.net/s/4870678/1/All_Hail_Shadow

Chapter 1: The Watchers

The distant screams were quickly deafened by his fear. His heart bled with sympathy, and he flinched as another desperate yell rang out to his far left. It was too late to help her, and even if it had not been, there was nowhere to hide now. Dozens of "enemy spies" had been discovered recently and all had been dealt with in the typical fashion... Forcing himself to wrench his thoughts from the chilling shrieks, the lone figure continued his journey in silence, as if nothing had happened.

The street was littered in stray, torn pieces of paper which fluttered in the light wind. In the gutters ran a murky liquid which may have been water... best not to find out though. All around, buildings and homes lay in disrepair, some with makeshift solutions here and there. For years it had been like this. Ever since the great war, times had been hard. Of late, he could hardly remember a time hen his stomach did not growl in dissatisfaction.

Every day, more young men were forcibly drafted into the service, never to return. Every day, the mournful cries of sobbing mothers could be heard as their sons were dragged away. They were told that it was for the war effort, that it was a great honor to be selected to serve. Of course, no-one dared to object to the draft, or the arrests. To do so would bring the Watchers' wrath down on you as well. The police were known for their brutality.

The trees lining the road lay bare, as they had for some time now... It had been long indeed since a beam of light had penetrated through the thick smog. Rain was equally scarce. With the combination of these two shortages, the crops had suffered. Food was in short supply. Just two days prior, rations had been cut again. Already, the strains on the general population were apparent.

To add insult to injury, the general cost of goods and services had just sky rocketed... that is, if you were buying. It always seemed that if you were buying, prices were steep; selling, and they were suddenly lower than hell's basement. But the worst part was not the hunger, or economic crisis, it was the feeling of always being watched.

His spies were everywhere, anyone might be a Watcher in disguise, you had no idea who to trust, so you trusted no-one. The police were the unquestioned ultimate authorities... their word was the law. Because of this, many police officers acted as if they were above the law themselves, taking what they pleased... When a woman was arrested, it was not uncommon for her to be raped by the police beforehand, and everyone knew it, though they said nothing.

They were the judge, the jury, the lawyers, and the executioner too. Sometimes, "criminals" were executed without trial, by simply shooting them in the head when their dissension was discovered. For years, Sonic the Hedgehog had secretly despised the Watchers, the Regime, everything about the world he saw around him. Over time, he had stored up a secret stash of things from the old order of the world... pieces of the past.

He had a photograph of a willow tree draped in the summer sun, but its edges were wearing, and its colors were fading. He had a long wooden object which was thicker at one end than at the other. He did not know either what it was for, or what it was called, but he did know that he had not seen one since the takeover of the Regime. He had an old, tattered piece of cloth which seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not place his finger on what it was. Whatever it was, it seemed sacred and significant for some unknown reason. It was a rectangular piece of fabric that was adorned in fading white and red stripes, and the rims were splaying at an astonishing rate. In one of the corners of the fabric, a royal blue patch shone in sharp contrast to the crimson stripes, and the azure rectangle seemed to be dotted in what appeared to be stars, although he wasn't sure exactly.

He seemed to remember seeing it when he was a child... but any memories of the past were dim at best. He had a worn old coin, which had long lost its luster, and whose words were not even decipherable. It was a dull brown, although it was beginning to corrode into a poison green... a tell-tale sign of copper. When he first found it years ago, he had taken a similar coin out of his pocket to compare the two. On the older coin, there appeared to be the vague portrait of a man, with a barely visible beard. After rubbing some of the dirt off, and cleaning it using his own spit, at the top of the old coin were visible the words: "In God we trust". In sharp contrast, the new, shining coin was marked with very different words: "We are watching you".

On the back of the old coin it said something about "United" but the rest was scratched off. Current coins had no date, and they were not marked by any country name. Generally, normal people thought nothing of it. He had been pondering why he never heard any international news, now it was only local occurrences, with no knowledge of the outside world. Of course, he was far from a normal person. He utterly despised it when he would attend a social gathering (all social gatherings that were not under the direct supervision of the Watchers were strictly illegal), and everyone present would enthusiastically rant about the Regime, and how loyal and devout they were. Then they would ask him what patriotic thing he had done that week. He would invent some untrue event which always seemed to satisfy them; he wondered if they truly listened to what he said.

Alcohol was forbidden, and had replaced drugs as the most profitable criminal revenue ever. But it was not safe to buy... the Watchers had "sting operations" in every field of crime, fake rebels looking to draw in real rebels and arrest them, fake arsonists looking to draw in real arsonists and arrest them, fake prostitutes looking to draw in real Johns and arrest them, the list went on and on.

