Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So… I don't wanna sound petty or anything, but why did you call me for this trip, anyway?"

The blue hedgehog in the passenger's seat was getting on his nerves with the incessant chatter. If he wasn't one of his most trusted friends, he'd already have been thrown out of the moving car without a second thought.

"I already told you. We might need to ask the locals for help, and you're better talking to people than I do," Shadow responded, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Wow. The Ultimate Lifeform admitting he's not the best at something. Thought I'd never see the day."

"Shut up, hedgehog. You're lucky I'm in a good mood today."

"Chill, man. Just trying to ease the mood."

The long and windy stretch of road ahead of them was illuminated only by the headlights of the car. Rouge had lent Shadow the vehicle for the weekend so that he and Sonic could travel to this old and dingy, yet peaceful, town across the country—a gaudy, white and pink monstrosity that could only be owned by the bat, but a serviceable one while he didn’t have his own ride. Sonic himself would have preferred a quick run over to the place, but given the inherent comfort of a car ride and their unfamiliarity with the region’s geography and routes, they opted to drive there.

"I apologize. I admit that I’ve brought you for… comfort, for lack of a better word. I’ve dropped a lot of important duties to come here, and the possibility of meeting… her… is frightening."

"I get it. It’s not every day you get a letter from someone who was supposed to be dead for… how long exactly?"

"Fifteen years… after the raid on the labs."

"It’s just so strange. Why would she try to get in touch after so long? And by the mail, no less?"

"She might not have known I was alive until recently, although you do have a point in it being odd she chose to send a written letter."

The letter lay in the glove compartment right in front of Sonic, alongside a photo of Shadow, Maria, and Dr. Robotnik. The hedgehog and the old man wore their old stoic expressions, while the girl flashed a smile that could light up the whole building—one of those rare days when her pain wasn’t so overwhelming and she could feel normal, if only for a moment.

"Could you read it for me again? Please?" Shadow pleaded in a small voice.

The glove box opened with a soft click, followed by the rustle of unfolding paper. Sonic cleared his throat before reciting with a pensive tone:

“I still dream of that town,
The one I used to visit in the summer.
Silent Hill.

Grandfather said once I got out
He would take me there again.
But he never did.

Well, I’m alone here now,
In my ‘special place’,
Waiting for you, Shadow.”

"Did she ever tell you what this 'special place' was?"

"No. But there are a few locations worth looking out for. The lake is quite beautiful this time of the year, if that pamphlet is to be trusted," Shadow pointed at the small folded flyer in the back seat.

"I dunno, man. This whole thing is pretty sketchy," Sonic remarked, raising an eyebrow, skeptical. "A letter from a dead girl leading you to a one-horse town at the end of Mobius? If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought this was an excuse to get me to a romantic getaway with you," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking.

Shadow clenched his fists, barely holding back from giving the blue hedgehog a hard punch. He was already on edge with the whole letter business, and he still had to put up with what could be considered the worst travel partner of all time. Luckily, the town was a short distance away.

"Look here, hedgehog. I’m not in the mood for your jokes right now," Shadow hissed at the passenger, his glare harsh. "If you’re going to act like a fool, you better—"

"SHADS, LOOK OUT!"

In the brief moment Shadow looked away from the road, a distracted young woman walked in front of the car, her face illuminated in terror by the blaring headlights as she raised her arms in defense. Shadow had only a split second to swerve the vehicle off the road.

The abrupt crash caused the dark hedgehog to hit his head on the window, and Sonic’s scream was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

Chapter Text

By the time Sonic woke up, the highway was already flooded with the early morning light, but a thick fog obscured the view outside of the car. The hedgehog let out a groan as his head started pounding from the impact of the crash, his vision blurry and ears ringing.

Breathe in, breathe out, he thought, forcing his racing thoughts to slow. As the cool morning air filled his lungs, he felt his mind clear. Beside him, the designated driver was still unconscious, his head limp to the side. Sonic feared the worst as he grabbed the other’s wrist, sighing in relief as he felt a steady, if weak, pulse.

“Shads… Are you okay? Shadow, wake up,” he shook the agent’s shoulder lightly, hoping not to startle him awake. No response. “Shit.”

Sonic unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out of the vehicle. Rouge’s sports car was, thankfully, still intact, with only the paint scratched where it had scraped against the cliffside. The bat wasn’t going to be happy about it, but between a costly paint job and the lives of her friends, she would be thankful nothing worse had happened.

The town’s welcome sign was right ahead of where they crashed, and with that came the hope of finding some help or directions from the locals. Still a bit dazed, Sonic staggered unsteadily along the road, noticing the lack of the expected hustle and bustle of a supposed commercial street, even this early in the day.

Even stranger was the snow falling gently over the town in the middle of July. The day’s forecast promised sunshine for the day, not this. Looking back, the car was gone, swallowed by the hazy whiteness around him. Yet, the stubborn hedgehog pressed onward through the ghost town.

“Alright, Sonic. You’ve been in plenty of strange places before. This is nothing new.” He tried to shake off the uneasiness creeping over him.

Sonic’s ears perked up at the faint sound of footsteps, snapping himself out of his stupor and looking toward the sound. He sped up to a light jog, hoping to find a kind and helpful stranger. The faint silhouette of a teenage girl with shoulder-length hair appeared in the distance, strolling down the street at a brisk pace.

“Hey, miss.” Sonic called out, trying not to scare the girl. At a closer distance, he could see she was dressed in a long-sleeved jacket and blue midi skirt ( Could it be…? ) “Excuse me, my friend and I got into a crash trying to- hey! Where’re you going?”

Without a word, the girl disappeared into the fog, not sparing a single glance to the Mobian. The confused hedgehog tried following the direction she’d gone.

“Where’d she go?”, Sonic muttered, baffled by her indifference. He found himself on a side street lined with small houses and metal garage doors on each side. Apprehensive yet determined, the hedgehog scoured for any traces of the figure in the obscured pavement. Before he reached the end of the path, a slow creak followed by a metallic clang echoed from his left, snapping him to attention.

He turned to look at the rusty metal bars that lead to a fog-shrouded alleyway. A crooked sign with faint black paint that read “Beware of dog” was hung precariously to the gate, held only by a few rusty nails. Peering through, Sonic froze as a wave of horror and disgust rose in his chest as he glimpsed the scene before him, forcing him to swallow hard against the bile threatening to rise. On the cement sidewalk, a decaying dog lay sprawled, its abdomen gruesomely torn open, dark blood staining the ground and splattering the nearby wall.

“Oh my Chaos,” the Mobian’s voice trembled in horror. “Wh-what? Who could have done this?” his mind soon filled with worry for the girl he'd seen earlier, now lost somewhere in this hellish place.

Composing himself, the hedgehog entered the alleyway, hurrying past the nauseating sight of the floor. He could hear faint air sirens blaring in the distance, an unsettling sign that something was terribly wrong. He continued through the alley, he started fidgeting nervously, uneasy about what could be hidden in such a dingy and abandoned place. Passing through another rusty and creaky gate, he noticed the already gloomy place growing even darker. He pulled out his phone, switching on its flashlight. Better than nothing, I guess.

The sirens started to get louder as he pressed on through the darkness, the fog dissipating to reveal eerie shadows creeping up the walls. A broken wheelchair sat abandoned in a corner, one of the wheels squeaking as it spun wildly. Sonic shuddered, his quills standing up as a chill ran down his spine, his heart pounding in his chest as the air grew heavy and suffocating. The oppressive atmosphere threatened to overwhelm him with despair as he struggled to make sense of this nightmarish reality. Still, he pressed on, determined to find the girl and discover what was going on with this place.

The puddles of blood grew larger and more frequent the farther he went down the alley. Rusty, damaged chain-link fences replaced the brickwork walls of the old buildings. The hedgehog’s hands went to cover his ears, trying to block out the loud clunking and banging of industrial machinery. Sonic squeezed his eyes shut and dashed through the narrow corridors, disoriented and desperate to escape from the oppressive surroundings.

His dash was cut short when he hit a dead end, colliding with something soft yet unyielding. Sonic stumbled back, the smell of rust, blood and decay flooding his senses, giving him again the urge to vomit. Trembling, the hedgehog gathered the courage to open his eyes to see what he had run into, hoping to find the girl safe and sound.

His scream shattered the silence—unrecognizable even to himself—as his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground.

Before him, a decaying corpse hung against the fence, its arms splayed out in a macabre imitation of crucifixion. Its mummified flesh was mostly gone, clinging to prominent ribs and skeletal arms. The abdomen was ripped open, the spine visible as the guts had long withered away. 

“No, no, nonono!” The words poured out in a frantic rush as the uneasiness exploded into raw panic. “This can’t be real. This isn’t-” Sonic stumbled back on the hard floor, shoes slipping on the congealed blood. His quills bristled like steel needles, scraping along the floor and the fence, as his breaths became faster and more shallow.

One thought stood out in his distressed state: get out of there. “The car,” he said between ragged breaths. “Get back to the car. Sh—Shadow. I need to go back to Shadow.”

A loud shriek made the hero freeze once again, his heart thumping in dread as a cold sweat rolled down his face. A pungent, fishy smell hit him, making the hedgehog throw up a sickly flood of bile. He tried regaining his breath, but was cut short with a sharp pain on his right, making him fall on his stomach.

Sonic turned his head to see small, imp-like creatures with smooth, featureless faces fixated at the hedgehog. Dark slits stretched across the faces of the attackers where the eyes should be, devoid of any emotion. Below, the gaping mouths twisted and turned into predatory smiles, like hunters relishing on the cruelness they inflicted on the prey.

The largest of them laughed maniacally, a high-pitched cackle that made the hedgehog’s stomach drop. It raised a sharp, metallic object, followed by a loud shrill. Sonic couldn’t contain the screams as he realized what those monsters were about to do.

“NOO! STOP! HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! SHADOOOOW!” He yelled as the creatures started swarming him, the sound drowned by the shrieks of his attackers, the leathery skin scraping against his fur and quills. His vision blurred as his body grew weaker with each passing moment. His own cries grew quieter as the suffocating pressure tightened in his chest. A final, shuddering breath escaped him before everything went black.

Chapter Text

Shadow stirred, a dull ache throbbing at the side of his skull. His surroundings were a hazy blur as he forced his eyes open, the fog outside the car pressing against the windows in a suffocating shroud. He blinked a few times, the murky light filtering through the windshield cutting through his disorientation. His instincts, honed by years of training, screamed that something was wrong.

“Sonic…?” Shadow called hoarsely, turning to his right only to find the passenger seat empty—lacking his irritating but trusted companion. Despite Sonic's foolhardy tendencies, he wasn't one to just screw around when a friend was in need. Not that the agent needed anything from him, but still. He leaned forward, trying to peer around the vehicle as a pang of worry rippled through him. The tinted windows, combined with the thick haze outside, obscured everything beyond a few inches. The air felt charged, permeated with a chaotic, strange energy. “Where did that idiot wander off to?"

He jerked the seatbelt free and got out with a sharp motion, the cold morning air immediately wrapping around him with an unnatural chill. His gaze scanned the gloomy road, searching for any sign of the hedgehog’s whereabouts. The unsettling emptiness ahead carried a heavy silence, one that reminded him of certain corridors in the ARK.

That is, until a piercing, shattering scream tore through the uneasy quiet like glass.

Raw pain and horror twisted through Sonic’s unmistakable voice. Shadow’s heart plummeted. A memory flashed before his eyes of another scream, another loss, another time he’d been… No. Focus.

Before he could really process the sound, his feet were already skating through the barren roads, his sharp ears turning to pinpoint his partner’s location. Each second stretched into eternity as Shadow raced against time. He entered a side street, the momentum of his sprint carrying him into a wall as he tried to turn the corner. He brushed off the impact as his urgency intensified. He couldn’t stop now, not when that fool could be in grave danger.

“HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! SHADOOOOW!” the frantic yelling ripped through the haze, the hoarse voice cracking with each word. Shadow tore through a rusty gate, searching the narrow alleyway for the blue hero. Dread began to pool in the agent’s stomach as the cries died down—was he too late again?

A sharp left turn led him to a cluster of bristled blue spines on the dirty concrete floor. The sight of his rival—the self-proclaimed fastest thing alive—reduced to a trembling mess pierced through Shadow’s carefully maintained composure. Sonic lay curled tightly in a ball, shuddering violently as he muttered unintelligibly, each word a fractured echo of desperation. Tears ran down his face as he clutched his legs tight.

“Sonic… Can you hear me?” Shadow's voice rose above the quiet air. He kneeled beside the trembling hedgehog, not daring to touch him in this fragile state. “What happened?” The question emerged more clinical than concerned, but Shadow felt his chest tighten with a feeling he refused to name. No visible injuries, no blood, just pure terror radiating from his body.

As their tumultous paths crossed many times, Shadow always observed how Sonic's unwavering determination shone through, even against the overwhelming odds. A confident smile always graced his face as he sped through the landscape, fighting for what was right. Now, anxiety pooled in his stomach, wondering what could have caused the vibrant hero to shrink into himself.

An echo of the girl he was supposed to protect reverberated through his mind, the suffocating weight of old guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave. Shadow focused on keeping his judgment level, despite the pressure rising in his chest, threatening to crush him from within. Now wasn't the time for weakness. Not when Sonic needed him.

“Sonic, you have to get up.” His voice was firm, yet soft enough to not cause alarm. A wave relief washed over him as Sonic’s shaking began to subside. His ragged breaths grew deeper and more stable. Still, his eyes stayed shut, as if afraid to see once more what caused him such pain. A knot tightened in Shadow's throat, feeling like this moment of calm wouldn't last long before the storm inevitably hit.

Shadow carefully picked up the blue hedgehog, half-expecting a snarky remark about the closeness between them—something to ease the tension—but it never came. Only the weight of silence followed them as Shadow threaded his way back through the fog.

A neon sign caught his attention as he continued down the main street, the red light casting a warm glow on the sidewalk. "Café 5to2," he muttered, studying the Open sign hanging on the door, "I wonder if there's anyone there".

Adjusting his grip on his unconscious companion, he nudged the door open with his shoulder. The chime of a bell rang overhead, the sharp sound cutting through the eerie air. Then—

"Hold it." A command rang through the air, loud and clear. A wolf officer stood next to a table, her hand firm on her utility belt. The sharp, blue uniform gave her a sense of authority against the dingy surroundings. Her eyes flickered to Sonic's limp form, before locking on to Shadow with a probing gaze. "What happened to him?"

Shadow's own red eyes met hers in a silent standoff, gauging her intentions. "We're not here to cause trouble," he said in a steady tone, despite the urgency in his mind. "I found him like this. We need help."

The black hedgehog carefully laid Sonic down in a worn booth near the entrance, always making eye contact with the officer. The hero quieted down considerably, easing Shadow's worry about his condition. Yet, the soft light from the windows accentuated an anguished expression in his face.

"Why don't you start by telling me what happened?" the cop inquired diplomatically, her voice carrying a hint of distrust. "Are you two from around here?"

"We just got into town. Our car crashed just outside the city." The wolf's eyebrows shot up at that. "I passed out, and this dingus already got himself into trouble by the time I woke up, it seems." Shadow shot an annoyed glance at the unconscious hedgehog, but his words lacked any bite.

"Was he attacked?"

"I don't know. No visible injuries. No assailant that I could see". Shadow explained in a detached clinical precision, as if he was reporting to a superior. "Just... terror. Pure terror."

