated, "…Me?" he repeated in disbelief, "Wha- but…Oh, haha, very funny, Jay."

"We're serious, Charles," Jules insisted, leaning forward in his seat, "Not that we're planning on going anywhere, but even so…"

"We'd just feel better knowing he'd be with someone we trust," Bernadette added, "If anything should ever happen…"

The laughter on Chuck's face died suddenly, "You guys- you can't-…look, I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but I don't know the first thing about raising a kid…" he protested weakly as Sonic began curiously gumming the tip of the large, gloved finger in his hands.

The couple was up on their feet now, one on either side of him. "Charlie, the odds of anything happening are a million to one," Jules said.

"And you've got an excellent instinct," Bernie said, "Not to mention the biggest heart I've ever seen."

"This is just in case."

Uncle Chuck sighed, hanging his head, "Fine…But you two better not go anywhere; I don't think I'd make much of a guardian…"

They hugged him together. "We won't!"

"You're the best, Charlie."

"Yeah, yeah…"

They'd promised they'd never go anywhere, and the odds were so slim. But Chuck had never trusted odds, and three years after they'd rewritten their wills they were gone, hit by a van that ran a red light fleeing a bank heist. Thinking about it now, about the night he'd gotten the call, his chest still ached. He'd stood over this bed that night too.

He exhaled softly, slumping against the windowsill, watching his nephew rest.

So Sonic got stuck with him at the tender age of three. Raising a child with 'abilities' was difficult enough for two parents, let alone one middle-aged repairman with no prior experience with children; maybe if he'd been a better guardian, Sonic wouldn't have had so many disciplinary problems in school or such a difficult time emotionally connecting with…well, anyone… 'Poor kid…'

Despite all the nights spent on her own in hotel rooms, Alicia Acorn was always able to tell when a bed meant for two was half-empty. Half-asleep, she stretched one arm out in search of her husband and when her hand came down on nothing but the mattress, she knew something was up. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she peered through the darkness. A sliver of moonlight was spread across the floor leading straight to the door of their bedroom, which she realized was ajar. She sat up, slid her legs over the side of the bed and padded out into the hall. 'That man's giving himself gray hair, if you ask me…I swear, if he's up working at this hour…'

Maximillian Acorn, however, wasn't working. He was standing outside the opened door to Sally's room, gazing in at her, fear and anxiety etched in his expression, the creases in his facial expression (visible even through his thin fur) thrown into sharper contrast by the single nightlight plugged into the outlet at the end of the hall.

"Max…" Alicia said quietly, putting a hand lightly on his arm, "What're you doing up…?"

He glanced over at his wife briefly, "…Hmm?"

"It's almost 3 AM," she said, "What're you doing out here?"

"Nothing," he whispered, "It's late; you go back to sleep, I'll be there in a minute."

She gazed at him for a moment, then tugged on his arm. "She's not going anywhere tonight, you know."

"I know, I know, it's just-" he stopped abruptly, "…You're right, I know she isn't…"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're a good father, Max… Come back to bed with me."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward for a second, but only just, "I shouldn't have yelled at her like that tonight…" he sighed miserably, allowing the door to Sally's room to fall quietly closed again.

"You were just trying to keep her safe…" she said, though in the back of her mind, some confusion regarding the incident still lingered, "I guess we never realized the danger this job leaves us open to. On a day to day basis, it's not something she…or I, for that matter, think about…"

He nodded, following his wife's slow lead back towards their room, "I know it might seem like I overreact or get overprotective sometimes but…you trust my judgment, right?"

"I do…" she said, "And I know there's a lot that goes on you can't tell me…I just wish it didn't have to be so much…"

"There are some things that, even if I could tell you, Alicia, I wouldn't," he muttered softly.

"Why?" she asked, turning towards him in genuine puzzlement.

"I'm the first humanoid mayor of Mobotropolis in two decades, in a city that's suffering from crime, poverty, wealth disparity, and terrorist attacks on top of everything else," he laughed hollowly, "I wouldn't let the mother of my children within ten yards of half the things security intercepts…"

She pulled herself a bit closer to him as they walked. This job had done a number on him, the emergence of his more dominant male instincts being only one of them. "Alright…" she said quietly, "Like I said, I trust you…I just wish I could help you carry even a piece of this burden…"

He kissed her atop the head gently, "Well, being home is a start…"

She smiled. "I'll work on that. My editor won't be happy, but I could use a break from traveling."

"It would be nice to see you more than twice a month," he continued, "What with Elias moving back in, we'd have the whole family together for the first time in years…"

"Yes, Elias mentioned something about that…" she said, "Not that I'd mind having them around, of course, and we've got plenty of room after all. But I'm curious as to what inspired you to invite them."

"It's what's best at the moment," he said evasively, shooting her a meaningful look.

'Relax, Alicia, we're trusting him, remember? Let it go…' "Alright," she said, though she didn't look satisfied.

They had arrived at the door to their room, "After you," Max offered courteously.

She smirked, "Thank you darling," she said, slipping inside and crawling back across the bed, her nightdress sliding up unintentionally as she stretched out across the mattress, "You're coming too, right?"

He smirked in admiration of the excellent view now afforded to him. How was it that she was still just as gorgeous as the day he married her twenty-five years ago, but he had become a stiff, run-down shadow of a man? At least his libido wasn't as exhausted as the rest of him- even with everything on his mind, his body could still find the time to remind him that not only was his wife younger than him, but after two children she remained nothing short of an absolute knock-out, "Yes dear," he said, climbing into bed after her.

Wrapping her arms around him, she rubbed her nose up against his. "I'm afraid I'm not nearly as drunk as I promised I would be," she murmured, "But I love you, and I think after the week you've had, you could use some loving."