Sometimes the police brutalized people who were not even enemies of the Regime, when things got too peaceful, and people weren't afraid any more. They would pick a random person and arrest them under ludicrous allegations, and the poor soul would never be seen again. To Sonic's disgust, he seemed to remember supporting the takeover of the Regime in the beginning... he had never imagined how things would be.

What had been considered acceptable, even normal behavior before the Revolution was now illegal activity, acting in a certain general way was illegal! For example, it was illegal for a person to be generally disrespectful to the police and other authorities under penalty of death! It was now illegal for a woman to "have about her, an independent air which suggests that she intends to exceed and dominate the male colleagues around her, or to put herself equally or above a man in any way."

Since this proclamation, it was seldom one found a strong, fearless girl who was ready to go and conquer the world; they had been so commonplace before. There were four kinds of people in general now... and all of them he hated, just some not as much as the others.

First there was what he called the believers. Believers accepted anything the Regime told them as absolute truth, they were like sheep being led to the slaughter. They were simple, stupid people with wide, blunt faces, and dull eyes. Their meaty and unskilled hands served the Regime without question, they were utterly disgusting.

Next there were the snakes. Snakes were cunning and shrewd, careful not to say anything that might bring the wrath of the Watchers down on them. They at least pretended to love the Regime, and he got the feeling that some of them actually did love it. Snakes would do anything to put themselves under less suspicion, they had nothing but self preservation in mind. They would turn in traitors to the Regime without a second thought if it would put them in good graces with the police. They were wormy little men, with bony noses, and tightly drawn lips. Their cold, grey eyes would dart about, always watching. He despised them perhaps the most.

Thirdly there were the ignorants. Ignorants were generally uninformed, and just as stupid, if not more, than the believers. They were superstitious, but hard to convince of anything. For this reason, they were the largest target of the Watchers and the police, they were completely unknowing about the evil of the Regime, but they were also impossible to train, for this reason it was necessary to exterminate them in mass. Sonic pitied them, but in his heart he also hated them because they stood by as their own kind was slaughtered, marching ever onward.

Finally, there were the dead men. Dead men were rebels, thieves, "enemies of the state", and others who the Regime despised and hunted. Their days were numbered and they knew it, and if they were not plotting impossible schemes to overthrow the totalitarianism, or running from the law, they were "consuming their last meals" so to speak. They figured that since they were already going to die anyways, they might as well murder one more person, rape this girl, and then blow their own brains out in a final act of rebellion... Suicide was strictly forbidden, although obviously, no penalty could be enacted against the criminals... which made it rather pointless.

Not too long ago, one never heard such a word as "totalitarianism", or at least not outside of a history class. Back before the Regime's takeover, he had not understood the concept very well, and was not interested in it. Now he had a clear knowledge of what it was: the Regime ruled with an iron fist, its power was absolute, and any and all objections were crushed with extreme prejudice.

Sonic felt as though he were frozen inside, he had endured day after day of dutifully marching forward, going about his own business, watching silently as the victims of the Watchers were dragged away screaming, and he never did anything. He despised the police more than he had ever remembered hating anything else in his entire life; it was not a lack of contempt for what they were doing that caused him to turn and look away when the arrests occurred. It was fear.

Whenever it was quiet, he would tell himself that he could not stand it any longer, that the next time it happened, he would speak up, would help the innocent victims of the Regime's cruelty. When his opportunity finally arose, he found himself considerably less bold. Afterwards, his heart would ache, and he would wish that he could have the courage to stand up for what he believed in next time. The cycle only repeated itself.

Ever since the government had seized command of industry, the sky had been grey, it had been the color of stone for so long, he had forgotten what color it had been before. In his childhood, he seemed to vaguely recollect a color up there, but according to the Regime it had always been grey, always would be grey... There was no such thing as stars, children were "taught" in school now, it was a myth comprised by superstitious people who also believed in unicorns and fairies.

Sonic usually had trouble contradicting anything the Regime said outright, but this time, he clearly remembered stars. He remembered one particular June night, where the sky (what color was it again?) was lit with thousands of peeping lights. He had no idea why the Regime refused to admit their existence, but the only thing he could think of is that they didn't want people to think that there was anything better out there... that their situation could ever be improved.

Amazingly, no matter how ridiculous and illogical their claims were: that there had never been a natural disaster in Station Square, that there was no land beyond the sea, the believers took it without protest, and lived by it. Whenever they had an "education session", Sonic only nodded his head quietly and pretended to agree. They hadn't found him yet... but this thought brought little comfort to him. He had never heard of anyone who had escaped the Regime's wrath.