At that moment, he heard Sonic gasp, jolting awake from his stupor, his eyes darting around in a feral panic before settling down on Shadow—the one familiar thing in this unfamiliar place. Shadow's own expression softened as he approached his rival, sitting down next to him.

"Shads...? Wha-? What happened? Where are we?" Sonic's confused eyes glazed over the diner, stopping at the lawwoman standing with her arms crossed, before clutching his head. "Was I dreaming?"

The wolf sat at a bar stool with her legs crossed. Her prior suspicion mellowing out. "How do you feel?" She asked with a sympathetic look at the hero.

"Like I've been through twelve rounds against the Egg Dragoon, but I'm all right." Sonic offered a warm smile at the officer, but Shadow couldn't help noticing a faint strain beneath it.

"Glad to hear it." The officer offered a faint grin of her own. "Do you remember anything?"

"I saw this girl in the fog when I got in town. This place gives me the creeps, man. The fog, the snow… it feels like one of those strange dreams," Sonic mumbled, his voice barely registering in the heavy tension. Shadow cleared his throat, urging Sonic to stay in topic. "Anyway, I tried asking her for help, but it's like she didn't even notice me there. Then she started running down the street, and I think she got into an alley?" The hedgehog hesitated for a moment, gaze fixed on the floor, as if searching his memory. "I don't remember anything else. It's all just a blur."

"Uh-huh? Did you two come together?" The police officer inquired, her eyes narrowing. Shadow could almost see the gears in her head trying to piece the story together. Despite softening her demeanor at Sonic's state, her hesitation was evident; her softening demeanor didn’t fully fool him.

"Yes, we, and by 'we' I mean Shads, drove all the way here, before we ended up crashing", Sonic briefly explained, running a hand through his messy quills."I woke up first to find this loose nut out cold. We're just here for a little sightseeing... mostly. By the way, is it just me or is this town, like, super deserted? Where is everybody?"

"The only people I've seen in this town are you and your partner. I'd tell you if I knew, believe me." The wolf's eyes flickered around the establishment, before leaning forward, as if telling a secret. "But, from what I can tell, something bizarre is going on. That's all I know."

Shadow hummed at that, only observing the conversation. Looks like we stumbled in something more than a bad neighborhood. I wonder why Maria called us to this places?

"I'm Sonic, and this grump over here is Shadow. We came from Central City, where he lives."

"Cybil Bennet. I'm police officer from Brahms, the next town over." The agent raised an eyebrow at the explanation. "We lost contact with Silent Hill's police department during the night, so I came here. The phones are all dead, and the radio too." The officer stood up, heading to the door. "While you two rest here, I'm going to call some reinforcements." She turned her head to Shadow as he got up from his seat as well. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We need to get moving, too. There's someone we're supposed to meet in this town."

"No way. It's too dangerous out there." Cybil tried to reason.

"Exactly. Another reason to find her soon."

"You have protection?" Cybil asked.

"G.U.N. issue in the car." Shadow replied simply. Her eyebrows raised slightly.

"A federal agent. That explains the attitude." The officer turned to Sonic. "Do you have one as well?"

"Uhn…" the blue hedgehog rubbed his head uncomfortably. "I don't do guns, sorry."

Officer Bennet took out a gun from her holster, putting it down on a nearby table. "I'll leave this to you, but I hope you don't have to use it." Sonic swallowed hard at the sight of the firearm. "Now listen to me. Before you pull the trigger, know who you're shooting. And don't go blasting me by mistake. Got it?"

"Got it. No shooting you." The hero let out a dry chuckle, the joke doing little to ease the tension.

"You'd do best to stay nearby. I'll be back with help as quick as I can." With that, Cybil left the building, the hedgehogs' eyes following her.

As Cybil's footsteps faded into the fog, Sonic slumped back in the booth. "What a mess..." He winced, rubbing his temples. "I still can't believe-" He cut himself off, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge an unpleasant memory.

Shadow studied his rival for a moment. "Stay here. I'll get some things back in the car."

"Like hell I'll stay." Sonic straightened up, though Shadow noticed how his hands gripped the edge of the table just a bit too tightly. "I'm not letting you wander off alone in this creepy place."

"You can barely stand."

"Watch me," Sonic pushed himself up, and to his credit, trembled only slightly. His trademark grin looked strained, but his eyes were clear. "Besides, weren't you the one who brought me along because I'm 'better with people'?"

Shadow held back a sigh. Typical stubborn hedgehog. "Fine. Just... stay close."

An intoxicating smell of stale coffee and cigarettes lingered in the air, as if the place has been deserted just hours before. The agent approached the wooden counter slowly, searching for anything useful about the town. A city map sat under a pile of worn down menus. Shadow took notice of a few points of interest nearby. He reached for the phone inside his quills to take a photo, spotting the "No service" icon in the notification bar. To his right, a vintage angle-head flashlight sat as if waiting for someone to pick it up, one that could easily fit into a breast pocket.

"There's a church and a hospital nearby. Whatever's happening here, someone's bound to find shelter in there."

"Gotcha." Sonic took the map in his hands, studying the routes to reach the locations. He quickly folded the paper, tucking it and the on his quills. "We gotta go fast, we don't know how long these people have." A rare serious expression dawned in the hero's face, but was soon followed by a familiar smirk and a spark in his eyes. "Race you back to the car!"

Shadow was well-aware of the importance of time in their line of work, as every minute when lives hung in balance. Yet, Sonic's tendency to leap into action, a quality the agent sometimes secretly admired, could prove reckless in this strange and unpredictable place.

"Hedgehog, this isn't the tim-" Hw tried reasoning, but the blue blur already had rushed through the doors, leaving him in the dust. "Why do I still bother?" He groaned in dismay. But as soon as he tried to follow him, a sudden, jarring static filled the café.

A portable radio sat innocently on a table in the far corner, but the shrill sound, piercing through the charged air, made Shadow's fur stand on end. He quickly reached for it, tuning the frequency dial to search for any signs of communication. Words started to form through the garbled noise, making the hedgehog freeze in place as he recognized the voice beneath the static.

"Shad-…… I'm.......-er-.....

....-ome t-......... -ake....

............ for y-.............

...............-id'n yo-.........e me?

.........ad....w."

"Maria…?" Shadow's breath caught in his throat, the name coming out little more than a whisper. Her gentle tone still carried in the disjointed syllables, shattering the walls he constructed around his heart. The gnawling hand of grief wrapped around his heart, unearthing long-burried memories of the bond they once shared. Was it really her, reaching out in the midst of the shroudded town? Or was it fate playing a cruel trick in his mind? To further remind him of his failures as a friend, as a guardian?

As his gaze remained fixed in the small device, the usually sharp agent couldn't see the limping shade slowly approaching the windows clouded by the fog. Only when the shards came flying through the air, the figure lunging through the frosted glass pane, Shadow was forcibly taken out of his trance. The hog threw himself backwards, dropping low to the ground, barely dodging the large fragments shattering further on the old tiles. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding with the surge of adrenaline, eyes wide and alert for what caused the abrupt chaos.

A slender figure raised amongst the glittering shards scattered on the floor, its skin an ashy, cracked porcelain that caught the light in dull, blurred reflections. DIsheveld locks framed a half-missing face, a jagged edge crossing a soulless visage, a single glassy eye staring right through him. Tattered rags drapped over the fragile body underneath, rust-colored stains splattered over a delicate vintage pattern.

A haunting wail bounced off the walls, hitting Shadow's ears like nails on a chalkboard. His muscles locked up, unresponsive to any command he tried giving them, as he was forced to watch the horryfing creature standing up before him. A dull thump filled his ears as as he saw the monster's arms shooting forward, reaching for his neck. It staggered around the restaurant in jerky, uncoordinated steps, one of its legs dragging awkwardly behind as it tried to move forward. The figure stumbled, one of the arms breaking off sharply as it took the brunt of the fall.

The thing before him bore a twisted mockery of humanity—porcelain skin like the dolls Maria once loved, that single glassy eye reflecting something beyond mere monstrosity. A memory burned in the back of his mind, salt again rubbing against the old wound—desperate pleas, the sound of running feet, the sharp report of gunfire. How many times had he relived those final moments in his nightmares? How many times had he reached out, only to fail again?

The creature let out another cry, struggling to even crawl across the broken glass to reach its target. Shadow looked at the weeping figure with pity, witnessing the agony that laced its actions, his feet moved forwards with a mind of their own. His own head was filled with its desperate whimpers, awakening something deep inside him.

Focus. Analyze. React. A rational part of his brain, honed with years of military training from G.U.N., alerted him that something was fundamentally wrong with the being in front of him. It wasn't human or Mobian. Hell, it wasn't like anything he saw before. Every instinct screamed to attack, to run—yet that broken cry cut through the professional attitude he prided himself for.

The thing's remaining hand reached toward him, grabbing his ankle in an icy, strong grip. Its eye bore into his soul, making Shadow's world narrow to a single contact point, where his notions of past and present blurred together. His mind raced:

Protect Maria

Eliminate threat

Save her

Destroy it

Help

Run

His fighting spirit kicked in, as he pulled his foot with enough force to snap of the arm from the doll's shoulder. A ghastly scream left the agent's ears ringing, disorienting him as he tried to reach for the gun that Cybil left. The weight felt unfamiliar in his hands. It felt wrong. Bile raised in his throat as he pointed the gun at the fallen monster, not daring to look in its eye again.

Focus. This thing isn't her. It isn't human. Shadow swallowed hard as he face the creature once again. A single shot rang out, shattering the anguished doll's head, as it let out one last wail before dropping limp on the ground. The hedgehog approached the body, nudging it cautiously with his foot.

"Is it dead? What the hell is this thing?" His voice came out in shuddering gasps, as he stood stunned at the sight of the crumpled mess on the floor. A tar-like substance dripped from the jagged edges where the porcelain was broken, no blood or organic tissue in sight. I had stopped moving, but Shadow couldn't bring himself to lower his weapon yet.

Was it this thing that attacked Sonic? He wondered, his thoughts tracing back to his travel partner, who now must be worried by his delay. The creature posed little physical threat, if at all, but its cries would be etched into his memory forever. He turned his back to the remains, stepping back into the fog.

If there were more of those things out there, he needed to find Maria fast.

Chapter Text

"Don't sweat it, Sonic." He mumbled to himself, his feet dragging across the foggy landscape. "It's okay. You're okay. It was just a bad dream... Just a baaaaad dream." But the eerie silence of the streets lingered, a sign that the nightmare was just beginning.

The haze around him seemed much more oppressive, an acrid taste of antiseptic and old metal burning his lungs with every breath. The icy wind hit his short fur, the hero felt a freezing grip on his bones, each gust chillier than the last. His thoughts raced as he made his way blindly through the whiteout, looking for any signs or references of where he was. Yet, he wouldn't dare to run lest he make the same mistake from before, as he almost fell into the chasm of a collapsed road, obscured by the thick fog. He gazed into the clouded blackness below him, his toes almost slipping off the edge as he used all his strength to pull himself back onto the road.

As he tried one last path, miraculously not cut off like the others, he bumped his leg against something solid. Finally. He could barely make out the outline of Rouge's car in the murky whiteness around him, even standing right in front of him, but he felt relieved of finally encountering the ride. Hope sparked in his chest, a way to navigate this chaos-plunged landscape. The vehicle was still unlocked, but thankfully their belongings were untouched.

Sonic plopped in the driver's seat and turned the key once. The dashboard lit up, the engine roared to life, but as soon as he put his hand in the gear shift, the grumbling sound fizzled out like a candle. The vehicle soon got taken over by silence again.

What the-. Sonic tried starting the car again. The starter whirred, the engine spluttered for a few seconds before dying completely.

"C'mon, c'mon, work, will ya?" He groaned, in frustration, turning the ignition a third time. A hollow click. The dashboard lights flickered dimly before shutting down. Sonic clenched the steering wheel, unsure what to do. Great. They are in the middle of nowhere, no radio, no working phones, and now no car either. An ominous feeling shivered down his back, his mind tracing back to the alley.

Pins and needles still prickled his right side, the unmarred tissue feeling a wound unseen, but not forgotten. The look on Shadow's face when he woke up would seem stoic, or even apathetic, to an outsider, but Sonic could see his features alleviate, even if just a little. The nightmare still lingered in his thoughts, provoking a surge of anguish in his chest that threatened to suffocate him as the bile rose in his throat.

The barbed-wire body was a cruel mockery of his failures—too vivid to dismiss as a dream. A faceless, brutalized casualty, the martyr of a cause he did not understand. Blood-stained walls, air sirens that forwent the calamity, twisted creatures crawling over in his defenseless state.

He was going insane. There was no other explanation. The darkness, the corpses, the rust, the alarms, the banging, the knives... Nothing of that was real. Yet, when he closed his eyes, he still could sense the foul stench of blood and decay. While sitting beside him in the diner, Shadow saw something wasn't right with the hero, but the blue blur didn't have the nerve to tell him what he's seen. He'd send me to an asylum.

"Shadow..." The name fell out of his lips in a wistful whisper, snapping Sonic out of this suffocating, ghastly spiral of thoughts. The faker hadn't come back yet, despite Sonic already being in the car for a few minutes. He was the one familiar, stable thing in this hellscape, his lifeline. He shouldn't be here moping about his missteps, he should have stayed behind, he should be looking for him, who knows wh-

knock knock knock

Despite the gentleness of the taps on the window, Sonic screamed, jolting off his seat, his head hitting the roof of the car while his right knee jerked right into the steering wheel. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his breath hitched. He slowly turned his head to the right, dreading what could be lurking outside.

"Dozing off again, hedgehog?" the devil himself entered the passenger side as if summoned. Cybil's gun was gripped tightly in his right hand, his eyes darted between shadows only he could see, his usual stoic mask cracking at the edges.

"Geez, Shads. Warn a guy next time." Sonic rubbed his skull. "Car's busted. Doubt it'd be useful. Roads are gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

"Gone, man. Either blocked or just..." Sonic spread his arms wide, palms down, and sharply dropped them, mimicking a landslide. He punctuated the motion with a loud, exaggerated raspberry, the kind that made his cheeks puff out comically before deflating, "destroyed. Almost fell down a crater earlier. We might have to hoof it."

The blue hedgehog pulled out the map from his quills, spreading it across the dashboard. A marker was taken from a small stash of writing supplies that Rouge kept in the glove compartment. Sonic began scribbling the paper, trying to recall the path he took after leaving the café in Bachman Road. Red crosses marked the unusable paths, tracing a twisting, but useful, route through town.

Shadow held Maria's letter and the photo firmly in his hands, a longing gaze transfixed on the old portrait. He always turned distant at the simple mention of the girl. But now he seemed more... frightened.

"Shads..." Sonic called in an unusually subdued voice. "Did something happen at the café? You look like you've seen—"

"Don't." Shadow snapped. His eyes squeezed shut, more panicked than hostile. "Just.. not now. Once we find her I'll tell you." The agent hid the mementos in his own spines. The map was neatly folded and put back in Sonic's care.

They left the useless ride, the chilly air once more circling them, even bleaker than before. Metal clanged in the distance, muffled footsteps echoing nearby. The hero trembled in the frigid mist, his jaw tense to stop his teeth from chattering. A stuffed leather jacket was offered to him by a dark-furred arm, a small flashlight sat in the breast pocket, with its angled head peeking through the opening.

"Take this. You'll need it more than me." Sonic hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shadow's outstretched hand and the distant fog, where faint shapes seemed to twist and writhe just out of sight. He didn’t like the idea of taking something Shadow might need, but the cold was beginning to seep into his very bones. Reluctantly, he accepted the jacket, slipping it on with a grateful nod.

