Copyright ©1996 by Raoul Wu-thien All "Sonic The Hedgehog" characters and related indica © and TM SegaofAmerica, Inc.Used without permission. This document may be freely distributed as long as it is not modified in any way. Comments,suggestions to: ngeowwt@rubens.its.unimelb.edu.au Timeline: 7 years before "Resurrections" Castle Rotorion, Royal Archives. The walrus muttered silently to himself, his keen eyes scanning books, documents, and old datacores in rapid succession. A flipper was positioned over a mnemonic pulse-flutter browser, for quick and specific retrieval and analysis of data. The other flipper tapped impatiently on a fine, polished onyx table, a titanium signet ring with his House insignia carved delicately into an emerald set in the band. How long had he been searching? The walrus glanced quickly at a chronometer embedded into a nearby wall. Six hours! He could only be grateful that, for now, he did not have greater responsibilites to attend to. But the real world intruded soon enough. "Victor,"He winced inwardly at that cold, authoritarian tone. "I said I had something to do," he protested, his voice sounding weak and feeble to his own ears. "I do not see the real... significance... of you spending so much time in there Victor. You are a scion of a House Major; one of the stalwarts of the Monarchy. You should be out attending to those duties which befit your station... not wasting your life on such irrelevant pursuits." Nara Rotor entered the room. Tall, statuesque and elegant, she had broken the heart of many young walruses in her more halcyon days. Nowadays, the passionate fire of any admirer would be immediately dampened by the ice-cold resolve seen in her eyes... and the heavily armed cyborg who accompanied her everywhere. Even into her bedroom, some courtiers muttered, wickedly gossiping their vile innuendos. "My work is important to me!" Victor suddenly lashed out. Exhaustion, frustration, and years of silently holding his tongue in chagrin came bubbling to the surface. "Why can't you just run the House and the company like you always have and leave me alone!" He suddenly stopped, cold. Had he gone too far? Apparently yes, if the slight narrowing of Nara's eyes, and the cyborg bodyguard involuntarily stepping back was anything to go by. "I will not tolerate any of these pathetic tantrums, Victor." Suddenly, the mnemonic browser on the table crackled and died, electrical sparks convulsing in technological death-throes. Taking with it 6 hours of painstaking notes and references gleaned through eye-straining effort... and mental sweat. "EMP(Author's note: Electromagnetic pulse)," Victor thought in shock. "The old bitch has implanted EMP projectors into her cybernetics" Nara Rotor turned to leave, as if nothing had happened. "You have an appointment with my liege lord, the King." She said the words "liege lord" with an odd mixture of contempt and respect. "I believe you two are scheduled to go hunting bantharas in the Great Jungle. You will conduct yourself in the manner befitting a future Lord of one of Moebius' Great Houses." At the door to the library, she half turned over one shoulder. "Do we understand each other?" Victor swallowed bitter recriminations, angry words. "What would you do if I said no?" he thought. But the thought was not given word. He knew that further punishment would be forthcoming, perhaps this time even more brtual; like the deletion of all his research notes(and he had no illusions that they were safely encrypted in the House mainframes) or even worse, beyond his capacity to conceive of. "Yes.. Mother." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 6 hours later. King Alexander listened to Victor's tale with sympathy. The two of them were alone, in a small private two-seat flitterthopter that mimicked the motion of a hummingbird with its quick wing beats propelled by two cold fusion reactors(knockoff Ur'thaen technology). While the King could have called upon any of the best pilots in the Mobian Defence Force, he much preferred to fly his own craft, feeling the jet impellers beat the seemingly fragile duraluminium wings, the thrust of energy from the rear vents, the superbly responsive craft performing an intricate dance through the skies under his paws. He disliked the old woman who ruled House Rotor. Always cynical, insolent, trying to undercut his authority in the Royal Council. Centuries earlier, his ancestors ruled through autocratic mandate; all decisions by the King alone. The peace since the Great Uprising and the Chaos Times however, had resulted in a political structure intricately balanced by powerful factions playing off one another in a bid for more personal power. House Acorn had ruled, so far, only because it had produced, in the tradition of the great King Sonic and Queen Sally, strong leaders, more cunning and capable than all other