The green hedgehog lies silently on the mattress, eyes closed, half-asleep. He hardly ever slept fully anymore; long nights on the streets for a majority of his life taught him how to rest without truly losing consciousness. His breathing is deep and relaxed, and his ears twitch slightly as a current of air buffets them. Opening his eyes slightly, still not fully awake, he stares with blurry vision at the bedsheets in front of him, then closes his eyes again, feeling unworried. He adjust position slightly, rolling over, onto his back, and with a slight grunt his arms flop onto the bed lazily. His left arm lies across his torso, his fingers forming a half-closed fist, and his right arm was bent at a right angle with his hand parallel to his head, its fingers curled slightly. His legs are half-spread, one knee bent a bit more than the other, and his mouth hangs ajar slightly as he snores quietly. His already-messy hair is fluffed up in a spiky halo around his head, strands going every which where; once he wakes up, we will have the ultimate bedhead. His jacket is slightly tangled beneath him, falling off slightly, but the objects in his pockets stay in their places.

Beside him, on a different mattress, lies a black-and-red hedgehog, curled in on himself. His knees are folded halfway, and he is lying almost face-down, his tail flicking agitatedly and his brows drawn together in an angry expression. His sharp canine teeth glitter slightly, and sweat beads on his forehead. His jacket looks bulky, giving away the items stored inside, but they don't bother him; his arms rest right in front of his face, the sleeves half-rolled down due to his movement, one hand palm-up and inches away from his face, the other settled on top of it and palm-down. He twitches uncomfortably in his sleep, jerking every now and then, as if witnessing something unpleasant, painful; he whines softly, curling up tighter, the hood slowly peeling off of his ragged fur. His fingers clench, claws exposed, and the hand lying on his other wrist slices his skin, drawing blood that beads and runs through his fur sluggishly. Still unconscious, he begins to mumble in his sleep, speaking broken fragments in a tense voice filled with agony. "No...I wouldn't," he murmurs, then flinches as if struck. "That isn't me," he hisses, beginning to tremble, "I'd never--I'm so sorry--" his heart rate speeds up, and his talons tear further into his skin. "Sick, cold-hearted...killer?...No, that isn't me--" A grimace etches its way onto the dark hedgehog's face. "You're not me, not me, not me," his voice increases in volume. "It isn't me, it can't be--" he thrashes, kicking one leg out, the violent motion causing the knife-like claws in his arm to rip and shred his delicate skin. The blood oozes out more violently, picking up pace as his heart begins to pound rapidly. "A monster?.....no, no, not me," louder and louder, no longer whispering, he cries, "no, it wasn't my fault! I'm sorry! I'm sorry--I--!"

With a gasp, the ebony-and-crimson hedgehog jolts awake, panting, sweat and tears dripping off him as he shivers. Disoriented, he stares straight forward, confused and blurry-eyed. He sees his wrist, talons still imbedded in his skin, blood pouring down his arms, and he swears, retracting his claws. Sitting up, he clutches his wrist, still breathing rapidly, and looking around fervently for something to wrap on the wounds; after a few seconds, he remembers where he is, and his head whirls around to look at Scourge. With a sigh of relief, the dark hedgehog sags--his friend is still asleep. Turning back to his surroundings, he clutches his wrist, blood oozing from between his fingers. Delicately, the darker hedgehog hops off of the bed, doing his best to keep from waking his malachite-furred cohort, then zips off, heading towards the medicine department.

--------------

Gotta get bandages, gotta find something to stop the bleeding, I repeat to myself, panting. Waking up to find your own blood pooling in front of you is most disconcerting, especially once you realize you did it to yourself in your sleep. My eyes flick as I look around, trying to find bandages. Gotta hurry, gotta hurry; the blood drips from between my fingers and I tighten my grip, panicking. How am I going to explain this to Scourge? What do I do?