Given the heat he could feel in his cheeks, Max was suddenly quite glad for the cover of darkness the night provided. True it was 3 in the morning and he'd have to be up by 6 but at the moment, here, wrapped in the warm, gentle embrace of his mate, the concerns of the real world (daunting and dangerous as they were) were more easily pushed to the backburner, "I love you…" he whispered, gazing at her in admiration and affection.

"I know you do," she purred, "Now why don't you let me show you how mutual the feeling is?"

'I have the best wife ever…'

Julian Kintobor pushed his chair away from his desk. "Snively, I'm retiring to the basement. You're free to go."

Snively looked up from his desk, removing his square, rimless reading glasses, "Do you need me downstairs?" he inquired, his nasally, oily voice boring through the tinny buzz of the room's single, flickering electric light.

"I'm just going to be doing some tinkering, then I'll dig out my golf gear," he chuckled, "Go home. Get some sleep."

"Yes sir," the shorter, younger man nodded, standing up stiffly, "Good night, sir."

"Good night," Robotnik said, straightening the never-ending clutter that covered his desk absently.

Snively collected up several manila folders full of financial materials, delivery confirmation reports, and inventory lists from his desk, then walked to the corner of the room and removed his coat from the rack. He inclined his head once in the direction of his uncle, then headed out into the long, deserted, dimly-lit corridors of the grocery store.

The droids had all retreated to the factory already – the drones programmed without personality-endowed A.I.s were efficient enough to make working through the night unnecessary. The silence was a striking contrast to the commotion he knew was taking place beneath his feet, where his uncle was currently journeying to. It was a rare occurrence, not being required for the full extent of the evening, and when it had happened in the past, he was never slow in accepting the chance to actually sleep for more than the 15 minute power naps he was usually afforded. Tonight however, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that 'not required' truly meant 'not needed', as he had been suspicious of ever since that dinner at his great-great-uncle's new home.

'Just because the damn crawler has powers…' he scowled bitterly, exiting the store through the nearly pitch-black back exit (the single light that would've illuminated the short set of steps leading away from the building was broken, as it had been for several days), fumbling around under the light of the moon for the keys to his car as he finally managed to get his jacket fully on, sticking his free arm through the second sleeve.

Keys in hand, he crossed the parking lot to the only vehicle left on the blacktop, and one of the few things he could say he'd actually done just for himself. The years of saving had paid off at long last, and after the disappointingly abysmal failure of the last raid, he had treated himself. The latest model sports car, a sleek, silver Aero which outclassed just about everything else he owned – including his apartment. A dwelling which, before tonight, he hadn't seen in a few weeks.

It was just as well- the apartment was only a place to crash, kept more for appearances than as any sort of half-decent home. As long as he paid the rent on time, the super didn't ask questions, nor did the neighbors (probably more out of fear than lack of curiosity). He opened the door and slid smoothly into the driver's seat, dropping the folders unceremoniously onto the empty passenger-side seat, then started the vehicle.

Glorious, humming perfection. He couldn't help but smile, just slightly, at the sound. As an engineer in his own right, well-crafted machinery was something he could appreciate, and this was a fine machine. A quick wrist flick pulled him out of 'park' and he rolled smoothly out of the lot.

The ride back to his apartment was short, uneventful, and infuriating in that, for drive-by related health reasons, it was unintelligent to give in to the satisfying urge to curse out the other idiots that were on the road this late at night. A few minutes after parking the sports car in the parking lot of the apartment complex (and locking it up tight), he was back inside the building. Most of the tenants were either asleep or keeping to themselves, which was fine with Snively- he preferred the peace and quiet after a full day of dealing with a dishonest, short-tempered customer base.

One less-than-sanitary elevator ride later, he was thumping down towards the end of the hall, where dusty furniture and long-dead plants awaited him. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking buying them in the first place. After the first set had died, he'd abandoned the hope of ever being able to maintain any others, but he hadn't had the time or energy to dispose of the dead ones either. So they sat scattered around the few rooms, biodegrading and making quite the statement of interior decorating.

He frowned in frustration as he reached his door- one of the building's juvenile delinquents had seen fit to befoul his door with several choice, crass, four-letter words…again. His upper lip curled in a particularly nasty snarl, Snively unlocked his door and went inside, muttering furiously to himself as he slammed the door closed behind him.

For as infrequently as he physically resided in this building, his fellow tenants had taken a disliking to him without any of them having ever interacted with him for more than a fleeting moment. Only the younger ones acted on it aggressively, with immature acts of vandalism and the occasional snide comment in the hallway. Those his age and older were generally silent, but their disapproval was felt just the same, hanging in the air like the numerous variations of insects that gathered by the ceiling lights in the evenings.

He dropped his folders onto the coffee table in front of his dusty, sickly-green colored couch, continuing on into his bedroom. The moonlight shining in from the windows made using the lights unnecessary. He sat down on the unkempt bed, glancing over at the answering machine situated on his nightstand. A single, dark red glowing '0' illuminated the center of the unit, a true testament to his utter lack of connection with humanity. Next to the device, made particularly vicious by the crimson light and the darkness of the room, sat a bulbous, still cockroach.

It wasn't as if his neighbors' collective disapproval mattered to him; he'd never put much stock in the opinions of others. They were mere insects, scurrying about aimlessly, self-absorbed and hostile. Snively pulled his car keys out of his pocket silently, sneering down his nose at the unwelcome, disease-infested intruder, 'And soon…' In one precise, violent stroke, he jabbed his key down through the center of the cockroach with a sickening crunch, the dull tip of the metal nicking the wood beneath the underbelly of the insect, now smeared in bodily slimes, 'They'll be nothing at all…'

TBC...