contenders for the throne. Alexander, as a newly crowned (following his father's untimely demise) King, still young and barely blooded, had been considered weak by some factions who misinterpreted his patience and discretion as apathy and indecision. After his coronation, however, he had set about establishing himself as every bit a monarch as his noble antecedents, ruling with authority but not tyranny, with strength but not ruthlessness. Yet Victor had never been at ease with these power games. According to accounts, his ancestor, the first Rotor, "Boomer", had been very much like that, much preferring to tinker with machines and technology and being, in many ways, a child's mind with an adult's responsibilities. Like Boomer, Victor too was capable of rising to his tasks with dilligence and skill, despite his distaste of politics in general. Victor, however, much preferred his own studies. As teenagers, Alexander remembered how Victor would pester Mikhail(Alex's brother) for old manuscripts possessed by the Guardians. And always, he would be in the Royal Library or one of the data archives at the Bookshire University, delving deep for the knowledge he sought. And how they had all made fun of him, and how he would always react, with a disarming grin and a slight, uncaring shrug. "I don't like your mother very much either, Victor," the King shared a remarkable sense of open candour with Victor, "but she is right about one thing. You do have responsibilities to your House, and you can't ignore them; especially now that you're officially of age. I know, your mother still basically runs everything, but she can't live forever; and you'll have to take over then. And the Monarchy needs House Rotor. Rotortech Industries accounts for about one-third of our inter-system trade with the other planets; all this you know already." "But Alex,uh.. your Majesty, my research into Mobian history has found some... disturbing things. I can't stop now, not when I may be on the verge of finding the truth about our past!" Victor's fervent idealism shone in his eyes. The King's own eyes, however, were dark. Dark with brooding worry. Damn! the King thought. I've been afraid of this for years! "History, as we know it, may be a lie! Or at least, a carefully concealed mistruth! Everything we know about the Great Uprising, about King Sonic, the Dark Triumvirate, all of it.. all carefully fed to us over generations! By people who had a vested interest in ensuring that the truth of history, that what REALLY happened during the Chaos Times never reaches posterity! A centuries-long conspiracy of misinformation... of suppression of the truth!" He did not notice Alexander's tight, carefully controlled expression or the tense bunching of his tail. The King forced his voice to remain calm, "And what if you're right? What then? Maybe Robotnik did not exist. Maybe all the story tellers, Dellacroix, Alye, D'drazen,Pys Tone, Der-spen, and all the others were wrong. So? It doesn't change a damned thing! It's been seven centuries, since then, some of it's got to be a bit distorted; but are you going to tell the Moebian people that they've been wrong all these years?? And the outplanet records by the the other planets more or less tally with the accepted view of history!" But inwardly the King thought, Don't go that way Victor! Back off before it's too late! Victor would not be dissuaded, "The other planetary records I've seen are all fuzzy; you know that Moebius 7 centuries ago held little interest for anyone, there are only remote planet scans and geo-surveys by unmanned probes. And why are there still Royal Archives documents; especially datacores from the city once called Robotropolis and other accounts from the time immediately following the downfall of the Dark Triumvirate, that remain unopened? The Archivists told me that such documents did not exist, but..." "ENOUGH!! What you are talking is treason, Victor Rotor! Are you suggesting that this Monarchy has been lying to the people all these centuries on some wild conspiracy theory you have? Are you denying the heroism of my ancestors who liberated Moebius against terrible odds; from a destiny of cold technological servitude under Ivo Robotnik?" Alexander's anger was not entirely pure rage, a part of it was a sham, in hope to turn Victor aside from this, this dangerous path he had chosen to walk... "No... my liege." Victor was abashed. "I do not want to hear anymore of such nonsense, Victor! Am I clear?" Internally, Victor seethed with anger. His whole life had been spent subservient to others' demands, his mother's unrelenting pressure, the expectations of everyone who served House Rotor, Rotortech Industries... he even felt the spectre of his ancestor "Boomer" hanging over him like a shadow, forcing him towards duties and tasks he found unpleasant. And now; his friend, his King, was ordering him around as well! "Yes, lord." It seemed his whole life was one of acquiescence. "Look, Victor, I did not mean to be harsh. I just; well.. what's the point? Why waste your life on a past long gone. King Sonic is dead. The Freedom Fighters are dead. Robotnik is dead. We are their living heirs. It is our duty to continue in their tradition; to rule with honour as they did in their day." Alexander tried to be conciliatory. "Look we're almost at the hunting lodge. Maybe we can bag a 6-point bantharas this time, eh?" "Yes,.. your Majesty." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Timeline: now(immediately after Night, Falling) Colonel Arech Lyboc had spent most of his life a frustrated, bitter, platypus. He had clawed, pecked and fought his way to his current position; and he was damned if any of his subordinates would be permitted to supplant him. Standing on the parapet of the Floating Fortress, one could almost imagine that his aides were longingly tempted to just, accidentally, shove him over the edge falling thousands of feet into a satisfying splash into the Great Ocean. Strict discipline, however, and fear of the consequences kept this urge within them from being expressed in little more than a twitch of a feather, or a slightly trembling claw. The Floating Fortress. It had once been known as Floating Isle. Shortly after the ascension of King Sonic to the throne, and the institution of the New Moebius Monarchy, the Isle had been "requisitioned" by royal decree and reconstructed into a mighty fortress. All the Chaos Emeralds, the Masters and various other artifacts of power were brought into the heart of the Fortress, and with powerful magicks stolen from the great wizard Naugus' mind, they were all fused into a Power Core of unbelievable magnitude. Technological devices; a mix of alien and Mobian(the latter were mostly from the Echidna Empire's hidden cache of technology within Mt. Doom as well as several schematics from Robotnik's fortress), were used to contain and channel these energies. Out of these was born the Chaos Wave Device. The single most lethal weapon in the universe was thus conceived. If not for the technological restraints hardwired, it could theoretically transform any given sentient being into a pure avatar of Chaos energies held in place by technological Order. Such a fusion of Chaos(the basis principle of all magic) and Order would create a new God; and the universe would worship him. So terrified of this power, however, were its first creators (recorded history names several of the original Freedom Fighters among them), that they encoded and implanted numerous failsafes; foremost of which that only a King of Moebius of true bloodline, could enter the Wave Chamber and emerge a God. Such a transformation, however, required the permission of each of the Great Houses, embodied in a Key. No one knows what the Key in its entirety looks like, except that it is in thirteen pieces, one for each of the original ten Houses and three hidden in unknown locations. Indeed. rumours abound that the each of the key fragments themselves hold powers beyond imagination, and that the use of the Chaos Wave Device would result in a God, yes, but also the total destruction of the Universe. Understandably, such a powerful weapon was thirsted after by many other forces. But the Chaos Wave Device was also capable of generating incredibly coherent Chaos Waves(hence the name.. duh) waves of pure Chaotic energy within a membrane of Order. These Waves could be directed at a specific planet, sun, or (so it was whispered but unproven) an individual... with devastating, lethal and unpredictable effects. And ANYONE could use this capability of the CWD; as long they possessed one of the key fragments. It was fear, fear more than anything else that kept the people of Moebius from even daring to use this weapon. And it was fear of this weapon that filled every other race, empire and planet. This pervasive fear was so great, that the other planetary federations, the Caynorian Empire, the Union of Allied Worlds, and even aggressors like the Harani and the Ur'thaen Secundus, to band together and threaten to destroy Moebius itself. Grudgingly, both sides reached a compromise... the Intercession Treaty. The New Mobian Monarchy was not permitted to expand its borders outside of its immediate solar system; and not allowed to use the Chaos Wave Device except in self-defence against any unwanted incursion into its home system. In exchange, the Mobian Monarchy was to be given tithes by the other powers and certain trade and political concessions. Any violation of this treaty was certain to be met by mutually assured annihilation; the Chaos Wave Device itself would almost certainly be destroyed by the combined wrath of the other planets(along with Moebius and the Monarchy) but not before wiping out