"Thanks... I guess." Sonic muttered, adjusting the flashlight so its beam cut through the haze. The leather carried a familiar scent of lavender and coffee, providing a gentle comfort along with the welcome warmth. "Where to, now?"

"We will only waste time without a plan. Think, Sonic—are you sure you didn't see anything useful?" Shadow asked, while checking the ammunition in both his and Cybil's gun, securing them in a holster tied to his waist.

"There was paper scattered near a crater. I think it was in... Madison St.? Morrison St.?"

"Matheson St. It's better than nothing. Let's move on."

Sonic's steps felt heavier in the eerie streets, an invisible force weighting down his usual energetic pace. The radio in Shadow's possession let out a screeching static as figures in the mist stumbled closer, prompting the agent to grab Sonic and steer them away from the indecipherable dangers. His grip felt stiffer, more urgent, as they crawled through the unfamiliar streets. What should have been a simple walk became an exercise in doubt - each step forward feeling simultaneously too long and too short.

On the rare instance the creatures inched close enough, Sonic could barely believe his eyes. The creature didn't look like anything organic, neither resembled one of the Badniks born from Eggman's twisted mind. It was akin to an antique toy, one damaged and fragile, twitching with a life it shouldn't possess. A broken doll animated by something worse than gears or programming.

The sounds were even worse, mournful cries that echoed long before one of the monsters were even in sight. Shadow's breath caught at the sight of the dolls, his fingers twitching against the trigger. The deafening crack of the agent's gun echoed; a single, precise bullet putting the creatures to rest. Yet, the ingrained wrongness, the violation of nature of these beings stuck to Sonic.

Blue suburban houses lined the pavement of Matheson St., their neatly-trimmed lawns standing out like a sore thumb in the barren neighborhood. Another chasm shrouded in fog severed the road; unstable, jagged edges threatening to swallow them whole if they made a mistake.

Shadow carefully approached the pieces of paper scattered on the ledge, picking up a sheet that stood out to him. "Doghouse. Levin St." Shadow read aloud, turning the page to see if anything else was written. "Huh. That's all it says."

"Strange. Why would this be here at all?" Sonic had a bad feeling about this.

"Look at this." Shadow held up another scrap of paper, his expression darkening. The page was torn and water-damaged, but Sonic could make out what looked like official letterhead from... G.U.N.?

"A report?" Sonic leaned closer, squinting at the faded text "What's it about?"

"Classified documents about..." Shadow's voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the page. His grip tightened, crinkling the paper. "About the ARK. About Maria."

Sonic stepped closer to read the paper, bold letters at the top reading "ARK Seal Operation". The heavy damage made the words hard to distinguish, but a few lines stood out to the blue hedgehog: "excessive use of force authorized", "ensure retrieval of the asset alive", "multiple casualties in [...]Wing B". One of the sections read, almost illegible:

"Casualties : 43 confirmed.

...

Subject: Robotnik, Maria

Age: 12

Cause of death: Collateral damage seemed acceptable during containment procedure.

Notes: Subject PS-002 present at the scene. Witnesses report a reactive incident after the failed procedure.

Directives :

1. Immediate suspension of [...]

2. [badly faded text] maintain narrative of mechanical failure [...]

3. [...] full memory suppression [...]

4. Full isolation of [redacted] to avoid public fallout."

"This is what she is to them. Collateral damage." The dark hedgehog spat. G.U.N. was always an apathetic organization, mostly focused on the public perception rather than any helpful actions. This was just another stain in Sonic's eyes at the already damaged reputation of the group.

A distant screech cut through the fog, followed by the radio's static crescendo. Both hedgehogs tensed, Shadow quickly pocketing the papers while Sonic swept the flashlight beam across their surroundings. The light caught something moving - no, multiple somethings - their broken-doll forms jerking and twisting as they emerged from the mist.

"We need to move." Shadow growled, drawing his gun. "Levin Street can't be far."

"Wait-" Sonic grabbed Shadow's arm. "Those papers... this town... it's leading us somewhere. You saw something too, didn't you?"

"Later. Now's not the time." Shadow detached himself from the blue hedgehog's grasp, his red eyes scanning the landscape with cold precision. A Chaos Spear materialized in his hand, its faint golden glow cutting through the murk. With a swift motion, he launched it toward one of the approaching figures.

The weapon embedded itself on one of the creatures, cracking the brittle porcelain in its chest. The macabre doll twitched in pain, its pace staggered by the impact, before the spear faded into thin air. The broken surface started to fuse back together. The monster let out an anguished cry that sent a chill down Sonic's spine.

"What the—?" Shadow muttered in shock. The agent prepared another spear, its usual warm light dwindled, sending it flying to another figure rapidly approaching. The energy bolt flickered in the gloom, an invisible force diverging it from its target.

"Something is messing with your powers." Sonic's stomach knotted in dread. Very few powers, if any, could measure to the potential of Chaos energy, much less in the hands of a skilled user like Shadow. A force capable of destroying planets, manipulating the space-time continuum, and reshaping reality itself. Yet here, in this wretched place, it was warped and twisted at will; a malevolent, almost sentient force that seemed to feed on their fear.

The wails of the dolls blended together in a ghoulish chorus, piercing Sonic's ears like knives. His own body felt heavy and sluggish, his thoughts started to muddle with the loud voices into a distorted cacophony.

"Get ready to run. I'll cover you." Shadow shouted above the noise, his breath quickening. Sonic traced an imaginary line between the creatures, priming himself for a sprint. One, then two, then three shots rang through the air. A pair of heads shattered, the monsters' bodies bursting into razor sharp shards in the asphalt. A third doll had its midriff pierced, the right leg breaking off. "Now!"

Sonic bolted through the monsters, trying to gain distance from the abyss. Yet, each step took more strength than the last, like the ground fought against his progression. Twenty feet to the corner. Fifteen. The resistance under his feet grew, like running through wet cement.

A doll flickered in and out of his vision; arms appeared in his peripherals, trying to grab the speedster, but disappeared when he turned around to dodge them. The figures flashed in the fog like half-formed thoughts, a crescendo of shrieks starting to pierce through his skull. His heart hammered against his ribs as he tried to focus on what was real: the weight of the leather jacket, the beam of the flashlight cutting through the murk.

The blue blur turned a corner leading to Levin Street, the sign barely visible. Now to find the damned doghouse. One monster stood dangerously close, extending its arms in a sudden attempt to grasp the hedgehog. He raised his leg, aiming a kick at the cracked porcelain head with all the might he could muster. Instead, the attack only hit thin air, throwing Sonic off his balance. The fog clouded the shape before it disappeared completely.

"WHA—? Where'd it— HRRK!" Sonic's voice caught in his throat as a pale, twisted arm shot out from the fog, coiling around his neck with inhuman strength. His breath was cut off instantly, the pressure relentless, squeezing tighter with every frantic pulse in his throat. Sonic clawed at the arm, his fingers slipping over the cold, brittle surface, but it felt like it was made of stone, immovable, as if the creature was more part of the fog itself than a being of flesh.

In his blackening vision, more figures approached in the distance. The mournful wails twisted. Mocking cackles. Featureless visages—then faces. His friends' faces. But, instead of the comfort brought by a familiar sight, Sonic's heart twisted in pain at the hateful glares and spiteful words these images shot at him.

"Run, Sonic. Run! That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it?"

                  "We never needed you"

"You're nothing without us!"                                                           

                                                                             "You failed. Again. It's all you ever do."                               

                                                                          You'll never be enough"               

A sharp crack punctured the heavy silence suffocating Sonic, the grip around his throat letting up almost instantly. The hedgehog's legs gave way, dropping him into ceramic shards and tar scattered across the pavement. The hero gasped for air, feeling the fragments cutting and embedding in his skin, pitch-black grout staining his fur and gloves.

"We need to move." Shadow appeared beside him, grabbing his partner under his shoulders and helping him to his feet. "Can you walk?" Sonic could only nod weakly. Each breath felt like swallowing glass, but he forced himself upright, leaning against Shadow more than he'd like to admit.

"*cough* Just... give me a second." The world tilted as they stumbled forward, ceramic crunching under their feet. His vision swam with afterimages of those faces, those accusations that cut deeper than any physical wound. Through the haze of pain and fading adrenaline, a dark shape emerged - small, angular, positioned in front of one of the identical houses.

"There." Shadow's grip tightened. "The doghouse."

Something dark stained the grass around the small structure, seeping outward in a pattern too deliberate to be natural. The metallic scent hit Sonic's nose, making his stomach lurch. Not mud. Not oil. Blood.

"I can't..." The words slipped out before he could stop them. His legs trembled, threatening to give out again. Those faces flashed in his mind - his friends, twisted by this place into something cruel and wrong. Just like everything else here.

Shadow didn't waste time with the lock. One well-placed kick splintered the wood around the doorknob. They practically fell inside, Sonic's sweating palms slipping against a heavy cupboard as they dragged it across the floor. The scraping sound felt deafening in the oppressive quiet.

"Sonic." Shadow's voice cut through his racing thoughts. "Focus. We need to-"

"I can't do this." The words burst out like water through a breaking dam. Sonic slid down against the wall, his hands shaking as he stared at them - at the tar and ceramic dust coating his gloves. "This place, these things we're seeing... it's not like Eggman or Dark Gaia or - or anything we've faced before. It's-", the words died in his throat.

The silence between them grew heavier, filled with a growing tension that promised to break into something far worse than the horrors lurking outside.

"Shadow... I want to go home."

Chapter Text

The words hung heavy in the air, neither hedgehog daring to break the fragile silence. Shadow could barely believe the sound that came from Sonic's mouth. His eyes were blown wide, quivering and darting through the dimly lit house as if looking at shapes only he could recognize. A thorny vine of pity coiled tightly around the agent's heart, sharp and unwelcome, but impossible to ignore. He bled for the helplessness in his partner’s voice. But they couldn't go home now—not when there was something more hidden under this.

"We can't." Shadow finally spoke, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. "We need to keep going. I don't think we'll be safe here."

Sonic's laugh was bitter, almost hysterical. "Go where ? This whole place is fucked , we won't be safe anywhere." He gestured wildly at his tar-stained gloves, still trembling. " My powers are failing, your powers are failing, and now we're finding convenient little breadcrumbs about Maria? This place is playing with us, Shadow!"

"Playing with us or not, those documents are real." Shadow's words carried a dangerous edge. "G.U.N. has been lying about what happened on the ARK for fifteen years. If there's even a chance—"

"A chance of what?" Sonic pushed himself up from the floor. "Finding Maria? Or whatever this place wants you to think is Maria?"

Shadow whirled around, his red eyes blazing. Why do you always push me like this ? "You think I don't know the risks? I've been trying for years to live with myself, trying to protect what I still have left of her."

"And what about the rest of us, Shadow? Are we not good enough for you? Am I not good enough for you? You're so deep in your own grief that you take everything you have for granted."

"And what about you? Aren't you the one always jumping into danger? Always trying to be the 'knight in shining armor' to everyone?" The agent pointed an accusatory finger. "Why aren't you out there saving the people you swore to protect? Or is it easier to just run away from the things you actually owe?"

"Are you saying I'm a coward?! That I don't care for these people?!" Sonic started shouting, rash words pouring out in his cracked voice. "Shadow, this place is so much worse than Eggman! If there's even someone alive out there, who's to say we could do anything to help them?! We might even end up falling victim to whatever happened here!"

"And you are saying I should just give up!?" Shadow's fists clenched. "Leave her in this infested town alone!? I have to find her, Sonic. I have to—"

"Have to what? Maria is dead , Shadow." The words struck Shadow like a punch to the gut. This hedgehog had no . Right. To speak to him like that. "We can't just run around in circles because you want to absolve yours—"

"ENOUGH!" Shadow slammed his fist into the wall, splintering the wood. Sonic flinched away, eyes wide with fear. "You don't understand. You've never understood what she meant to me."

"Then help me understand! Because right now, all I see is you charging straight into whatever trap this place is laying, and I can't—" Sonic's breath hitched. "I can't watch you disappear right in front of me again." His voice cracked, as if holding back tears.

The words hung between them like a physical barrier. Shadow's expression shifted through a cascade of emotions before settling into something cold and distant. He turned away from Sonic, his heart twisting in anguish. He couldn't bear looking at his face at that moment.

"Shadow, I—"

"I won't force you to come with me." Shadow's tone was measured, but laced with venom, his jaw clenched tight. "But I won't let you stop me either, not now that I'm here. You can go home." He made his way through the house to a back door. He paused, unholstering Cybil's gun from his waist "This has six bullets left. Make them count."

"This isn't about stopping you!" Sonic lunged forward, grabbing Shadow's arm. "This is about you losing yourself in this."

Shadow shrugged off his grip with frightening ease. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just looking for an excuse to run away. Again."

Sonic recoiled as if struck; the agent didn't have to look back to feel the hurt and betrayal in the other's face. Shadow used the moment to open the back door, the creak of the hinges impossibly loud in the tense silence.

"Shadow, please..."

But he already shut the door, running as far away from the house before the regret set in.

Shadow only had the flashlight of his phone to guide him through the town. He had been lost in this maze of streets for the better part of an hour. The fog was gone, but in its place, a blanket of darkness eclipsed the city. The snowfall started picking up, delicate flakes dancing in the faint beam of light in front of him, yet the ground stayed bare, no trace of ice on the cold pavement.

His breath came out in slow, measured puffs, misting in the freezing air. His thoughts raced as he darted through the dark, the past few hours flashing like a film reel in the back of his mind—the car crash, finding Sonic trembling in the back alley, the G.U.N. report in the middle of town, the freaky monsters in the fog, the fight .

The words clung to him like a vine, each echo of the argument becoming louder and louder until it turned into incomprehensible yelling in his mind. Sonic couldn't understand. Wouldn't understand what this spark of hope meant to him. This chance to finally atone for his past.

It didn't matter anymore. Sonic must’ve already found a way out by this point. He wouldn’t stay. Not after what he said, what they both said. After all, it wasn’t his burden to carry, the blue hero shouldn’t be weighed down by the choices Shadow had made. This was something Shadow had to face alone, a responsibility only he could bear.

Shadow turned left into Midwich Street, its name barely legible on a worn green sign in the distance. His air shoes padded softly against the grey masonry path, branches swayed in the frosty breeze.

Then— static .

The radio in his quills crackled to life, the same scratchy noise filling his ears, an alert of trouble ahead. He snapped from his brooding, instincts sharpening instantly as he scanned the barren landscape.

His flashlight picked a faint shape moving in the fog—a malnourished physique walking in all fours. A dog, a grotesquely large one at that. It stalked the sidewalk in a dangerous gait, its ears were perked up, twitching at the smallest sounds of potential prey. The eyes were milk and clouded, set deep in a face of papery brown skin, stretched tight across a bony skull where fur should have been.

The cock of his gun was enough to attract the attention of the beast, the apparent poor vision more than compensated by exceptional hearing. The creature snapped its head toward him, a snarl leaving its muzzle, before breaking into a full sprint, claws scraping against the pavement.

If Shadow's tracking was accurate, which rarely wasn't, he had three bullets left in his gun. More than enough .

BANG

The first shot grazed the fragile skin of its flank, but the beast didn't falter. Shadow barely had any time to leap away before the dog jumped, a rancid breath hitting him as teeth snapped shut just inches from his face. The phone slipped from his hand as he staggered back. The hedgehog quickly snatched it up, its beam cutting through the dark as he aimed both the light and his pistol at the creature.