Relief floods through me as I spot an aisle of medicinal items, and I twist mid-step, searing towards it at mach speeds. As I speed down the direct center, I hold my injured hand close to me, grabbing a roll of bandaging off the racks as I pass, running out of the aisle and back to where I began before anyone even notices I was there. Sliding to a stop on the linoleum floors, I frantically wrap up my arm, feeling ill. I've already been feeling like crap for the past few days, and now this? After a few moments of tedious activity, winding the bandages around and around and around my arm, I stop and admire my handiwork. The blood is no longer visible, and luckily I'll be able to hide the wraps under my sleeve. Tying it off, I sigh in relief, rubbing my face with my non-bloodied hand, tucking the cloth bandages into my jacket. Pulling my sleeves back down, I sit up straight, staring at my gloves. "Oh, no," I grumble despairingly, staring at my once-pearly-white gloves, "they're ruined!" The hand that I'd clenched onto my wounds is slicked with deep crimson blood, and while the other is only moderately stained they both are filthy. Pulling them off gingerly, I glance about, trying to find a trash can; upon realizing that there are none, I shake my head and growl softly to myself, stuffing the useless gloves down the front of my jacket, where they'll be away from everything else. Frowning, I stand up, but a wave of dizziness washes over me and I stumble, grabbing onto the edge of the bed closest to me as darkness clouds my vision. My breathing turns ragged as I struggle to avoid passing out, terrified. What's happening to me? Woozy, I stagger forward, using the furniture I pass as supports, making my way back to the mattress I left. Maybe running so soon after losing all that blood was a bad idea... Hefting myself into a more upright position, I stare blankly at the bedsheets, panting; my stomach feels as though its contents are boiling, and my vision blurs and clouds at random. Ahead of me, I can see the rather sizable round stain of blood I left behind, and as I crawl onto the furniture I grab a pillow, shoving it on top of the stain to hide it and flopping down on top of said pillow, wheezing like an old man. I feel weak, and I despise the sensation, terrified of it--my arms won't lift, my eyes keep closing, and breathing feels difficult. I fight off unconsciousness, not wanting to fall asleep. Please, don't make me sleep, I beg silently. I'm tired of all the nightmares...

Despite my best efforts, my eyes slowly close, and they don't open again.

------------------

My eyes snap open as the alarm goes off. Annoyed, I reach over and smack it roughly, and it shuts up. Yawning, I sit up and look around, bleary-eyed. Sunlight is just beginning to glow on the horizon, bleeding in with soft pink and orange hues from our window behind me, staining the plain white walls and tinting the dark brown door. Above me, something stirs, and I look up just in time for Heather to dangle her feet in my face. "Hey!" I yelp, leaning back. "D'you mind?!"

"Oops, sorry Shady," she giggles, hopping down. "Didn't know you were there. You've been gone a while," the amethyst hedgehog turns around, that same cheerful smile lighting up her face. "I guess I just got used to being alone."

"Well, you're not alone anymore," I reply kindly, standing up and flashing her my own smile, "and I'm so glad to be with you again." Wrapping her in a hug, I bury my muzzle in her long purple spines.

Her scent surrounds me as she returns the hug with a laugh. "Why so sentimental all of a sudden?" Pulling back, she rubs the top of my head, ruffling my bedhead even more.

I frown. "I don't remember, actually." How strange... I feel like I'm missing something, like this is so important, but I don't know why. She's my sister, I'm with her day in and day out--why does this seem so crucial?

With a chuckle, she imitates my frown at me. "Hee hee, you're making the same face you always made when you were little." I smirk as she turns around, picking her shoes up off the mat by the door. "Before we got to really know each other, I always thought you were no fun. You just always," she pauses to pull one boot on with a quiet grunt of exertion, "were so annoyed-looking, but it's like the more I got to know you the less angry you seemed." She yanks on the other combat boot, and gets up, grinning at me. "It's like as the years went on, the scowl melted off your face, bit by bit."

I shrug. "Maybe that's what happened." I reply, trotting over to her in order to retrieve my own shoes. Stepping into them easily, I step back and shake each foot to let the air compressors calibrate. "I guess having a sister helped my expression soften. After all, you're always pulling at my face, anyways," I snort, glaring at her in feigned annoyance.

"Ya got me there, Shady~!" She chirps, pinching my cheeks cheerfully. I huff at her, sticking out my tongue, and she giggles. "You're so silly."

Behind us, the television flickers to life, and we whip around in unison to face it. It's a large screen, imbedded in the wall; twice each day, we receive news through it--once during the morning and once in the evening. On this particular morning, the news-robot begins to drone on about the recent successful missions immediately, and I roll my eyes. "In related news, there's no news today!" I jest, turning back to the door.

Heather laughs as we walk out into the hall. "Yeah, it must be a slow day--We don't even have a mission until later on today." Taking her usual place beside me, she cheerfully stretches with another yawn.

Looking over at her, I raise an eyebrow and smirk. "You know what that means..." I say pleasantly, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

"Yes!" She cheers, flailing her violet arms about. "Sunriiiiiisee!!"

"Right!" I yip, grabbing her hand, and we dash down the plain metal corridor, headed for the elevators. Laughing, we race each other; I deliberately slow myself a bit, to let her keep up with me, and I don't even bother to use the air features on my shoes, relying only on my feet by themselves. Her laughter sounds like beautiful wind chimes in my ears, like a song that you remember to be your favorite years ago, re-discovered eons later to still sound amazing. It's a sound that I've missed, something I, for whatever reason, didn't think I would ever hear again. But that's ridiculous--she was only moved to Wisconsin Base for a short while. She came back! Here she is! Right? I think back to what she said earlier--"You've been gone a while"--and it gives me pause. Wait, was she the one that left? Or did I leave? I look over at her, worried. Is this real?