As he settled his head on his pillow, he looked up through the hole in his roof (which was covered with a piece of aluminum when it rained), to look at the night sky. There was never much to see, smog, darkness, and the occasional red glare of a helicopter light. But something inside him compelled him to continue to return here, continue searching the sky... to catch a glimpse of a star.

'They can't have covered them entirely...' he rationalized. He studied the heavens in concentration, willing the twinkling light to appear, almost coaxing it with his encouraging thoughts. A howling wind tore on the shingles, rattling them in a noisy display of power. The dim, pale light of the moon illuminated a circular spot in the gloom; there was still light in the world.

'The smoke hasn't covered up the sun or moon completely yet... there may still be hope!' he told himself. He smiled slightly, continuing to stare into the sky. And just before his eyes began to slowly slide closed, he could have sworn that he saw a dim shimmer in the sky... but it faded the next second, and there was nothing.

* * * * *

He awoke to the usual sound... his alarm clock ringing noisily. He rolled over on his stomach, growling and trying to go back to sleep. When he refused to get out of bed, the clock made a whirring sound, and then emitted a high pitched squeal, something like the sound of scraping fingernails on a blackboard. The blue hedgehog lurched up and out of bed, stumbling onto the floor and groaning in pain. The old floorboards underneath him creaked in agony at bearing his whole weight in one concentrated area.

Rubbing his back and muttering curse words, he slowly rose to his full height, and hobbled off to the bathroom. Using an old fashioned tooth-brush he had smuggled out of an abandoned dentist's office, he began to brush his teeth as best as he knew how, without toothpaste. When he had finished, he walked out to the main room, a slight grin present on his aged features.

He walked with a slight limp, as if he had strained his legs greatly in his younger days. His body appeared weak, possibly even feeble, but there was a glaring fire in his emerald eyes that suggested that he was far from dead. A rebellious spark, a hatred of injustice was all that kept him going. Moving rather slowly, he made his way over to the simple wooden pantry, rummaging through it for his breakfast. Selecting a bland looking little brown bag, he pulled it out of the cabinet. Pouring the contents into a chipped and cracked bowl, he grimaced in dissatisfaction at the mere sight of the stuff. It was better than nothing, he supposed, and sadly, it was some of the better food.

Mush, grits, oatmeal... it was one of the many bland staples of the local area. It had been long since anyone had added brown sugar to the food. Dutifully adding the water from his perpetually dripping sink, he sat the bowl out to allow the oats to soak up the water. Cracking his back and groaning, he trekked over to his front door. Peering through the hole he had chiseled in the door (peep holes were strictly illegal), he saw no-one and deemed it safe to go get the morning paper.

He knew very well that the paper was entirely a fabrication by the Regime, and he didn't believe a word in the thing, but he knew that he simply had to have something to read. In his younger days, his time was occupied with adventuring and sight-seeing. There was no place for adventurers now, and no sights worth seeing any more. He had to immerse himself in another world from time to time to keep his sanity, and the only way to do that was by reading.

He had managed to hide a copy of a book that had been printed before the takeover of the Regime. Uncensored, it took a bold stand against oppression. If he were ever caught with it, he would surely be killed. He had read it cover to cover hundreds of times, it was the only interesting thing to read any more. The papers were filled with Regime rubbish, the books were written by computers, and everything else was illegal and painfully hard to come by. He would have to squander extra pennies for another seven months to get enough money to buy another banned book.

The title of the book was "1984", which was strange considering that the book was still sold after that date. From what Sonic had read, the author had originally written it in 1948, and his copy was printed in 1997, twelve years before the Regime takeover. It had been twenty years since the King had assumed control. It was forbidden to speak the King's name (if one knew what it was), or to even speak of him without the most reverent and admiring tone of voice. Therefore, he was not spoken of much.

After Sonic had forced down his breakfast, he hobbled outside to go to work for the Regime, like he always did. In some ways he was disgusted with himself that he could live with himself knowing that he worked in service of the very monster he had once sworn to destroy... but that had been years ago.

He rationalized that one had to make a living somehow, and that the best way to escape some of the suspicion of the Watchers was to serve the Regime outright yourself. It was unavoidable, and it was despicable. There was no passion in his work, only long hours of labor with no visible progress. Over the years, as his physical condition had worsened and he had gained more trust among the Regime, he had moved from a position of hard labor to a management slot. He oversaw the distribution of shoes and winter caps to the local neighborhood. Despite his best efforts, he saw far too many children wandering the streets barefoot, some next to naked.