BANG

The second shot hit the creature's shoulder as it turned around for another attack. It didn't flinch. If anything, the wound only seemed to enrage it more. The dog bared its rotten teeth at the hedgehog, dead eyes locking onto him.

One bullet left . It was now or never.

The creature lunged, its massive maw splitting unnaturally wide. Shadow threw himself into the ground. He raised his gun one final time, bracing himself.

BANG

The bullet passed through the beast's skull—thick, dark blood splattered on the sidewalk. The dog was thrown back with the impact, the marred body convulsing in the pavement as if electrocuted.

Shadow approached the agonizing animal on the floor. It was still breathing, but barely, deep crimson sputtering from the gaping hole at its snout. A strange feeling passed through his head—pity. Shutting his eyes, he raised his leg above the beast's head, and crushed its skull in one fell swoop.

It finally stopped moving.

A slow breath left Shadow's trembling body, but his posture remained stiff, shoulders aching from the strain. The frigid wind felt like blades cutting through his skin, made sharper by the heat lingering from the struggle. He stepped back from the lifeless beast, shaking his boot free of the blood and tissue now coating its sole.

He then finally noticed the radio in his quills hadn't gone quiet yet, a softer, yet noticeable, static still filling the air. Shadow quickly brandished his light around the empty streets, when he heard it—

Another scream.

This one was different—a high-pitched shriek, frightened and vulnerable. A child .

Shadow's quills bristled, adrenaline rushing back through his veins. He tried channeling energy on the air shoes, hovering just a few millimeters off the ground—only for the soles to clunk back onto the pavement. It didn't matter. He'd deal with that later.

He quickly holstered the gun and broke into a sprint, scanning the roads with the dim light from his phone. In the distance, he saw her—a human teenager, long hair tied up in a ponytail, scampering through the dark. Another of those cursed hounds was snapping at her heels, unrelenting, trying to bite the skirt of her navy dress.

Her foot caught in the curb, sending her tumbling forward.

Shadow was almost reaching her.

The beast pounced.

A vision flashed before Shadow's eyes—military boots stamping on the metal floor, a delicate hand holding tightly on his, shouts splitting his ears as he lost control of himself.

No. I won't let it happen again .

Shadow threw himself between the girl and the dog, shielding her with a tight hold. His eyes shut instinctively as he braced himself for the inevitable attack.

Yet…

Nothing .

Shadow cracked one eye open, expecting claws and fangs to tear into him—but the beast had stopped mid-air. It hung, suspended unnaturally, its legs kicking uselessly against an unseen force. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from its throat, but it couldn't move.

Then, with a violent jerk, the hound was flung backward as if struck by an invisible wall. It slammed into a rusted streetlamp with a sickening crunch, its body crumpling to the pavement. A low whimper escaped its throat before it stilled, limbs twitching before falling limp.

"What the—?" Shadow stared wide-eyed at the scene, slightly panting from the chase. Shadow turned his attention toward the girl. She was curled up in his hold, shaking, but her arm was outstretched toward the dog—fingers twitching, the air around them subtly shimmering.

"H-hey. It's okay. You're safe now." He slowly let go of the embrace, but stayed kneeled beside the teenager. Her only response was to wrap her arms around herself. Her eyes were fixed at him, apprehensive and distrustful. "I'm not here to hurt you. Are you injured?"

Silence.

Shadow barely held back a sigh. He wasn’t good at this. The mandatory first-response training never seemed useful to him— his missions always involved either gathering information, stealth or property damage. But he’d at least absorbed the basics: Stay calm. Be direct. Keep them talking.

"I cannot help you without knowing what happened." He spoke slowly, trying to be gentler this time. His red eyes stayed on hers, hoping her guard would drop. He wished Sonic was here, he would know what to say. "What's your name?"

"Mother sent you, didn't she?" The girl finally spoke. Her trembling voice carried a broken undertone, something worse than fear. Resentment. Betrayal. A drop of venom clung to the word 'mother'. "You're one of them."

Shadow's blood ran cold, his posture stiffened instantly. She wasn't talking about G.U.N. "Who are ' them '? Are they responsible for what's happening?"

Once again, silence.

The hedgehog straightened his posture. "My name's Shadow. I work for G.U.N., but I'm not here on business. I'm in this town for someone else." He paused. "Who is your mother? Is she looking for you?"

The girl’s expression darkened. Her form seemed to flicker—a small girl, wrapped in bandages, her face charred and bruised. For a moment, she looked small —not just in size, but in the way someone looks when they’ve spent their whole life trapped .

"...she won't stop looking. I have to stop this before she finds me."

Shadow's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Stop what?"

He felt his heart drop at her next words.

"You already know, but you don't care. You're only after Maria anyway."

The girl's form seemed to flicker again—like static on an old TV screen—before she lurched to her feet, sprinting away before Shadow could stop her. Her black loafers slapping against the pavement as she ran toward the looming silhouette of a building, her dark hair trailing behind her like ink on water.

"What!? Hey, wait!" Shadow tried reaching for her, but the darkness already had enveloped her. "How do you know her name?"

Shadow cursed under his breath, his chest tight with an emotion he couldn't name. He raced after the girl, as she approached a school house a few blocks away, standing solid against the dark sky. A weathered stone brick façade greeted him, as he came near the entrance steps. A plaque hung above it, "Midwich Elementary School" etched into the stonework.

The heavy wooden door creaked open as the girl disappeared inside. The darkness within seemed to pulse, to breathe, as if the building itself was swallowing her whole. The latch shut itself before Shadow could make it, the door almost slamming in his face.

"Shit." He slammed a fist into the wood, cursing through gritted teeth. He twisted the handle and shoved, waiting for it to be locked. Instead, the door swung open with little resistance, and with all the force he’d put into pushing, he stumbled forward with a startled grunt. His boots skidded on the dusty floor before gravity won, sending him sprawling onto one knee.

For a moment, he just knelt there, scowling at the ground. Great. Real smooth.

Shadow paused at the threshold, his phone's beam barely penetrating the thick shadows ahead. The light caught dust speckles dancing in the still air. The small lobby was quaint, with soft blue panels lining the walls. The linoleum floor had a thin layer of dust, but was otherwise spotless.

"Anybody here?" Shadow called, only to receive no response. He got off the ground, wiping the dust off his fur. The entrance was promptly shut, a nearby table used to barricade it.

Now, I need to find the girl .

The dark hall was similarly tidy and clean, but devoid of life. A small note on a reception counter caught his attention, words written in blood.

" 10:00 - An Exercise in Alchemy

A greedy hand conceals the gold,

A future held beneath his palm.

But force his fingers to unfold,

In fair exchange for the spirit of salt. "

Shadow raised an eyebrow at the quizzical message. "What the fuck is 'the spirit of salt'?" This felt out of place, like someone leading him on a scavenger hunt of all things. He wondered if the girl left it to throw him off her trail, but the blood-writing seemed… excessive.

A few school maps were laid in a neat pile in a desk, most likely from a security guide for the parents. The hedgehog picked up one, studying the layout of the building. A chemistry lab in the second floor stood out to him, it was the best place to start investigating.

A door at the back of the reception led to a small breakroom. A small 9 mm cartridge box sat in a coffee table in the center. The thought of ammunition being so readily available irked Shadow, especially inside a school. Yet, he took them anyway, reloading his gun to full capacity.

The doors at the far ends of the corridors were locked. Another led to an infirmary, its door slightly ajar. As he passed, Shadow’s gaze caught a medical chart hanging over the counter. Curiosity gnawed at him, and he stepped inside.

"Alessa Gillespie." He read the name aloud. The name lingered in his mind. Gillespie… why does that sound familiar? He replayed his fleeting memories of the girl. The paper was dated from eight years ago, but nothing about this town seemed incidental. But what possible connection could she have to all this?

The chart's notes continued: Admission in a shaken state, but no bruises this time. It seemed like something far darker was happening beneath the surface. The idea of a child—especially one as young as Alessa—being repeatedly brought in, likely from bullying or abuse, unsettled him.

Shadow’s brow furrowed in quiet anger. What kind of world does this girl live in?

Though his own memories were clouded by the guilt of past actions, Shadow could still remember the sting of being cast aside, left to fend for himself without understanding. If she’d been through anything like I have... The thought stuck with him, and for a moment, he could almost feel her pain, raw and unjust.

He gave one last glance at the chart, as if expecting some answer to materialize from the cold, clinical lines. But it remained silent, offering no solace.

A grunt snapped him out of his thoughts. It hadn't come neither from the hall nor the adjacent rooms, leaving only the single place he hadn't investigated yet—the courtyard.

The black sky still loomed over him, flakes gently falling from invisible clouds. The small courtyard stretched before him, the old limestone path cracked and streaked with moss. The radio on Shadow's quills was bursting with static, making his spines stand on end. His gun was at the ready, pointed at the shadows.

The first thing he heard was the cackling, a sharp chitter that rasped his ears like sandpaper, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. Shadow’s ears flicked toward the sound, his instincts sharpening as he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Then came the smell—rancid and briny, like something dredged up from a polluted lake. His nose wrinkled in disgust, but he kept his focus on the figures creeping toward him. Two small, hunched forms with a leathery grey skin, a smooth face with thin slits for eyes. Their mouths curled into jagged, unnatural grins, twitching with anticipation.

“Tch. More of you freaks,” Shadow muttered, steadying his stance. Whatever these things were, they wouldn’t get the jump on him.

He didn't hesitate. The first shot hit the nearest one's chest, sending it staggering back. The imp started twitching uncontrollably, a gurgling noise escaping its throat, but it didn't fall. Even with the hole in its chest, it remained upright, swaying slightly, like something still half-alive.

A second bullet tore through its shoulder, and this time , it collapsed—but the spasms didn’t stop. Its fingers scraped weakly against the ground, as though still trying to reach for him.

The second one lets out a mocking giggle, raising a rusted knife in the direction of the hedgehog. Shadow fired again, but the gremlin avoided it, twisting its body at an unnatural angle. Before the agent could fire again, it lunged —not fast, but suddenly—swiping low toward his legs.

Shadow lashed out, his heel smashing into its face and sending it sprawling. He stomped down hard, his boot crushing the monster’s wrist with a sickening crunch. Its knife tumbled from its fingers.

The creature shrieked, a high-pitched, almost childlike wail that warped and distorted halfway through. The sound crawled under his skin. A bullet to the skull silenced it.

He approached the first creature, still writhing pathetically in the ground, a rasping moan coming out of its mouth. A final wail rang out as Shadow drove his foot into its head, dispatching it for good.

The radio in his quills finally went silent.

A clock tower in the northeastern corner loomed over the courtyard, the hands stopped at exactly 10 o'clock. One indentation lay on each side of a small door in its base, a metal plaque reading "A golden sun" on the left, and "A silver moon" to the right. On the floor, another note written in blood read:

" 5:00 - Darkness dawned by a choking heat

Flames call forth the silence,

Stirring the beast of decay.

Will you resist the siren's song,

Or to the door of time fall prey?"

Shadow glared at the note, an angry hand crumpling it. "Humpf. More games." He stomped across the yard, but before he could make it to the other entrance, he heard a scuffle behind him. He whipped around, gun in hand, looking for danger.

Nothing. The radio stayed dead.

"Huh…", he paused. Something wasn't right.

The west wing of the building was as dark and eerie as the entrance hall. Posters celebrating the end of the school year still hung around, with a few announcing summer programs during the break. But what really caught his attention were the "A Friend in Need" papers everywhere. A simple white sheet with the photo of Dr. L. Tull Tormund, an expert on handling schoolyard cruelty.

Wonder where he was when that girl needed the most . Shadow thought darkly.

The stairwell to the second floor was surprisingly intact, though Shadow's footsteps echoed too loudly for comfort. His radio crackled softly - not the urgent static of immediate danger, but a persistent whisper that set his teeth on edge.

A small figure darted across the hall ahead - transparent, barely visible in the beam of his light. It ran straight to him with a faint squeak, like a child's toy. Shadow tensed, but the figure passed straight through him, only leaving a tingling sensation where it touched him. Whatever these things were, they seemed more interested in watching than attacking.

The same couldn't be said for the chittering sounds coming from the direction of the lab. Shadow checked his ammunition, jaw set. He was getting tired of these games.

The chemistry lab was similarly preserved, a few bottles neatly organized in rows on wooden shelves. The linoleum floor was replaced by an arrangement of ceramic tiles, stained beige from chemicals and time. A few basins with beakers and pipettes sat on the counters waiting for the next class. It felt much simpler, yet more relaxed, than the high-tech, cold chemical plants from the ARK.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts, another grey monstrosity stalking between the workbenches. Turning toward the noise, Shadow didn't have much time to think before a knife swiped across his stomach, a thin gash trailing across his fur.

The hedgehog quickly swung his pistol against the assailant, but the attack only met air as the creature bent itself out of the way. Joints cracked disgustingly and its spine twisted an unnatural angle, sending a chill down Shadow's back.

The imp tackled him with inhuman strength, sending them both crashing into the ground, the creature kneeling over him. His gun slid across the ground, away from reach. A small hand raised the sharp knife, ready to plunge into his chest. The agent blocked its arm with his own, sending a punch to its face with his other fist.

The monster was briefly stunned, and Shadow took this window to hook the arm with the knife, pinning it to the ground. He twisted his body, switching places before the imp could process it. Now, the monster was at his mercy.

The blade dropped from the creature's fingers, clattering against the cold tile. Shadow didn't stop, sending punch after jab after blow at the thing's face, only stopping after it finally stopped moving. He stood up, sending a final kick to its side to make sure it was dead.

With his adrenaline still tapering from the fight, he gathered his gun and the knife from the ground, red eyes never leaving the corpse, as if it would rise back. It never did, thankfully.

A shiny object caught the light from his phone, and he quickly took notice of something out of place on the counter. "This has to be it", he muttered, approaching carefully.

A human hand sat on the marble countertop, the withered grey skin had a waxy sheen to it. The fingers held tightly to a golden medallion with a wooden rim, the image of a clock tower barely visible through the gaps. One could think it was a wax figure, but the fingers twitched erratically, as though jolts of electricity were stirring disconnected nerves.

Shadow tried prying off the insignia out of its grasp, the fist seemed to tighten even more, tendons flexing beneath the papery skin. "What the hell?!" He hissed, jerking back in disgust.

Then, it came back to him—the memo from the reception: “Force his fingers to unfold, in fair exchange for the spirit of salt.” The riddle made little sense in relation to anything he had learned on the ARK, especially chemistry. It felt... different. Esoteric. Mystical, even.

He remembered something from an old book Maria had shown him— spirit of salt . It wasn’t just some mystical phrase. It was an old term used for hydrochloric acid, mostly in alchemy. The connection was simple, yet strange in this context. In chemistry, "spirit" was often used to refer to ethanol—usually a preparation with high alcohol content.

Hydrochloric acid , he thought. The same stuff used in the ARK's labs for cleaning and chemical reactions. The spirit of salt wasn’t some vague term; it was a specific chemical. Shadow’s lips curled slightly in a grim realization. If this riddle was referring to HCl, then the "exchange" was likely some kind of chemical reaction that could unfold the hand's grip—maybe even pouring directly onto it.

He rushed to the equipment room next door, searching the cabinets for a flask of the chemical. It stood in an indistinct amber glass bottle, the label reading " Conc. Hydrochloric acid 37% " a fire diamond warning of its corrosive and volatile nature. Shadow took it carefully—despite not affecting him too much, he wouldn't want to risk others that came into the lab.