In a flash, we're sitting on the roof, dangling our feet over the edge. Beside me, Heather hums a cheery tune, kicking her legs up in time with the song in her head. The sky ahead is beautiful; the sun is shining around the curvature of the Earth, its light washing across the land, bathing it all in a soft, cheerful dawn light, and my sister laughs. "Look, Shadow!" She breathes, leaning forward. "It's so beautiful..."

"I know," I answer breathlessly, transfixed as the bright light spreads across the continents, glittering on the ocean, the deep blues and light oranges fighting for dominance. Suddenly, she wraps her lavender arms around me, pulling me close to her; I jump slightly, looking up at her. "Heather, what--?"

"Don't leave," she whispers, anguish coloring her normally joyous voice. "Don't leave me again, Shadow." Holding me tighter, she buries her face in my spines, and my heart breaks as I hear her stifle a sob.

"What are you talking about?" I exclaim, confused. "I'm not going to leave you!"

"Yes, you are," she cries, her tears slipping off her cheeks and into my fur. "You're going to leave me and I can't do anything about it!"

"Why would I leave?!" Frightened, I try to pull back. "Heather, what are you talking about?!"

She lets go of me, wiping her tears and sniffling. "You're gonna leave," she mumbles, and I lean forward, wiping a tear off her cheek with my thumb, resting my palm on the side of her face.

"I'm right here," I whisper soothingly, "I'm right here, sis, and I'm not going anywhere." I smile at her, but she only weeps more intensely.

"Yes, you are!" She wails, standing up suddenly. "You're going to leave b-because you thought you killed me," she sobs, stammering slightly from the force of her crying.

"Killed you?" I gape at her and shoot to my feet, interrupting. "Wh-What?!"

She looks away, rubbing at her eyes roughly, shivering as she cries. "Y-you thought you killed me, b-but..." Turning her gaze back on me, she blurts, "But it was me who killed you!"

"Heather--" I begin, but a sudden pain sears my back, and I gasp. "Wh-wha--hhhk!" I choke, gagging as fluid fills my throat. Coughing, I spew blood out of my mouth, and upon looking down I see blood oozing from a hole in my chest, right at the base of my chest fluff. Something clear and crimson-soaked protrudes from the wound.

"I'm so sorry," She breathes into my ears from behind me, "but I had to." Pain sears through my back again as she twists the object, and I cry out.

"H-Heather..." I gasp as my vision darkens. "Why..." My violet sister rips the hunk of half-melted metal out of me, dropping it on the ground beside me, and I wobble for a moment, then fall sideways onto the ground, my head facing away from the sunset. As the black miasma at the edge of my vision closes in, I see Heather walk away from me, her shoes the only sound in my ears as I slip into death's cold embrace.

--------------

Someone was shaking me roughly, each movement sending pain searing through my back. I groan, still feeling cold and numb, half-dead. My right arm from the elbow down throbs with agony, and I open my eyes groggily, disoriented. Whoever is shaking me is saying something too, rather loudly--the same thing over and over again, with little variation, in fact. My sight is blurry, but as I blink it focuses, and the memories rush back to me; jolting awake fully, I roll over, growling as my ears start to ring.

"Jesus Christ, Stripes!" Scourge is yelling in my ears, and I wince. He'd climbed up onto my bed while I was sleeping, apparently, and he still shakes my shoulder despite my obvious wakefulness. "Are you okay?!"

"Why wouldn't I be?!" I snap, still a bit befuddled, shoving him away from me. "What the hell are you so worked up about?" Sitting up, now, I support myself on my arms, propped up beneath me, ensuring that the pillow I placed on the bed is still covering the bloodstain I left behind. I hope he didn't see that, I think nervously. I don't want him to ask me about that--I don't even know what happened, so how could I explain that to him? I can't deal with that!

"You stopped breathing!" He wails in protest, struggling not to fall off the bed, alarm bleeding from him. "You were saying something in your sleep, and then you just stopped breathing! And then you wouldn't wake up--I thought you died!" Fear shoots through me as I remember my nightmare, but I shake it off.

"I'm not dead," I hiss, irritated. "You get worked up too easily." Swinging my legs into a folded position beneath me, I straighten up, ignoring the stabs of agony searing through my back. "I just sleep hard," I lie, rubbing the back of my neck, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop waking me up so damn violently." Sighing, I hop off the bed and walk away, leaving a rather embarrassed Scourge behind.

"Sorry," he grumbles, sliding off the mattress to follow me.

"Luckily, it's about time for us to beat a hasty retreat," I reply, "so follow me and we'll get out of here through the back doors."

"There's back doors here?" The malachite hedgehog catches up to me, matching my pace step for step.