a LOT of planets, ships and stars. And no one wanted to even think about a meltdown of the Chaos Core. But Lyboc was not thinking of these now; not the night before the 600th Liberation Day. His eyes were on the cold, twinkling stars, his thoughts on the ceremonies ahead. The forces assigned to guard the Floating Fortress were House Echidna(Author's note: Knuckles had been pretty pissed about the "theft" of "his" island during the Ascension. How this was resolved... later story), as according to tradition. And he was Commander of the garrison here at the Fortress. It was externally impregnable; a cold fusion energy field surrounded the island; a spherical bubble of pure force that repelled any particulate matter not surrounded by a counter-frequency field. Air was internally recycled within the Fortress. Fusion cannons and super-light proton guns; and rack after rack of close range torpedoes and rail guns lined the walls, laying down a lethal enfilade for any flying attackers. And inside, the guards were power armoured, superbly trained, and lethal. Yet the Fortress was still vulnerable to one thing... treachery. Within, a huddled figure unpacked a micro satcomm uplink embedded in a false compartment under its bed. It thrust the small laser antenna out a window. Micro servomotors within the antenna made minute calibrations to aim it at precisely the right orbital plane. When this was done, the huddled figure pressed a red button. An invisible pulse of ultra-low frequency laser energy shot through the atmosphere, easily penetrating the Fortress' surrounding force shield, and eventually hitting the receiver of a satellite in geosynchronous orbit around above the Fortress. The uplink established, the figure hurriedly plugged a tiny cable from a cybernetic link at his wrist into a socket at the side of the satcomm. This cyberlink was directly connected to his cerebral cortex and the bionic implants embedded there. His thoughts were digitally converted, encrypted and transmitted. "Weasel to Nest. The furniture is in place. Bring home the bacon." He transmitted three times, and then hurriedly broke the uplink and packed everything into the compartment. His sabotage of the communications network security systems an hour earlier ensured that no one would be able to pick up the transmission. Everything was ready. All he had to do now, was wait. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elsewhere... Ivo Robotnik's organic arm ached. It had been 6 hours since he started work... about 17 hours since he came to life. At least that was what the chronometer embedded under a panel in his cybernetic arm told him. But excitement, tension, these emotions caused him to ignore the weakness of his flesh. His cold, twisted features were in an expression of peculiar rapture. Few things could warm his metallic heart; one of them was the expression of his genius through his machines. He could design and create technology like no other in Moebius could. Yet the technology his dark mind chose to create were instruments of war; increasingly powerful war robots and weapons. These were all, however, means to an end. A final, total end; the eradication of all organic life... save himself. Total mechanization of the world... a cold, sterile, efficient world of toxic fumes and robotic slaves. Few things thrilled him more than the thought of sinew and bone being reduced to metallic fibers and durasteel alloy.... like his arm. The roboticizer. A sheer device of genius, by the long dead Charles Hedgehog. Robotnik remembered the old hedgehog's feeble protests that the machine totally removed the will and soul of anyone subjected to it. Sentimental claptrap, Robotnik snorted. No one will require free will in the technological paradise that I intend to rule. His only regret was that he had not been able to invent it himself. But he had studied it during those long hours of his rule.. he knew every detail of it... from the DNA mapping via tachyon pulse echo to the matter transferral units... right down to the precise voltage requirements and energy needs. Yet... even with it, even with hundreds of robotic slaves at his command, even with the Destroyer airship, the Warbots and Combots deployed from Mobotropolis... he had failed. He had failed to wipe out a tiny, ragtag bunch of adolescents who had grown to defeat him. And they had, according to the historical data he found, built a lasting empire on the foundations of his downfall! While he grudgingly admired the ruthlesness with which the accursed hedgehog and his bitch vixen Sally had forged the new monarchy, what irked him was the thought of his failure and defeat at the hands of children! And it seemed now that vengeance would be forever denied him. Now that Sonic and Sally and all the other accursed brats had gone the way of mortals. Still, he mused. It would give me great