He tentatively splashed a few drops onto the fist, melting into the skin with a soft hiss . The pungent, rotten egg-like smell of the acid flooded his senses, sharp and intense. For a brief moment, the world around him shifted. The sterile, cold labs of the ARK filled his mind, the harsh, metallic tang of chemicals and burning flesh mingling with the acid's sharpness.

The sizzling sound of the acid eating away the hand’s flesh filled his ears, and despite his resolve, bile threatened to rise to his throat. He had to support himself on the cold marble to not vomit. The experiments flashed before his eyes, scientists who’d never asked if he could endure the pain, only how much.

" Increase concentration by 15%. " They said, cold and indifferent.

The acid had burned through his skin, testing the limits of his regeneration, leaving him with nothing but the overwhelming stench of fear and burnt flesh in the unyielding chill of the cold lab.

Shadow shook his head, a grunt escaping his lips as he forced the bile down. It wasn't the time to dwell in the past. He used a nearby pair of tongs to fish the gold disc from the bubbling remains. The hand had stopped moving, reduced to a partially melted mass of tissue and bone. He ran the medallion under a sink to wash away any remains of acid, before storing it in his quills.

He made his way back to the courtyard, observing the translucent, dark silhouettes running in the corridors, the radio in his quills softly ringing. The shades approached him tentatively, before the flashlight sent them scampering. They scattered in a frenzy, stumbling over each other before vanishing without a trace. Shadow couldn't help but chuckle at their goofiness.

He placed the medallion at the indent. A mechanism inside the tower seemed to click together, and the clock chimed twelve times, signifying the change in the hour displayed.

Shadow looked up at the hands displaying 12:00 exactly, and he understood what the notes meant—each step of the larger puzzle was meant to unlock the door at the base of the structure. So the medallion was 10:00… The final step had to be the ‘scalding heat’ at 5:00. But what about the middle? Something's missing.

The last chime of the clock echoed through the courtyard, fading into the quiet hum of the empty school. Shadow entered the west wing again, eyes flicking back to the corridors. He started examining the rooms accessible to him.

The door to the library wouldn't budge, no matter how much he tried forcing it. No lock, no visible obstruction—just an unshakable resistance, as if the door itself refused to open. He placed a hand over the hardwood, feeling an unnatural energy emanating from inside.

The other classrooms held no distinguishing features—student desks organized in rows, big colorful letters spelling out animal names, a few plants and flowers decorating cubicles near the windows. If not for the thin layer of dust coating everything, he could almost believe this was just a countryside peaceful school. Almost.

Because the further he searched, the more he noticed something that didn’t belong. Bullet boxes.

They weren’t scattered randomly either. They were neatly placed. Tucked into desk drawers, resting on shelves between children’s books, even lying in the open like forgotten pencils.

Shadow exhaled through his nose.

Nothing in the United Federation was ever really peaceful, was it?

The door to the music room was similarly stuck, with no way of opening it. Instead, he turned to the locker room beside it. A few leaflets were pinned to the corkboard—notices and ground rules for behavior. A large, double-sided bank of small steel cabinets stretched across the middle of the room, while full-sized lockers stood in the far wall.

But that wasn't what caught Shadow's attention.

Banging, loud and desperate, was coming from one of the doors in the other side. His acute hearing could make the sound of nails scratching against the metallic interior. He readied his gun, approaching the rattling cubicle carefully. He placed his hand in the latch, slowly releasing it—

Meow.

A small black cat sprang from the locker, landing near his feet before shaking itself off. It darted past him, its panicked form disappearing into the hallway.

Shadow exhaled through his nose. Just a cat. That was all.

Or so he thought.

The moment he turned away, a bloodcurdling shriek rang out from the hallway. A sickening crunch followed—the unmistakable sound of teeth tearing through flesh. Something heavy shifted. A low, wet growl reverberated through the air.

Shadow didn’t need to see it to know.

His stomach twisted. To think I let it out… just to lead it to its death.

The silence that followed the cat’s shriek felt suffocating, almost unnatural. Shadow stood still for a moment, the weight of the sound lingering in the air. He felt it again—the crushing, oppressive atmosphere of this place. The sense of dread that clung to every corner, every shadow.

Shaking off the lingering disgust, he turned back toward the hallway. His feet moved almost at their own will, trying to get out of this damned place. But, as he made his way to the stairs, he noticed—

The door to the library was slightly ajar, a dim, warm light shining through the gap. A soft humming could be heard from the inside, the tune of a nursing rhyme Maria used to love. Yet, this voice seemed older, more tired than his sister's own.

He hesitantly pushed the door open, basking in the soft glow from the room. His boots traveled at a slow, but steady pace as he made his way through the bookshelves, following the gentle singing.

He instantly recognized the figure sitting on the floor, her back turned to him. One hand played with strands of her dark hair, as she held the side of a large book in her lap. She didn't seem to notice him—her posture was relaxed, gently swaying as she skimmed through the pages.

Shadow felt sorry to snap the girl out of her delicate peace, but he needed answers. He called in a soft, yet firm tone.

"Alessa."

Chapter Text

Sonic wasn't sure how much time he spent staring at the shut door. It might have been seconds. It might have been hours. The wood grain blurred in his vision, shifting and twisting like a living thing, and at some point, his knees had given out. The floor was cold beneath him. Had it always been this cold?

A deep, ugly feeling gnawed at his chest, coiling around his lungs like a treacherous snake, suffocating, crushing. Betrayal. He knew better, he wanted to know better, that Shadow didn't really mean the things he said. Neither of them did. But the words still ricocheted in his mind like shots fired in an empty room, the phrases becoming louder and harsher the more he thought about them.

"what is wrong with you?"

"always being the 'knight in shining armor'"

"you're just looking for a chance to run away"

"coward"

" coward "

" COWARD"

The word struck him harder each time, as if carved it into his very bones. His breath hitched, and he finally realized his face was wet. When had he started crying? When had he stopped? He wiped at his cheek, but the ache in his chest didn’t fade. If anything, it only burrowed deeper.

He knew Shadow was just lashing out, that the town was sinking its claws into both of them. But that didn’t stop the words from worming their way under his skin, didn’t stop the sick feeling curling in his gut.

What if Shadow was right?

What if this was just another excuse?

What if he really was just running away?

His fingers twitched—half an instinct to move, to chase after Shadow before it was too late. But the door remained shut. His body refused to follow.

But Shadow was gone. The house was silent. And for the first time in a long, long time—Sonic felt completely, utterly alone.

His gaze drifted to the table, to Cybil's pistol that Shadow left him. The stainless metal gleamed under the dim light, its weight pressing down on the air around it. They both knew Sonic hated guns—they were cold, destructive, dangerous. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he never wanted to be. But they both knew this wasn’t really a choice. They also knew it wasn't really a choice.

Sonic swallowed hard. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want to touch it. This isn’t me.

And yet… it was like a parting gift. A silent gesture, rough around the edges, just like Shadow himself. The same way Shadow had handed his jacket to him when he was shivering in the cold. As if this was just another one of those moments. As if this wasn’t completely, horribly wrong.

His fingers hovered over the grip. He could leave it. Should leave it.

But if he did, it’d feel like leaving Shadow behind, too.

His hands trembled as he tried to hold onto the cold plastic grip. He couldn't help grimacing at the unusual feeling—the foreign shape of the gun, the awkward position of his fingers, the heavy weight of the metal parts. This wasn’t like holding a ring, or even a Chaos Emerald. Those felt like an extension of himself. This? This felt like holding a mistake.

With an uneasy breath, he fumbled with the gun, hands unsteady as he tried to pull the magazine out. The movements were awkward, imprecise—he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't figure out the safety, and he didn’t trust himself with it loaded.

He put away the gun in a pocket of the jacket. Shadow's scent still lingered in it, and Sonic was reminded there was someone that needed him right now. He took a deep breath, letting the traces of lavender and coffee seep into his senses, a small, yet grounding comfort he desperately yearned.

Sonic exhaled sharply, wiping at his face one last time before pushing himself to his feet. His body ached, his legs were stiff, his head was heavy, but he couldn't stay here. Shadow was still out there. And Sonic couldn't leave him behind.

Shadow had gone out the back, but... they had seen something by the front, hadn't they? The doghouse, that damn thing, Sonic suddenly remembered. That odd, weathered little detail they read in that note. It wasn't just something thrown haphazardly, it was connected to this town's twisted game. A clue.

He pushed the cupboard off the door and set out into… the night? That was weird. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was a few minutes past eight. A.M.

Where the fuck did we get ourselves into?

Snowflakes still drifted from a cloudless sky, but the storm had eased. It was a gentler fall than when he and Shadow had first sought shelter. The fog had lifted, but the sudden darkness in its place was almost worse. The weight of it pressed down on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the town itself was watching him.

The dog shelter was a few feet in front of the house, plain and unremarkable from the outside. Sonic crouched at the entrance, cautious to not touch the blood-stained grass surrounding it. He checked the inside, using the flashlight to see better.

Then he saw it—a glint in the dim light. A small key, taped to the ceiling of the doghouse. Sonic grabbed it, peeling off the tape, and turned it over in his hand. A small tag was attached to the key chain, reading "K. Gordon". A quick test told it wasn't for the house they were in.

"You're no fun…" Sonic mumbled. "Guess I'll have to find where this K. Gordon lives, then."

It would be a waste of time to try the key in every house in town, and it wasn't like he could ask anyone.

Faint footsteps in the distance snapped him out of his pondering, blue ears twitching towards the sound. Sonic ripped a plank out of the doghouse's roof, nails still jagged at the ends. Not exactly his style, but at least it wasn’t a gun. His grip tightened around the makeshift weapon. He turned around, eyes locked on the approaching figure.

A beam shone through the dark, directly at his face. A faint silhouette walked with the kind of confidence that the creatures here didn’t have. No staggering. No twitching. A hand rested on her hip—like she was waiting for him to recognize her.

"Easy there, blue boy!" a familiar voice called out. "It's me."

"Cybil!" Sonic let out, relieved. The plank slipped out of his hand. "I—sorry, I thought you were—"

"It's okay. I didn't recognize you either." She said, her eyes glancing the key, still in Sonic's hand. "What do you have there?"

"Oh. This?" He handed it over. "It was inside the doghouse. No idea how it got there, though."

The wolf's brow furrowed. "Mrs. Gordon's key? What's it doing here?"

"You know her?"

"She was my math teacher in 2nd grade. Lovely lady, but a bit… quirky." Cybil gazed at the key for a moment. "She still sent me Christmas cards for a while." A small, fond smile tugged at her lips.

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Yeah, down the street, but..." Cybil hesitated. "The road’s out, I bet."

"Figured."

Sonic replayed the last few minutes in his head—Shadow had stormed out the back door after their fight. It had to lead somewhere—maybe a back alley, or maybe the agent had carved out his own path. Either way, it was their best bet.

Problem was—how do you tell a cop you broke into a house to escape nightmarish monsters?

"So, uhm… There's this house we kinda… had to break into…?"

Cybil's head snapped toward him. "You had to break into a house?"

Sonic rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, kinda didn’t have a choice. The street was crawling with those things, and the door was locked, so..."

Cybil sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Breaking and entering isn’t usually what I’d call a survival strategy, but I don't think it atters in this situation." She eyed him for a moment before crossing her arms. "And? What’s so important about this house?"

"It has a back door. We could try to see if there's another way."

"What about your partner?"

"He…" Sonic hesitated. "He went ahead."

"Trouble in paradise?" Cybil asked in a teasing, but sympathetic voice.

"No! No. We aren't… together." He really didn't feel like explaining their history. "He’s looking for someone. But knowing him, he’s just gonna get into trouble."

"I get it." Cybil offered a small smile, before glancing at the house. "Let's get moving."

The desolate streets were even more oppressive in the dark, only Sonic's pocket flashlight and Cybil's tactical one giving a little visibility. The alley behind the house led to Midwich St., a suburban street that could be quite pleasant in a normal day. For the hedgehog's dismay, this was anything but a normal day.

Sonic's stomach revulsed as he and the officer passed by the crumpled corpse of a dog in the sidewalk. A deep gash split the dog’s face from muzzle to skull, a dark puddle still fresh on the pavement. The casings scattered nearby only reinforced the idea that Shadow has been there recently.

Beside him, Cybil had gone rigid, her ears pinned back. Her eyes lingered on the body longer than necessary. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, measured.

"Your partner… he did this." It wasn't a question.

Sonic swallowed, forcing down the uneasy twist in his gut. Yeah, this has Shadow written all over it. The clean shot placement, the sheer force behind the kill—it was efficient, precise. But, despite the agent's cold and calculated manner, he wasn't one for random cruelty.

“He did,” Sonic admitted. “But this isn't a normal dog.” He approached, noticing the furless skin and mostrous maw of the creature. “Tell me this looks anything like one.”

Cybil didn’t answer right away, but her grip on the flashlight tightened.

Sonic pressed on. “Shadow’s not the type to just gun down animals for the hell of it. If he shot it, it’s because it attacked him first.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And knowing this place, I doubt that was just some stray looking for a meal.”

The wolf took a deep breath, but her expression remained unreadable. "I hope you're right."

They continued down the street, trying to shake their minds off the sight. The cold wind rustled the trees lining the road, branches creaking and snapping in the stillness. Sonic flinched at the sound, instinctively swinging his flashlight toward the movement, but there was nothing—just the empty road stretching ahead, swallowed by darkness…

…except for one street lamp a few yards ahead, the only one still working, though its light stuttered as if struggling to stay alive. A harsh, yellow beam was flickering erratically at a crumpled figure at its base. The metal pole was bent in the middle, as if something was thrown into it at full force. This wasn't something they would just happen to find.

Sonic’s heart dropped.

Another hound lay mangled under the light post, its spine bent backwards in an impossible angle for something alive. The head was completely severed from the body, strands of ripped muscle and tissue hanging precariously from the sloppy cut. Yet, despite the brutality of the scene, there was little blood on the sidewalk. It was decapitated after death.

Sonic's head swam, arms wrapping tightly around his body. This time his stomach had nothing left to purge, but he could feel his guts contracting as if remembering the action. Cybil tensed beside him, her expression cold as stone—a stillness that preceeded a storm. Her breath came out slow and measured, but her eyes could set the whole street ablaze.

"'Doesn't gun down animals' my ass." Cybil said throught gritted teeth. "Shouldn't have let him out of my sight."

Sonic inhaled sharply, eyes scampering across the scene. "Even Shadow isn't that dramatic." He ran a hand down his face. He turned his head to Cybil—if only to look away from the corpse. "He is strong, but… chucking a dog hard enough to bend metal isn't his style."

A pang of worry for Shadow hit Sonic once again. Both of their powers were compromised, and Shadow's bullets wouldn't last forever. If he had been here, he was either long gone—or had left in a hurry. Sonic could only hope it was the former because whatever had done this was still out there.

"How do you explain this, then?" The wolf snapped, glare unwavering. "Who did this?"

Sonic hesitated, a chill running down his back. "I don’t know," he admitted. His voice dropped, uneasy. "And at this point… I’m not sure I want to."

That seemed to take Cybil's rage off the black hedgehog, for now. She approached the dog's head uneasely, catching something off the ground near it. She raised the trinket to eye-level—Sonic could only see a silvery disc in the officer's hands, a black tarnish creeping up its edges.

"Wanna look?" She offered, and Sonic took the knickknack. The small medal was heavy for its size—a metal plate only three inches in diameter and a quarter thick. One side has the engraving of a crescent moon, a small print displaying the manufacturer "Von Ciff Custom Jewelry - Sterling Silver 925". That explains the weight.