Suddenly, he stopped walking. Standing directly in front of him and glaring at him ominously were two police agents, their sunglasses concealing their eyes, and headsets plugged into their ears. He remained motionless, knowing that if he was under suspicion, to run was as good as a confession, and to approach them would be considered threatening. For this reason, he froze. Apparently, they were only eyeing him, as the next moment they turned around and went about their business. Wiping a droplet of sweat of his brow, the azure hero sighed, and continued his journey.

Yesterday's tearing wind had worn down to a gentle breeze, but it was also a little colder. The cruel winter was approaching, bad times were coming. The next moment, his trip was interrupted by shouts erupting from the agents, causing Sonic to flinch and close his eyes, preparing to be apprehended... But no hard, cold hands grasped him. He was still standing untouched. Opening his eyes, he saw the second agent dash down the side alley to his right, and heard a girl scream, undoubtedly as the first agent tackled her.

His hands became clammy, and a massive lump planted itself in his throat. A droplet of sweat rolled down his temple as indecision ravaged his emotions. Every time an arrest occurred, he was in conflict. Surely he could not stand here and do nothing, walk on as if nothing were happening! No, he could not tolerate this injustice any longer. Action must be taken!

"Dammit, I don't care anymore if I'm arrested. I can't take it any more!" he screamed as he lost all self control. His pupils shrank to the size of pin-pricks, and the blood boiled in his veins. Suddenly possessing a new youth, he surged down the alley at incredible speed to come onto the scene of the two agents beating an innocent girl. One of them turned to him and snarled, hoping to scare him off.

"You have no business being here. Move along." the arrogant agent growled, baring his teeth.

"I'm making it my business you bastards. I'll not stand by and watch this happen any longer." came his fiery reply. At this, the other agent looked up from his violence to gawk at him. They were not used to being challenged.

"You're as good as dead now," the first one sneered, taunting him.

"Yeah? Well at least I'll die a hero instead of a sniveling little bitch like you!" he snarled, leaping forward to tackle the agent before he could pull his gun out. The other agent responded, pouncing on him, as the girl backed away, into a corner to fearfully watch.

The blue hedgehog rolled out of the way of a kick from one of the agents, and spun around to trip the other. Rolling to his feet, he tackled the agent that was still standing, who yelped and pleaded to his partner,

"Call for backup, he's too strong!" before he was taken to the ground as well.

"No way! I'm not some cowardly pussy, we can take 'im!" he growled, before bounded forward to land upon Sonic, knocking the breath out of him. At this point, both of them were piled atop him, grunting as they pressed to try to crush him.

"What now hero?" the more cocky of the two snarled, before the blue hedgehog smirked, and his youth almost seemed to have completely returned.

"Burn in hell you sick bastards!" he replied as he thrust his hand into the first agent's coat, quickly retrieving his pistol.

"Oh no you don't!" the agent growled as he pinned the hero's hand to the ground, trying to squeeze the gun out of his grip. He struggled against their weight, but the force was too great. Glancing quickly about to find anything to give him the advantage, he spied a rusty crowbar nestled under a dumpster about a foot from his head.

Reaching up to grasp it, he treasured the moment his enemies' eyes were wide with realization before he plunged the steel bar into the first one's abdomen, earning grunts of pain and a sudden flood of crimson. The agent convulsed in pain, baring his teeth and growling. When the iron grip on his hand softened with his enemy's weakening life-force, he raised the pistol to the second one's head, his eyes pleading for his life. The pistol slipped about in his blood and sweat drenched fingers, and the dead agent was beginning to weigh on him heavily. Roughly pointing the barrel directly at the side of his opponent's head, he squeezed the trigger. A deafening bang resounded; several nearby birds cawed and flapped hurriedly away. His lifeless enemies sagged atop him, their blood drizzling onto him.

Straining and pushing, he heaved the corpses off himself, and sat up with a wince. Suddenly realizing that the shot would have been heard, he quickly glanced about, and found the girl who he had rescued. She was nestled pitifully in a muddy little rut behind a stinking dumpster, shivering and watching him, eyes wide with fear. He began to slowly approach her, but she retreated backwards, her back to the wall.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," he tried to say in a soothing voice, but he found that he was trembling from the adrenaline rush, and his voice was cracking.

"Why... why did you help me?" she asked, still fearful, but beginning to eye him with consideration.

"That's not important right now. They'll be after us in a moment, we have to hide somewhere!" he exclaimed, as a siren sounded in the distance.