pleasure to crush the bones of your descendants, Sonic Hedgehog. Perhaps that would be the most fitting revenge, that he had returned after centuries to claim his rightful place. But he was not master. There was the one who had brought him back. The one called Darkbringer. Who was he/she/it? Naugus? Some renegade alien? A Chaos Emerald avatar? Robotnik had seen, and ravaged much in his twisted life, but he had never come across anything with such power. What kind of creature could restore a person to life after 7 centuries with such casual abandon? Robotnik distrusted and feared magic. It was.. inexplicable, illogical. It's application to technology was almost impossible to conceive of. Yet it was power, still, and if anything Robotnik craved in life it was power. For now, he turned his attention to the project at hand. When they had retrived Packbell's head, Robotnik had assumed that it would be beyond repair. Yet, the neural pathways were remarkably intact over the centuries. The personality board, with all the cold, cunning intellect and malice was still functioning. Memory banks were somewhat corrupted but there was much retrievable data. And, with the superb technology in this lab, he believed he could work miracles. Robotnik checked on the mainframe he had assigned to data reconstruction of the memory banks. Yes, almost complete. He planned to download all that into a new, far greater capacity photon crystal which was capable of storing electronic data within its molecular lattices. Also, the personality/cognition board, a solid slab of silicon and polycarbon with microscopic positron pathways etched on it was replaced by a liquid metal; polymimetic alloy saturated with nanobots which simulated the organic brain, transferring electrical impulses across synapses and molecular gaps. Only in this case, those impulses were far more intense and transmitted in the form of pure light across trillions of nanobots; and the nanobots had the capacity for growth and expansion, to accomodate for greater complexity of thought and intelligence. In other words. Packbell's intellect could grow and evolve unrestricted as new data and experiences were assimilated. Robotnik was also rewriting the core personality matrix. The data was represented on a computer monitor as a angry red polyhedron floating in space. While to the untrained eye it appeared to be little more than a pretty graphic, it was in reality a sophisticated representation of Packbell's personality. Yes, in the striations of scarlet one could see the android's malevolent cunning. a cool blue strobe for his ruthlessness, and a pulsing sphere at the heart of the matrix... symbolizing his relentless, purposeless malice and hatred for the organic.. like his creator. Robotnik smiled in satisfaction as he tweaked the personality matrix.. enhancing the cunning and the malice. while adding in subroutines to eradicate his flaws... like a greater (if grudging) respect for his foes(to nullify his overbearing overconfidence) and a greater capacity for long-term planning. Also, new databases had to be integrated, centuries of technological advances programmed into his mind so that he could utilize it to the utmost. That done, there was now the all-important issue of the body. Definitely humanoid. Two metres, and man-shaped. Yet Robotnik did not wish to confine Packbell to one mere form. He planned a whole series of bodies. each varying in design and configuration, to be used when the need arose. But that was in the future. For now, a more general-purpose system was required. The skeleton was duraluminium, heat-reinforced at a molecular level. Tiny yet powerful servomotors gave his joints incredible flexibility in any direction. The arms were coated with force-grown crystalline polyalloy fibers to simulate muscle tissue and plated with matt black tetracarbon sheathing. Each arm could apply 200 tons per square inch of power. Into the right arm was built a technopack, a mentally responsive bundle of tools and implements such as electronic lockpicks, stun rods, needle gun, and a high-intensity las-cutter. The chest concealed 6 tiny. 15 cubic centimeter fusion chambers which were each capable of generating enough energy to fuel a large-size city for years. A sophisticated sensor suite meant that Packbell could monitor low frequency radio and laser communications and have vision along the entire electromagnetic spectrum and even perceive subatomic and hyperspace phenomena. Nanobots continually repaired the system of any structural damage. Anti-grav modules in the shoulder and feet gave him near-total maneuvrability in any environment. And weapons... the eyes were high-intensity lasers, there was a rotary kinetic rail gun in his chest capable of tearing apart mountains, various vibro-knives for throwing in compartments all over his body, mini-missile launchers embedded