It was the other side that made Sonic's breath hitch— a high-relief depiction of the Tin Man, his axe raised in mid-swing. The small details so delicate and precise the figure seemed to move in the glow of his flashlight. Something stirred in the back of Sonic's mind…

A fond memory took over, a younger Tails begging him to read The Wizard of Oz before bed one time. His tails curled around himself as the hedgehog's voice carried them both through Baum's yellow brick road. The kit was out like a light ten pages in, his brother leisurely petting his fur as he continued reading silently, engrossed by the author's whimsical style.

That was, until he got to the part where the Wicked Witch dispatched some wolves to dispode of Dorothy and her companions, only for the Tin Woodman to… decapitate them… with an axe…

The memory curdled in his stomach as he looked back at the beheaded hound.

Now I remember why I never finished it. Sonic thought, grimacing in disgust. Someone, or something, was turning their own memories, insecurities and traumas against them. He could see how Cybil was shaken at the sight of the dead dogs.

His mind drifted back to Shadow. He wondered what this place was doing to someone like him. A ghost town that weaponized memories against someone whose past was already a minefield of trauma? Sonic's quills bristled at the thought. Somewhere in this darkness, Shadow was either facing those demons—or running from them. Neither option sat well with him.

The chimes cut through his dark thoughts—deep, resonant notes that seemed to part the murky air like a blade. His ears swiveled instinctively toward the sound, sharp and clear in the inky darkness. Cybil had her head turned to the same location. Shadow had mentioned a church, hadn't he? Was it him making that noise?

He extended the medal back to Cybil. "You can have it. Doesn't seem useful to me."

She waved it off without looking, her attention fixed eastward. "You heard it too? The bell?" At Sonic's nod, her eyes narrowed. "Unless it's a ghost, someone's ringing it for a reason." Her hand drifted to her holster. "Might be worth checking out."

"Right behind ya." Sonic muttered, trying to ignore how the medal seemed to grow heavier in his pocket.

Sonic cast one last glance at the mangled hound before following Cybil down the street. The chimes continued their distant song, but something about this section of town pulled at his attention. The houses here had a different character—older, more lived-in, with wraparound porches and wind chimes that hung motionless in the dead air.

The residential street ended abruptly, concrete crumbling into a vast nothingness that cut off their access to Levin St. Their flashlight beams couldn't pierce the depths of the chasm—just endless void, spreading like ink through paper. The darkness below was different from the one above, somehow deeper, hungrier.

"Welp." Sonic said, taking an instinctive step back. "Another dead end."

Cybil pursed her lips as she studied the abyss. "There's an alley that runs through the block." She gestured to an opening between two colonial houses. "I think we can get to Ms. Gordon's house through there."

"You go ahead." Sonic responded, looking at a dark shade further right. "I'll check something out."

He approached a police car that hung precariously at the edge of the crater, its trunk torn open like a cloth pulled apart at the seams. The vehicle creaked softly in the dead air, as if straining against gravity's pull. A metallic glint caught his flashlight beam—something half-buried in the scattered contents of the trunk.

Another medal.

This one was very similar in shape and size as the silver one, if a little lighter. The engravings, however, were very different. On one side, the manufacturer's imprint read "Von Ciff Custom Jewelry - Cast Iron", with a large male sign (♂) in the middle. On the other, there was another high-relief design—this time, a depiction of a lion. The Cowardly Lion.

Someone must like the Wizard of Oz a lot.

The thought had barely formed before a low creak rumbled below his feet. Sonic jolted back, muscles tensing for action as the vehicle tilted forward with agonizing slowness. Then, like a dying breath, the car gave way completely.

The impact against the crater wall echoed through the empty street—once, twice. Metal screaming against stone. Then... nothing. No final crash, no bottom reached. Just silence and darkness swallowing another piece of this impossible town.

Sonic clutched the iron medal tighter, the coldness of the metal seeping through his gloves as the blood rushed away from his extremities. His legs ran to the alley before his thoughts could catch up to the motion—no hesitation, no second glances. He only stopped when he collied with Cybil in the dark.

Both their ears were still ringing a good five minutes later. Neither mentioned why.

Ms. Gordon's home (Finally.) was the second-to-last house in the dark alley, a short path leading to a creaky wooden gate on the back of the property. The quaint patio greeted them—white chairs and a table sat askew in the brick paver, as if their occupants had simply stood up and left mid-conversation.

Cybil unlocked the backdoor using the key Sonic found. There were three polite knocks on the wood before the officer opened the door a crack. "Anybody home?" She called out. "Ms. Gordon?"

No response.

The wolf finally creaked the door open, an uneasy quiet greeting them both. Their flashlights revealed a life frozen in time: half-drunk tea gone cold in delicate china cups, a newspaper from that morning open in the dining table, reading glasses perched carefully on its edge. Everything arranged as if its owner had merely stepped out for a moment.

Sonic's throat tightened as phantom tears threatened to flood his eyes. What happened to those people? They just… vanished.

He could hear Cybil turning the front door's knob, trying to pry the door open, her gloved fingers tightening around the brass as she twisted and pulled, only for it to stubbornly refuse to budge. "This. Chaos-damned. Bitch. Just. Won't. Budge." Each word was punctuated with a sharp tug, her frustration mounting with every failed attempt.

"Can't you just shoot the lock?"

Cybil gave him a glare. Sonic immediately regretted opening his mouth.

"Doesn't work like the movies, blue boy. Best case, I pay for a new door. Worst case, you get an eyeful of shrapnel."

Sonic cringed at the thought. She pulled the door one last time, only to stumble back as her hands slipped off the knob. "Besides, this thing doesn't have one."

Sonic huffed sharply. "Great. How do we get out?"

"I'll try to find another way." The officer replied nonchalantly, already heading back to the patio. "If you manage to open this, I'll be nearby." She then left without another word.

Sonic leaned against the wall and let himself fall to the floor, a defeated sigh leaving him. He was alone once more, the bitter feeling creeping back over his mind like a suffocating fog. The only lead he had was a dead-end, leaving him stranded with no cryptic breadcrumbs to follow—just the silence, stretching endlessly around him.

And Cybil? She was slipping, too.

His chest tightened. He felt like crying. He needed to.

He braced his knees close to his chest, letting his head drop forward. A lump formed in his throat, thick and suffocating, as he stubbornly fought to hold back his tears. But it was useless. A single sob escaped, then another, and before he knew it, his whole body was shaking. Grief, frustration, anguish, fear—it all poured out, hot and unstoppable, soaking into the leather of his sleeves.

And suddenly, the jacket felt unbearable. Too heavy. Too stifling.

With a choked gasp, he tore it off, hurling it at the door with all his strength. The weight of the medals and gun inside made it land with a dull, lifeless thud.

But there was no catharsis. No relief.

Only emptiness. And weakness.

The weight in his chest didn’t lift. His breath came in ragged shudders, his arms limp at his sides. Sonic wiped his face with his arm, forcing himself to breathe. His gaze drifted upward, unfocused—until a flicker of light caught his eye.

A glint, right where his jacket had landed. At first, he thought it was his own blurry vision playing tricks on him. But no… there was something there.

The force of the throw dislodged the flashlight out of the pocket. Its beam pointed directly at the door, revealing deep scratches against the wood and a metallic glint in the thick gloom—carved letters, rough and deliberate.

And beneath them, another medal, glinting in the pale light.

A flicker of hope sparked in his chest. Sonic scooted closer to the door, eyes locked onto the markings. Finally, something he could work with.

The medal was embedded in one of seven circular holes carved in the wood—three on the top row, four below. Roman numerals were etched beneath each opening in descending order, the metal disc fixed in the one labeled "IV."

Sonic pried it loose. Heavier than the silver one. As expected, one side had another high-relief from The Wizard of Oz, this time the Scarecrow, a dull shimmer glistening at the edges of the figure. Flipping it over, he found an unfamiliar symbol: a variation of the female symbol with two horns above the circle (☿). The manufacturer's signature was different from the previous one, its cursive script looping more than the trails back in Green Hills.

"Flamel's Relics - Custom Crafts. Mercury Alloy 55"

Mercury… Sonic frowned. The material had always put him on edge. As much as he fought for the environment, he knew it was one of those elements best left alone. Tails kept a tiny vial of it in his workshop—for precision equipment, medical devices—but even he had been working on alternatives, wary of the health risks and pollution concerns.

But mercury was a liquid, wasn’t it? He never thought it could be this solid.

It didn't really matter right now. What mattered was how all of those medals were related to the locked door. Sonic pulled the other two out of the jacket's pockets, arranging them in a neat row on the hard floor. Then, he pointed his flashlight to the carvings on the woods, trying to make sense of the words:

"Seven circles, three shall shine,

One reigns above, while two decline.

Passions earthbound find their seat,

Beside the beast, both fierce and fleet.

A communion of spirit, wit and mind,

Bestow the worthy in aurous light."

He ran a hand down his face, bewildered eyes mulling over the lines. Great. Sonic thought dryly. Guess we're doing nursery rhymes now.

At least the first two lines seemed straightforward—he had to fit three medals into the seven slots, one in the top row and two in the bottom. That was something. He found a small sense of relief in knowing he already found the three. The "beast" had to be the Cowardly Lion, and since the riddle said one medal needed to be beside it, that meant it belonged in the bottom row.

He placed the Scarecrow medal back into the hole where he found it—the riddle mentioned something "earthbound," so it fit the bill—then started shifting the other two around, testing different positions. He tried one combination, then another, and another—only to realize he was cycling through the same placements without even thinking.

He paused.

He got something wrong, didn't he?

Shadow would be better at this. Or Tails. Or anyone, really.

Sonic stepped away from the door for a moment to gather his thoughts. He was no English major, but he used to help Tails with his Literature homework, so his interpretation couldn't be that far off. Maybe there was something he assumed wrong.

Nothing in the riddle said the Scarecrow was in the right place. He just took it for granted because that’s where he found it. But if that were wrong, shifting things around randomly wouldn’t help.

No. He was going to beat this town at its own game.

He rummaged through the place, searching for some kind of clue. The newspaper on the table only had local news; the large bookshelf was filled with thick college textbooks; a few drawers held graded assignments and a stack of cute student cards. But then he found something that caught his eye.

A thick tome with a nondescript black hardcover. The title, The Key to Teosophy, was written in gold ink, in elegant, almost flamboyant penmanship. Sonic flipped open a page marked by a silk ribbon attached to the spine. The text appeared to be a compendium of common questions about the occult—something the hedgehog couldn't even wrap his head around in his best days.

Dealing with Chaos Energy on a daily basis, Sonic was no stranger to magic, spirits, and other supernatural phenomena. He’d tapped into the power of the Chaos Emeralds, using them as his greatest trump card to save the day. He’d communed with the ancient spirit of the Echidna tribe. He’d faced two Eggmen to save both his and Blaze’s dimensions—twice. He’d survived the wrath of two gods, a flood, and a broken planet.

And yet…

Human magic was weird. He could remember Amy dragging him to tarot sessions to see "what the cards had in store for him." On the rare occasion he read a human newspaper, there were these horoscopes that tried to relate the position of the planets to the color of your shirt, all to predict your chance of finding true love in the next month. Not to mention the weird cults some folks followed every week where they dunk babies into basins full of water.

Anyway.

The writings on the page could only be described as someone trying to make sense of their own rambling: something about "Platonic division," something about "could not go into forbidden details," something about "the physical man and the interior man." It was all a jumble, and Sonic wasn’t sure if it was supposed to make any sense.

The only barely comprehensible text was a table divided in a "Lower Quaternary" and a "Upper Unperishable Triad". Loads of crap, really. But wait—something about the way it was laid out struck him.

The "Lower Quaternary" sounded like it had something to do with the basic components of a person, while the "Upper Triad" seemed... well, more spiritual. Sonic’s eyes drifted back to the door, his fingers tapping against the edge of the page. There were seven holes, and so far, he’d already found the three medals he needed. "Quaternary" was four, right? So maybe it referred to the bottom row. The "Triad" was three, so that had to be the top.

He smirked, half-impressed with himself. Well, at least I’m good at puzzles.

Sonic went back to work, kneeling in front of the slots on the door. The medals were more than just pretty pictures, the characters held some meaning related to both the original story and the strange division the book was going on about.

The Scarecrow was the easiest to figure out. If he remembered correctly, the guy wanted a brain from the wizard. That had to mean intelligence, right? He glanced at the book and spotted Manas, a hole on the top row marked with a Roman numeral V. Mind, intelligence... sounds about right.

A soft click echoed from inside the door as he slotted the medal in place. Sonic blinked in surprise.

"I must be on the right track." He muttered.

That meant the remaining two medals had to fit in the bottom row—but where? He could rule out the first and third slots. Neither the Lion nor the Tin Man had anything to do with a physical or astral body in the original tale. That left only two possible spots. Fifty-fifty shot. He could try and brute force it, but he preferred to trust his instincts.

He hesitated for a moment, then slotted the Lion’s medal into the second position—Prana, the "vital principle." A soft click confirmed his choice. Courage, life force... yeah, that tracked. That left only one option. He pressed the Tin Man’s medal into the fourth slot—Kama Rupa, the "seat of animal desires and passions." It made a strange kind of sense.

The door groaned, its hinges protesting as a sliver of dim light cut through the darkness. Sonic exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders. He did it. He actually did it.

He stood there for a moment, just breathing, before shaking his head with a smirk. "Hah. Take that, creepy magic door."

But the small victory didn’t bring much comfort. If this was just a puzzle at the threshold, then what kind of nightmare waited on the other side?

He grabbed the jacket and his flashlight, ready to leave. Still, there was one last thing to do before pressing forward.

"Cybil?" he called, stepping back onto the patio. The suffocating darkness had finally lifted, peeling away like a heavy curtain, only for the fog to creep back in, thick and unrelenting. Wisps of pale mist slithered across the cracked pavement, swallowing the distant buildings in a ghostly haze. The world felt muted again—gray, hollow, and unsettlingly quiet.

"Cybil, you there? I got the door open!" Sonic frowned, ears flicking as he strained to listen. Nothing. Not even the faintest shuffle of movement.

A chill settled in his gut.

Cybil wouldn't just bail on him, right? She didn’t seem like the type. If anything, she should be the responsible one here. She told him she'd be nearby. She wouldn’t have just left.

He jogged through the alley they came from, the cold air carrying with it that thick, damp smell of antiseptic and rusted metal. The fog curled low over the ground, stretching across the cracked pavement like smoky tendrils. Sonic stepped forward cautiously, half-expecting perked ears to round the corner, maybe with that stone-cold glare she liked to give him.

But there was no sign of her.

"Cybil?" His voice came out quieter this time, almost hesitant.

Okay. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.

Sonic clenched his fists, forcing down the unease curling in his stomach. If she wasn’t here, then that meant she’d gone ahead. Maybe she saw something and went to check it out. Maybe she found another way and hadn't time to come back. Either way, he had no choice but to keep going.

Sonic stepped back into the streets, his guidance being a flashlight and the deep chimes of a bell.

Chapter Text

“Alessa.”

The name quietly echoed in the still air. The girl’s head snapped up from the book she was cradling, her movement sharp and startled.

Her dark eyes fixed on Shadow, wide and wary. “…How do you know my name?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her grip on the book tightened as her gaze darted over him, appraising, uncertain.

Shadow took a slow step forward, his expression calm but eager for answers. “It is you, then,” he said, more to himself than to her. “You’ve been leaving clues, haven’t you?”