"I know a safe place that we can stay low." she cried, crawling out of the mud and standing to her full height.

"Lead the way, princess." And with that, the pair rushed off, to flee the sound of the police coming after them. But throughout the whole ordeal, they had been watched...

* * * * *

The minister of justice wrung his hands nervously as he forced down another swallow of pleasantly cool water. Within the beige elevator, soft and calming music whispered, but he was far from relaxed. He was not claustrophobic in the least, but his nerves were so tight, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the elevator softly dinged to indicate that he had reached his desired floor.

He scowled at the button console to the right of the door. He had gotten here much too quickly! He still needed some time to prepare himself... nervousness was a sign of guilt. But the King loathed tardiness, so he had best be punctual in his arrivals. Releasing a long sigh and smoothing his hair back, he thrust such thoughts from his mind and opened the door. With a click, it hissed open, and he stepped from the bright, compact little elevator into a massive, incredibly dark room.

His eyes spun with psychedelic colors, but after a moment or two, his eyes had adjusted a bit. He still was not able to see clearly, but he could make out some objects. For example, he could clearly see the dimly lit chandelier suspended about a dozen feet above his head. On the far right hand side of the room, monolithic bookcases towered up, probably a good fifty feet tall. He absently wondered how anyone could reach the books on the top shelf, since there were no ladders.

At the far end of the room were a series of enormous and finely crafted stain glass windows, but if you had never seen them before, you wouldn't know that, because at the moment, they were obscured with thick, heavy, dark violet curtains. The back of a massive chair cast a long shadow from the tiny slivers of light that managed to penetrate the curtains, and an air of authority, one of unquestionable dominion floated about the whole place. He dared not speak until he was spoken to.

Suddenly, a pair of scarlet lights appeared in the darkness, their eerie reflective light reminiscent of the dull flickering of candles. The lights darted to him, glaring at him with an uncanny intensity. He knew very well what they were. They were his eyes. He shivered slightly under their gaze before he stopped himself, and timidly, yet humbly advanced towards the pair of shining eyes. Coming down on one knee, he awaited further instructions in silence. He closed his eyes, half expecting to meet his end right there. The King didn't just maintain his rule with efficient cruelty, but also with fearful battle skills.

"What has gone wrong now?" the dark voice rang, a hint of sarcastic venom bubbling in its' tone.

"My most exalted lordship, allow me to explain. Two police agents were killed while apprehending a certain dissident today on the west side of town. We think she had help."

The eyes drilled through him, but the creature who owned them did not stir, not even the sound of a breath arose from his throne.

"Please, my lord, try to understand, how was I to know she would have help?" he pitifully pleaded, knowing that his life could very well be on the line. The dark figure rose from his seat, standing to his full height, and slowly plodding over to stand above the minister, his imperious shadow blocking out all sunlight.

"It is your duty to account for all possible eventualities... and you have failed to do so," the King sneered, a devilish grin managing its' way onto his features.

"My lord, next time-" the minister began, groveling before his master.

"There will be no next time, I do not tolerate failure. Guards!" the King growled, before turning to reseat himself on his giant throne.

"Please my lord, give me another chance to earn your trust!" the minister pleaded, but to no avail.

"Silence! Take your punishment like a man, not a sniveling grandmother! Guards, take him to his fate, he is no longer of any use to me." the King said with a bored wave of his hand. Immediately doing as they were told, his royal guards gripped the "traitor" and began to drag him away.

"I know who you are! I know! You think I don't know anything, but you haven't brainwashed me yet! We used to be friends, I used to know you." the minister pleaded as he surged forward out of the guards grasp, to tremble on the floor before the King.

The King rose out of his throne, and stepped down to stand directly in front of the minister. His eyes burned with a light to match the sun, illuminating his dark features. His gruff, masculine voice rang out in the darkness like the tolling of an iron bell, and the guard shook in fear at the mere sound of his anger.

"I am King Shadow. None may defy me and live. I ordered you to be silent; prepare to die." The King drew back his fist, and sent it crashing down on the fat minister's head, cracking his neck in a single blow. His form slowly slumped over, and stopped twitching. It did not move again.

"Well that was violent..." one of the guards whispered to another when he thought the King wasn't listening.

"What was that?" the King demanded in a challenging tone.

"Um... ah- I said... all hail Shadow!" the guard stuttered, the piercing rubies now turned on him.

"Er, yeah, I heard 'im, that's exactly what we was sayin'. All hail Shadow, your lordliness."

"That's what I thought you said. You would do well to remember it. Bring me the new minister of justice. We have some rats to trap."