in his back.... he was a walking arsenal of military might. And one hand was constructed of pure technoorganic mesh which could reshape itself into almost any conceivable form... or weapon. And of course, numerous other lethal devices and capabilities to give him the cutting edge he needed. Yes, Robotnik thought with satisfaction, you are a masterpiece. This, time with such weapons, such technology, you will not be so easily defeated. Finally, it was done. The memory crystals had been filled with data.The new personality/cognitive unit had been reprogrammed and reintegrated. The sensor dampening coat of paint on the body had dried. It was time. Slowly, delicately,the head was asssembled. The P/C unit, resembling a glass slab of silver mercury, was slotted into a gap in in the cranium(with sufficient space around it for expansion. The crystals were frozen into place with a nullenergy beam. And the head was lifted and delicately clicked into place on the torso. Metallic ball bearings linking the torso's central support strut(spinal cord) into the skull clanged as magnetic induction fused the two together. Already, the nanobots were fixing the microscopic tear that delineated the head from the body. Robotnik entered several final commands into his terminal, which was still linked to Packbell via a few fiberoptic cables. systems init diagnostics UNIT (4013R)- DESIGNATE: PACKBELL.... PURPOSE: ADMINISTRATIVE/MILITARY OPERATIONS/LOGISTICS/STRATEGIC PLANNING PERFORMING COGNITION INTEGRITY CHECK..... OK A series of complex equations began scrolling around the screen. PERFORMING NERUROMOTOR INTEGRITY CHECK..... OK The hands and feet of the android began flexing convulsively. Other technofiber muscles were clearly seen pulsing on the android's body. PERFORMING MEMORY INTEGRITY CHECK..... OK Visions of Packbell's past scrolled up on the screen now. Brief, quick flashes; of old Robotropolis; of the Great Unknown... of the hedgehog. Over and over. PERFORMING PERSONALITY INTEGRITY CHECK.... (OVERRIDDEN) Robotnik had deliberately skipped this part of the test in case any unexpected feedback blew the android's consciousness. PERFORMING SENSOR SUITE INTEGRITY CHECK.... OK PERFORMING WEAPONS TARGETING SYSTEM CHECK.... OK PERFORMING... Impatiently Robotnik waited until the system's internal diagnostics were complete. ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL. PRIORITY CODE: GABRIEL TO ISAAC. CONFIRM(Y/N?) Robotnik smiled. A failsafe, in case anything went wrong. The prioroty codes gave him complete control over the robot should it be absolutely necessary. "Now my creation, my son. Rise and live." The restraints that held the prone android in place on the worktable retracted. The cables connecting Packbell to the computer terminal that gave him life, electronic umbilical cords were severed as he sat up, breaking the link. Packbell gazed around him. His metallic eyes took in the visage of his father, and of the lab, and of everything else. "Thank you, my lord." Packbell's metallic voice, digitally produced to be deliberately harsh and mechanical, to impose fear, To remind everyone that he was a machine. And a superior one. "It is good to live once more." "I await your command." Robotnik laughed. The cruel, sadistic laughter that Moebius had once trembled to. This is only the beginning, he exulted. This is only the beginning... "... of MY ASCENDANCE." A voice, cold as death, yet resonant with power, interrupted his gloating. Robotnik immediately whirled. Packbell, silent, turned his face to gaze upon the crimson-armoured figure of Darkbringer. "Excellent, Robotnik. I see the centuries of damnation have not dimmed your skills in technology." Darkbringer turned to Packbell. "You may be Robotnik's creation, but you are MY servant. Do you understand?" For a moment, Packbell gazed emotionlessly at the god-like figure before him. Packbell was two metres tall, and physically imposing, sheathed in matt black armour plating, the face sculpted into cruel, hungry features. Yet he seemed like a child before the.. god?.. that now addressed him. Robotnik held his breath. Are you strong enough, my creation? Can you defy him? Packbell knelt. "Master," he whispered. If he had been organic, perhaps he could have identified the peculiar sensation flooding his photonic brain as fear. Robotnik silently cursed. Then he suddenly went cold with fear as Darkbringer faced him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Robotnik could have sworn that Darkbringer sneered contemptously beneath the helmet. "Now come, my minions. We have work to do. A world, and a universe, await my domination!" Darkbringer gestured and the three figures disappeared, leaving behind the cold, silent laboratory. And through a window, dawn was breaking. The dawn of an age of eternal night... for Moebius. Darkness is descending fast, racing closer.