"Yes." I answer flatly, not in the mood to talk. We pass people on occasion, and talking about recent events will most likely give us away--the two of us already make a peculiar couple in a store full of humans. Hedgehogs aren't known to be pack creatures; in fact, I realize, most of the anthropomorphic hedgehogs are rivals and don't get along. Not even siblings work together, I muse, glancing over at Scourge. I wonder why? What is it that makes us constantly compete with each other? Looking up, I stretch my neck, feeling a few bones pop. I wish I knew.

"So, hey, Stripes, mind clueing me in as to where this exit is?" My emerald-pelted friend tries to hide his impatience, but his fidgeting gives him away.

"Over here," I reply, pointing off to my right, but still ahead of us, "by the bathrooms, there's a door marked Emergency Exit Only. That's the one we're taking."

"Won't it set off some alarms?" Confused, he tips his head to one side.

"I couldn't care less," I growl dully, not entirely paying attention. "We won't be sticking around to find out." My mind keeps drifting back to the dream I had with Heather. It all felt so real... My hands clench. It was almost like I really was there again, as if she had never left. Looking down, I half-close my eyes; my breath catches as I remember her cheerful, shining eyes, the color of leaves dappled with sunlight, always so bright and happy. In a flash, a memory assails me, and I snap my eyes shut, grimacing, trying to fight it off, but to no avail.

I walk into my room, pausing at the doorway to look up at the empty top bunk, eyes blank and face expressionless. Sometimes, I still think that I'm going to open the door and she'll be sitting up there, playing with her hair, singing to herself as she always did; it's a pointless thought to have. She's not here. She's gone. Sighing heavily, I kick off my shoes. Her absence is like a hole in my heart today--I really need someone to talk to after my last penalty for the failed mission. Flinching, I push the thought away. Conceal, conceal, no emotions, don't think about it, don't feel it. If you don't focus on it, you can suppress it. Exhaling, I imagine today's events drifting away, floating off and dispersing into the air with my breath as I climb into my bed, sparks fizzing from a new fissure behind my ear. At the end of the day, I know my Father loves me, right? No matter how many times he slams me into the wall, he loves me, but sometimes I need to be reminded of the consequences, right? I am flawless, I am perfection itself, I shouldn't have failed, I can't fail, so it must have been intentional.

The television flickers on, interrupting my thoughts, and I look over as the robot starts to speak. "Today, we suffered great losses. Three bases worldwide have fallen. Beijing Base succumbed to a rebellion--later on this evening, recruits from nearby bases will be amassing to retake Beijing Base. News tomorrow morning. In addition, Sonic has destroyed Wisconsin Base--"

My heart turns to ice. "What?" I gasp, springing from my bed.

Heedless of me, the robot continues, "A massive explosion was set off, and no survivors have been found."

"N-no...no sur...vivors?" I echo, feeling my throat close up. My eyes stretch impossibly wide as I sense something surge through me, electrifying my psyche. "No...no, that can't be...! Please...it has to be a lie!" I press my face up to the screen, begging the news-robot despite the fact that I know it can't hear me. "Heather!" I scream, slamming my hand against the wall; the metal groans and warps, heating up, spider-leg fissures appearing beneath my palm. "No! No!" My screams drown out the reports as I fervently bash the wall, cracking it slightly more each time. "No! No! Not her! Not my sister! No!" Howling, I punch the wall, feeling the metal crush beneath my fists. "Heather! Heather!" My energy depletes quickly, anger fading to anguish, punches growing weaker and weaker; I press my forehead against the wall, tears streaming down my face. "She can't be...It isn't real...She isn't dead!" Slowly, I slide down the wall, my claws scratching deep marks into it that smoke slightly for an unknown reason. "I can't..." The sparks fizz louder, and someone bursts into my room, but I ignore them. Harsh words are said, and roughly I am pulled away from the wall, my world going black as Robotnik brings his wrench down on my face.

Shivering, I grip my head with my left hand, careful to keep my injured right arm pulled close to me. Tears threaten to leak through my eyelashes as I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and tighter, pain searing through my skull. What was that? I gnash my teeth together, ignoring the pain as they grind each other. What did I just see? Did that really happen to me?

"Uh, Sh-Shads?" Scourge reaches out but I snarl and bat his hand away; he flinches, frightened. 'What's up with him?' He thinks, 'Is he alright? What just happened?'

"I'm fine," I snarl. "The fluorescent lights are just giving me eyestrain." I lie through my teeth. "The sooner we get out of here," I lift my head and let my hand drop, feeling exhausted, "the better." It feels like a great weight is pressing down on my shoulders, crushing me; breathing is difficult, for some reason.

"If you say so," he says for the second time this evening. "We're almost there anyways."

"Good," I hiss, walking forward stiffly. "Let's get going."