Alessa closed the book with deliberate care, clutching it to her chest as she rose to her feet. The soft creak of the leather cover caught Shadow’s attention. The faint gold lettering on the spine glinted in the dim light. He knew that book—he could recognize it even if it was just shredded paper.

“The Wizard of Oz,” he muttered, a flicker of something—fondness? Pain?—crossing his face. A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “She loved that book. The Lion was her favorite. She said he reminded her of me.”

Shadow's words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, something flickered across Alessa's face—recognition? Pain? But before he could be sure, her expression hardened into stone, fingers digging into the worn leather. Her shoulders tensed, and a snarl came out, sharp and accusatory.

“Didn’t know you cared about the people you doomed.” There was a tremor beneath the words—the voice of someone who had rehearsed their hatred until it became armor. Each syllable carried the weight of remembered pain, of stories told and retold until truth and fiction blurred together.

The words hit like a slap, but Shadow’s expression didn’t waver. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. “You speak as if you knew her personally.” His voice was low, controlled. “How?”

Alessa’s grip tightened, her gaze dropping to the book in her hands.

“It's none of your business.” A childish longing crept under her bitter tone, something raw and unguarded. Her mouth curled into a pained grimace, one that painted a history of anguish, loss and betrayal.

Shadow's gaze didn't falter. Something unspeakable happened to this girl. Something that broke her innocence way too soon, a tragedy that drove her to form a shell full of thorns so that she wouldn't be hurt again. Just like him .

“Why are you still here?” She challenged, mouth almost dripping with accusations.

“I'm here to find Maria.” Shadow responded calmly, reaching for the letter in his quills. “She sent me this. I know her handwriting—I couldn’t mistake it.” He extended the folded paper to Alessa—he doubted she would just take his word for it. “You knew her, didn't you? Even if you don't want to admit it, you're tied to her. I just want answers.”

A cautious hand grabbed the paper from his hands, and soon Alessa was skimming over the page. A sneer caught him off guard, as the girl shook her head in disbelief. “Do you think I'd fall for this?” She spat, throwing the letter at the floor. Shadow bared his fangs unconsciously, anger flaring up in his blood. “This is just another trick. You just want to take me back to her so she can finish what she started.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Shadow grew exasperated. “Is this about your mother? I don't even know her. I cam—”

“It’s a trick,” Alessa snapped, cutting him off. She stepped closer, the shadows around her seeming to stretch like tendrils. Each step seemed to pull the shadows with her, leaving stretching pools of darkness in her wake. Shadow remained rooted, aware that any sudden movement might shatter this fragile moment of revelation. “If you're not with them, you’re just another one of her pawns. She’ll just use you.”

Shadow’s fists clenched, his voice dropping to a low growl. “I know what it means to be used. And I’m not here to play anyone’s game—not hers, not yours. If you know something, then say it.”

For a moment, Alessa’s composure wavered. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, hastily walking to the door.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

She responded without looking back. “I've wasted too much time. I have to finish what I came here to do. I can't let her plan come to fruition.” She paused. “And Shadow…”

“What?”

“If what you're saying really is true, you should leave. This isn't a place where you find answers.” She turned her head, giving him a sideways glance. “The one you came with is still here. Find him and get off this cursed place. This is your only warning.”

She took a page out of the book, leaving it on a side table along a small key. “You'll need this to get out."

The door slammed shut behind her, an echo lingering in the room like her words. Shadow’s gaze dropped to the discarded letter on the floor, his mind replaying her bitter warning.

You should leave. This isn’t a place where you find answers.

“What does she know?” he muttered, crouching to retrieve the letter. He smoothed out the page, folding in neatly. His fingers brushed the page’s corner, and for a fleeting moment, he reflected back on Alessa's behavior. Her anger didn't seem unfounded, or even misguided—it was focused, sharp, like a blade honed by years of pain. But why? What happened to that poor girl? And how did it tie back to Maria? Or himself?

Most pressing, Sonic still was in town, despite Shadow telling him to leave. He should've known the blue hedgehog wouldn't leave so easy. That stubborn mule, Shadow thought, a flicker of irritation cutting through his worry. He’d be the death of me someday—or worse, himself.

Shadow shuddered at the thought.

He could leave the school now. It would be the most logical—reasonable, even. He had already found Alessa, and their “talk” was as productive as most G.U.N. meetings (scratch that, he shouldn't insult Alessa like that). Also, Sonic was still out there somewhere, as stubborn and impulsive as ever. Shadow knew he couldn’t trust the blue hedgehog to stay out of danger—or to leave, for that matter.

But Sonic can wait, Shadow thought, squashing the urge to burst the doors of this place down and find his partner. He couldn’t leave yet, not when this place still held answers—answers about Alessa, about Maria, and about why this cursed town had drawn him here.

“If she wants me to leave so much, what doesn't she want me to find?”

He examined the items Alessa left behind. The key glinted in the warm library light, nothing special about it—no tag, no markings, no blood thankfully. He wasn't as lucky with the torn page. as Baum's vivid prose was obscured by deep crimson letters, almost blending with the black print:

“12:00 - An Étude of Resting Tongues

Argent voices chant urgent vices,

Forever lost and everlasting.

Every prose the ivory prices,

An unfair cost in a hushed casting.”

The missing piece for the clock … probably . Shadow wondered how many more circles he'd have to run around in this place before he got somewhere. The imagery of this one was more… abstract. Almost lyrical. Some of the words were unfamiliar to him, and he didn't quite grasp the context for a few others.

Well… he was in a library.

Shadow's fingers traced over the dictionary's thin pages, the paper's whisper echoing in the library's hollow silence. Étude —a musical study. His mind flickered back to ARK, to Maria sitting at the colony with an old guitar, her delicate fingers dancing over the strings while explaining musical terms he'd never needed to know.

The memory stung. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the worn book beneath his hands. This wasn’t the time for sentimentality. Argent. Silver. Possibly the other medallion he needed.

“A silver medallion and a musical study,” he muttered, his voice barely disturbing the dust motes floating in the dim light. “And something about ivory...” His eyes narrowed at the last word. Something about it nagged at him—a material made from the tusk of elephants (Shadow felt sick with the brutal descriptions) but its relation to the poem wasn't as clear to him.

Regardless, he should get moving soon. The music room was the next logical step to solve this madness.

He grabbed the key and the page and stepped out in the corridor. A frigid gust made his fur stand on edge, an instinctive reaction despite the Ultimate Lifeform's inability to feel cold. The radio started to buzz softly in his quills, a hand impulsively gripping the gun at his waist. Red eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings the same way a hawk looked for prey.

The child-like shades still scampered around the dark corridors, much more than he'd seen before—outlines becoming hazier as if they tethered the edge between two worlds. Yet, something was different now. They weren't curiously approaching Shadow as if measuring him as before, wandering aimlessly until his flashlight sent them scurrying back to the shadows.

No. They were leading him somewhere. They were hurrying downstairs—opposite of the music room he meant to go—their small forms stumbling down the wooden steps soundlessly, only their squeaks hinting of their presence when they were gone.

“ὁ Κύριος καλεῖ ὑμᾶς…” (“the Lord is calling…”)

A mysterious voice called, an airy, yet sinister voice slashing through him stoicism. His feet froze in place, his arms growing stiff beside him as a shaky gasp left his lungs.

“Ἀνάστασις ἔρχεται.” (“Resurrections comes.”)

Shadow still struggled with the concept of “trusting his gut.” As the so-called Ultimate Lifeform, he was designed to embody logic and rationality—whatever that had meant to Gerald. But the result was a constant tug-of-war within himself, a blind spot when it came to understanding his more convoluted, layered emotions. Even Omega—a machine—sometimes had a better instinctive grasp of danger.

But this… this unnatural behavior of the creatures, this voice calling to him in an unfamiliar tongue, felt like something else entirely. A lamb to the slaughter.

He didn’t understand the words, but the sound of them constricted his chest like a boa, squeezing out the air, replacing it with dread. It was a sensation Shadow rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. He shook his head, forcing himself to move. I'm not answering to this, he thought, gripping his composure with practiced determination. I'm not walking into another one of your traps.

Shadow went against the current of shades, static screaming into his ears as their numbers grew larger and closer. He almost threw himself into the music room as soon as Alessa's key unlocked the door. Trembling hands shut it back with more force than intended. The hedgehog's body pressed against the wood, gun and light pointed at the darkness, wary of more monsters.

The radio finally went dead, but his ears kept ringing with phantom static.

The classroom kept the same pattern of baby blue walls contrasting old linoleum, an old-fashioned yet pristine style kept unaltered in the whole school. A few portraits of famous composers hung on the wall, dead images boring judging eyes to whoever dared gaze into their own, greying hair and powdered wigs framing expressionless faces. A small crucifix oversaw the room from the far wall. Beneath it, another figure—a young woman sitting in front of a pipe organ, the brown hair adorned with a crown of small, delicate flowers. One hand leisurely rested on the instrument, the other held on to a piece of paper. His eyes drifted upwards to the corner of the painting, where two peculiar infants gazed upon her. A small plaque underneath read Cecilia of Rome .

However, what truly drew Shadow's gaze was the larger-than-life grand piano in the middle of the room—the dark wood was adorned with golden trims, contrasting the alabaster keys spread like an invitation. The faint scent of varnish still clung to them, mingling with the stale, lifeless air of the classroom. Brass pedals and a dignified plaque caught the light, speaking of craftsmanship and history. Yet, its immaculate state was betrayed by the blood—eight keys in the middle of the keyboard, smeared with dark, dried streaks.

Shadow approached the piano gently, the silence in the room making his footsteps sound louder than they should be. A placid hand grazed the unmarred keys with longing. Maria would've loved it. She always talked about learning to play, but they could never bring one to the ARK. His eyes burned with tears he would not dare shed—a promise he made that they would learn to play together. Another promise he made when they were hopeful to leave the colony. Another promise he would never be able to keep.

A small booklet sat open on the fallboard—Introduction to Music Theory by Arpeggio Pavonetti. A picture of the peafowl on a piano graced the cover page, a train of viridescent feathers trailing flowing from her tail like an elegant cape. The open pages showed the corresponding notes to the keys in a piano octave, including the black keys. A small mercy for Shadow, for his mind could not remember any of Maria's teachings, not even his falling-from-the-sky-amnesia could be blamed.

He tentatively pressed one stained key. No sound, only a dull thud of plastic against wood.

He turned his attention to the chalkboard. A wooden panel above it held the silver medallion he desperately needed. He grabbed a chair and tried prying it off, clinging to any edge he could use for leverage. It was of no use. The metal disc was not only stuck, it seemed glued to the wood by something unnatural.

Shadow's eyes drifted back to the grand piano, its blood-stained keys suddenly feeling less like a grotesque decoration and more like a deliberate clue. Seems I'll need to play the part to get it .

Instead, he focused on the long poem written in white chalk filled the center of the board.

“The Fable of Silenced Chippers

a Dove was the first to lose its spark,

loving coos turned into silence stark.

the curse soon bewitched the Avocet,

voice cracking like a broken spinet.

the Blue jay flew west to defy fate,

only for its hand to fall Flat on his face.

the stunned Goldfinch watched distressed,

beak shut, song unwilling to go tested.

but a Canary saw the true meaning,

Sharp wings greeting the silver's gleaning.”

Shadow's eyes traced the lines more than once, scrutinizing every word like enemy robots on a battlefield. Each bird, each metaphor, each line could hint at something bigger, something deeper. The poem spoke of music, of loss and a greater purpose. The Dove losing its spark. The Avocet's cracking voice. Each bird seemed to represent a stage of loss, of progressive silencing. And yet, the Canary at the end—seeing “the true meaning”, greeting silver with “Sharp wings”.

Silenced chippers, he thought. The analogy resonated deeply. How many voices had been stolen from him? Maria's laughter. The ARK's bustling corridors. His own innocence, his sense of belonging.

But as much as the poem spoke to him emotionally, the practical answer eluded him. He turned back to the piano. He tested another stained key at random, then another and another—none of them emitted any sound other than a dull thud. He pressed a clean one, a sharp, resonant tone echoing in the room.

Shadow frowned, the pieces falling into place. “I need to press the keys with blood on them. But in what order?” His gaze fell to the music book on the fallboard, the open page showing the notes of a piano octave. He picked it up, flipping through its simple diagrams, trying to dredge up anything Maria might have taught him. Nothing came.

He turned back to the poem. The birds. Their names. A pattern began to emerge. Dove. Avocet. Blue jay. Goldfinch. Canary. The first letters. D, A, B, G, C.

The memory clicked. Notes. Of course. His eyes returned to the chalkboard, reading the modifiers: Flat. Sharp. A sequence began to take shape in his mind.

He sat in front of the instrument, stiff, untrained fingers hovering above a white key. “If the Dove is D, then the sequence is D—thud—A, B-flat, G, C-sharp.”

Not long after Shadow pressed the last key, his ear picked a scratchy sound from his left. He turned his eyes to see the medallion being pushed out of the panel. It fell from the wall with a heavy clunk .

The hedgehog picked the disc from the floor, a triumphant smirk gracing his usual stoic exterior. It held a similar design to the golden counterpart—a clock tower framed by a wooden trim. He knew what he should do.

Shadow found himself back at the clock tower, the silver in his palm gleaning weakly at the flashlight’s beam. He slipped the medallion into the socket, the clicking and rattling of gears soon resound within the structure’s stone walls

Five deep chimes echoed through the dead air of the courtyard. The hedgehog looked up at the time, large hands now displaying 5 o’clock.

He recalled the note he found at the clock tower, its warning about the darkness accompanied by a choking heat. The hedgehog pulled the school map from his quills again, his eyes narrowing on the boiler room in the basement. This must be it.

Back at the reception desk, Shadow grabbed a pen, retracing his steps and crossing out the paths he'd checked. This door’s locked. This one is too. Can’t go through here…

The quickest route was through a locked door at the right end of the hall, but it wasn’t an option. He’d have to find another way—maybe a key, maybe break the doors (he’d pay for them later), mayb—

Kssshhh… Fzzzt… Kshhh…

Static exploded in his ears, the radio in his quills letting out deafening cracks. He yanked it out, nearly tearing his spines, and aimed his gun at the dark corridor ahead. Every hair on his body bristled as one thought surged through his mind:

Danger.

High-pitched chitters took over the once empty corridors, metal scraping against the varnished floors. The wet, brackish smell of a dying fish hit him before he could see anything, sending a pang of nausea through his stomach.

Before he could even think of running, the door at the end of the reception hall burst open with an horde of small, wrinkly imps.  No fewer than twenty monsters poured out, swarming at the empty corridor like a tidal wave. Their mouths curled into perverted grins that thirsted for one thing only—Shadow’s blood.

Metal knives glistened dangerously at his phone’s weak light, some raised in intimidation, others already extended for stabbing.

Shadow vaulted onto the reception counter, pistol snapping toward the approaching swarm.

BANG BANG BANG

Two bullets hit a pair of imps right in the forehead, their mouths letting out a dying grunt before they were swallowed by the growing legion. The third shot hit the leader of the pack, the lead ripping apart his throat before hitting the monster behind him on the chest—both tumbled backwards into the crowd.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

Shadow kept blasting ferociously, each bullet sending another disgusting grey creature down, yet the horde did not thin. It felt like a hydra—each imp downed spawned another two from the adjacent hall. The agent would be a sitting duck if he took the time to reload, yet he could not rely on his Chaos Spears to take care of the crowd, if the dolls were any indication.

But he had one last resort he hadn't yet used.

He emptied the last few bullets into the imps, the gun clicking uselessly as he turned his attention to his wrists. His gold limiter rings clattered to the floor as he readied his stance to charge. But, as he took off, Shadow noticed something wrong…

He couldn’t feel the air charging around him as he drew more power. He didn’t feel the tingling of Chaos energy coursing through his veins. He couldn't feel anything but the terrifying silence of his own unmade self.

Yet, it was too late to change course; he had to make the best out of this doomed gambit.

He leapt into the crowd, landing on top of an off-guard imp. Its body crumpled on the linoleum. Bones shattered under his stomp. Without losing his balance, he sent a kick to the nearest attacker, blade flying as boot smacked against its face.

“CHAOS BLAST!” He shouted. The room got filled with crimson light, an energy wave washing over the monsters. Some covered their faces, some took the blow full-force, a few had their weapons knocked out of their hands…

But all of them remained rooted in place.

The light faded too quickly, like a candle snuffed out by an unseen breath. Shadow felt it first in his chest—a hollow sensation where power should have been, spreading through his limbs like ice water in his veins. His legs buckled, vision swimming as the energy drain hit him all at once. The world tilted dangerously, his enhanced reflexes now sluggish and unresponsive.

Even worse, the imps seemed to shake off the attack like it was a simple summer breeze. Sharp blades were raised once again, pointed hisses slashing the stagnant, thick darkness. Through blurred vision, Shadow saw them closing in, their wrinkled forms distorting into a grey mass of teeth and metal.

He tried to raise his arms, to mount any kind of defense, but his body refused to respond. The largest imp lunged forward—a grey blur in his peripheral vision—and Shadow felt the impact before he registered the movement. The air left his lungs in a violent rush as his back slammed against the ground, leathery, ashy knees pressing down against his chest, cutting off an already precarious breathing.

A jagged inhale stuck in Shadow’s throat as the creature wound its body back like a loaded spring. The menacing grin distorted further as a full-blown sadistic laugh, a grating sound that pierced his eardrums like barbed daggers. He could barely make out squiggly fingers wrapped tightly against the metal blade, a blinding glint reflecting the beam from his phone, now lying forgotten beside him.

In that brief moment, he lamented every choice that led him to this situation—one he wasn’t sure he’d make out alive. This place stripped him of every weapon, every artifice he had. The thought crept in, unspoken but undeniable: was he even immortal here? The icy hollowness in his chest suggested otherwise.

He’d ignored Alessa’s warning, driven by pride and desperation, trying for answers he would never find in this hell.

He left Sonic panicked, hurt, vulnerable. He clung to his own selfishness instead of the person who needed him the most. He chose a ghost over the only person who believed in him , even at his worst.

Faker… I’m sorry…

A tear formed at the corner of his eye, soaking through his fur as it dripped down his face. Shadow closed his eyes, holding his breath as he waited for the final blow. He only hoped it would be a quick death.

“ΤΈΚΝΑ” (“CHILDREN”)

A deep, raspy voice thundered, the word ripping through the corridor like a cyclonic gale. Shadow's chest felt as if it would collapse under its weight. He felt a surge of dread—not from the monsters around him, but from the voice itself, which carried an authority that made even the grotesque creatures freeze. The imp released its grip, the blade clattering to the ground as silence swallowed the chaos.

Shadow finally opened his eyes and looked up at the creature. Its head was raised, staring at something in the distance. The grotesque body swayed faintly, its own violence subdued and hypnotized by the sudden command.

“οὐδὲν κακόν ἔσται τῷ Προάγγελῳ” (“No harm shall befall the herald”)

Shadow felt the weight in his lungs relieve as the imp stood up, his head drooped back as the damp, salty air entered his lungs once again. The relief of being able to breathe again overshadowed even the disgust at the briny stench of the monsters. Flimsy footsteps faded into the shadows, but there was no sense of victory. Only questions. What had stopped them? And more importantly—what kind of power had just been unleashed here?

The air that had been thick with clashing sounds suddenly stilled. Shadow's head spun, his breath shallow and ragged as the echoes of battle faded into a heavy, almost suffocating quiet.

His arms trembled as he pushed himself upright, his body still reeling from the chaos blast’s backlash. He propped over his left side as a violent cough shook him over the sudden effort. An acrid, bitter taste crept at the back of his throat like a caustic poison, one he instantly swallowed, afraid to hurl his insides right then and there.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The mantra that once felt so simple now seemed like the only tether to his reality. His heart raced, but slowly, with every breath, his mind began to clear. The dizziness lifted, the fear receded just enough for him to regain some semblance of control.

He finally stood up, gathering the belongings that were scattered or left in the reception during the fight. He paced the corridor with wheezing, shallow breaths accompanying his unusually wobbly steps.

With his phone and light source once again in his grasp, he flashed a beam at the now open passage. One of the doors lay collapsed on the floor, the wood cracked along the middle; the other hung precariously from a single hinge, crooked and supported by the nearby wall.

But the sight that froze Shadow's blood lay beyond the broken door.

A large humanoid figure stood at the end of the hallway, yet it would be a mistake to call it anything close to human. Its shape was clear as day, but there was no light to illuminate it, any gleam caught in its vicinity being devoured like a greedy black hole.

The skin resembled a stained old paper, with muscles and bulging veins protruding beneath it. The hands bore a violent shade of reddish rust, rough and flaky. A mark bore both of its shoulders, a triangle framed by two circles, foreign runes and symbols adorning it.

Its limbs were bent in unnatural angles, twisting and curling in a macabre dance only it could understand. Its body was covered in a leather attire—one that seemed an amalgam of a butcher’s apron and a ceremonial robe with the sleeves torn off—the old material stained and marred with fluids better left unknown.

Yet, its most disturbing feature was its face—or lack thereof. The head shaked and quivered erratically. In the rare moment of stillness, one could see the leathery, featureless face of the creature—the only distinguishable ones were an ear placed much higher and back than it should be, and a series of crude stitches where the mouth should be.

“Προάγγελε… ἀνόητον ἦν ὑμῖν τὸ μὴ ἀποκρίνασθαι τοῖς καλέσμασί μου.” (“Herald, it was foolish of you not to answer my calls”)

The raspy voice flooded Shadow’s ears once again, dripping with scorn and discontent. A harsh iciness ran down his spine, his whole body tensing up to run the fuck away from whatever that was. Yet, as the sharp claws of terror began piercing his heart, he felt his legs ingraining themselves on the floor as if made of lead.

“What's going on?” Shadow's voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. His composure cracked under the weight of primal dread. “Where is everybody? These monsters, these games... what is all of this?”

The creature's head snapped toward him with an unnatural jerk, its neck bending at an impossible angle. When it spoke, the ancient tongue seemed to pierce through Shadow's very essence, each syllable carrying authority that transcended language barriers.

“ἦλθον ἵνα ἴδωσι τὴν ἀρχὴν.” (“they’ve come to witness the beginning”)

The words felt like ice spreading through Shadow's veins—not just sounds, but an invocation of something ancient and terrible. His  jaw clenched, fighting against the overwhelming urge to flee.  “I don't understand what you're saying,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Are you the one behind all this?”

The creature's head twitched violently, almost eagerly. Then, like old parchment being torn, its voice shifted into something both familiar and wrong—ancient English wrapped in layers of contempt.

“How bothersome,” it rasped, each word dripping with disdain. “That I must soil my tongue with thy mortal speech. Art thou blind, or but simple? Thy power serves a higher purpose.”

“I am not your, or anyone’s puppet.”

“I am Valtiel.” The being's head jerked violently with each syllable, as if the very act of speaking a name mortals could comprehend caused it physical distress.

“So what!” Shadow snarled, defiance burning through his terror like a match struck in darkness.

“The vessel requires strength beyond mortal bounds,” Valtiel's twitching and contorting became more erratic, almost charged, “awakened by the blaze. The herald shall lead to the rebirth with blood-stained hands.”

A sharp pain suddenly lanced through Shadow's head—not memory, but something deeper, more fundamental. His chaos energy flickered weakly, as the creature's presence seemed to drain the essence from his very core.

The suffocating heat came next, brutal and absolute, phantom flames crawled beneath his fur. A foul, caustic smoke formed in his lungs, drowning them in burning fumes. The smog started to spill through his mouth and nose like a thick foam. A dry cough rattled his ribs as he struggled to breathe, making him fall to his knees as his legs betrayed his weight.

“What…” The word came out as strangled gurgles, tasting of ash and rusted metal, “…are you doing… hack… to me?”

Through blurred vision, Shadow watched the creature's twisted form retreat into the darkness, its movements a perversion of grace. The pain flashed in waves with each step it took, as if invisible threads were being pulled taut between them.

“I'm not... your puppet,” he gasped, but the words held no power here. Not anymore.

The glowing hot pain in his chest gradually ebbed to a dull throb, the cascade of smoke dying to a narrow stream before stopping. As the pressure finally subsided, Shadow found himself alone in the corridor, Valtiel’s presence lingering like a half-remembered nightmare. His enhanced hearing picked up nothing but the hollow echo of his own ragged breathing.

“I don’t get it…” Shadow’s voice came out as a strained mumble. “What does this place want from me?”

The weight of manipulation pressed against Shadow's thoughts like a familiar wound. His past stretched behind him like a gallery of betrayals—each face a carefully crafted mask that had eventually shattered. Gerald, who shaped his very existence through love turned to vengeful madness. Eggman, who awakened him only to puppet his confusion. Black Doom, who twisted their blood connection into chains of obligation, not once but twice. G.U.N., transforming from executioners to reluctant allies, their trust as hollow as their promises.

They had all played their games with practiced precision—honeyed words and false promises, each one crafting an elaborate web of lies tailored to his desires and fears. Like a prized weapon passing from hand to hand, they had wielded him for their own ends, discarding him once his purpose was served.

But Valtiel…

The creature's presence lingered in the corridor like a frost, its arrogance radiating from every unnatural movement. Its words carried none of the desperate manipulation Shadow had come to recognize. No false warmth, no bargains, no carefully constructed illusions. The being's certainty was absolute—a cold, cosmic inevitability that made Shadow's chaos energy flutter weakly in response.

He could feel it even now: whatever machinery had been set in motion by his arrival continued to turn, grinding forward with mechanical precision. His role, whatever it might be, had already been determined. The realization settled in his chest like lead—this was not a game he could refuse to play, nor a manipulation he could see through and resist.

In the oppressive silence of the corridor, Shadow felt the walls of his understanding closing in. For the first time since his awakening in Eggman's base, he faced something beyond his comprehension, something that didn't need his cooperation to use him. And in that darkness, a more terrifying question began to form: what if his very presence here wasn't by chance at all, but the culmination of something set in motion long ago?

BLANG… BLANG… BLANG…

Three deep chimes vibrated through the very bones of the earth, constricting his heart as they reverberated through his body. The ground beneath him trembled, the foundation of Midwich quaking in time with the tolling of the bells. His own head seemed to pulsate as he was forced out of his thoughts.

Boiler room be damned. Shadow rose from the floor in a snap, gathering himself. I need to get out of here.

Yet, when he tried to open the school entrance—the same one that cleared with no resistance to let him in—now stood locked with no explanation. The old wood, one that would crumble under his boot, remained shut no matter how much he pulled, forced or kicked. Had he become so weak he couldn’t take down a simple door? Or was Valtiel keeping him here for some nefarious reason?

I’m not letting this place win.

Shadow made his way back to the courtyard. He would get out of here even if it meant climbing the walls with his fangs and claws. He studied the stone bricks that lined the quaint patio, taking notes of cracks and small ledges he could grab. But, before he could take off his gloves, a muffled voice reached his ears.

“Hello?” The hedgehog’s breath hitched, head snapping at the clock tower, only now noticing the door at its base had been opened. “Is anybody there?”

The hedgehog stared at the tower’s open entrance, his mind scrambling for the moment he had crossed the distance. One second, he had been standing in the courtyard—then he was here, hand gripping the doorframe. A gaping hole in the floor revealed rusted metal steps, bolted to the walls and vanishing into the void. Shadow aimed his phone’s light into the abyss, but the darkness devoured it whole. No floor, no end—just emptiness.

“Help!” The voice screamed. The same timbre that Shadow knew all too well, the one that haunted countless nights he tossed and turned in bed, the one he would give anything to hear again.

It… it can’t be.

“Maria?” He tentatively called, a flicker of hope shining through the confusion in his voice.

“Shadow?!” She called back. Her voice seemed older, deeper, more mature. “is that you?”

“Maria, it’s me! Where are you? What’s happening?”

“Thank God, you finally came!” Shadow could picture tears in her eyes as her voice cracked with relief. “I don’t know! It’s so dark here! I can’t get out!”

His grip tightened on the frame, his breath shallow. His rational mind screamed at him—this wasn’t possible. Maria was gone. Had been for years. And yet… the voice. It was her. It had to be.

“Hold on! I’m coming!” he called, forcing his body to move. His foot met the first step, metal groaning under his weight. The air changed instantly—thick. Acrid. Suffocating.

“I can’t see you!” Maria’s voice wavered below. “Please, Shadow, hurry!”

He took another step, then another, each one dragging him deeper into the suffocating dark. His phone’s flashlight flickered… then died. Darkness swallowed him whole. The feeble light at the top of the staircase shrank behind him, swallowed by the abyss. The metal vibrated under his feet, and in the distance, something shifted. A whisper of movement, just beyond perception.

Then, the door slammed shut above him.

His heart leapt in his throat—he could hear his own heartbeat thumping in his ears so loud it hurt . This was a mistake. If Maria was even real, now they were both trapped below ground in this disturbing place. And if she was not…

He tried not to think too much about that.

He reached the bottom of the chasm, air shoes clattering against a metal floor. He paused for a moment, his sensitive ears turning and scanning his surroundings for any movement.

Silence.

“Maria?” He called, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you here?”

Nothing.

It was like she had never been there.

He focused back on the room he was in. He took off one limiter ring, attaching it to one of the metal steps. Then, with his right hand pressed against the wall, he made it through the perimeter in complete darkness.

The space was a small rectangle, no more than three meters in both length and width. He found another ladder in the same style, directly across the one he came from. As he stared up the well, he could see a pale, dim light shining from above.

A way out. Relief threatened to rise in his chest, but something held it back. Did Maria get out through there? But then… why was she screaming just now? Where did she go?

Grimacing, Shadow retrieved his limiter ring, grip tightening as unease coiled deep in his gut. Shaking it off, he climbed. At the top, a door stood slightly ajar, its frame leaking a thin, sickly beam of light.

He hesitated, then pushed it open. A sudden flood of brightness forced his eyes shut. He blinked—once, twice—waiting for his vision to adjust. When it did, confusion settled in, heavy and cold.

He was back in the school’s courtyard.

Shadow turned, staring at the door he’d just passed through. He hadn’t deviated once—not a single turn, not a single wrong step. His path had been a straight line through the clock tower’s underground.

And yet, he was right back where he started. Even worse, the world itself has shifted in the brief moments he spent away.

The darkness was finally gone, yet the replacement was just as unsettling. Clouds blanketed the whole sky, stained a freakish ashy sand color. Reddish purple streaks crossed along them like roots from a tree, the hue shifting and moving across the firmament. A cold drizzle poured in sparse drops, reflecting the unnatural tones from above.

Below, the courtyard shifted into a gray imitation of itself—the verdant grass, the mossy limestone, the red bricks—all devoid of any trace of color. The walls of the school were replaced by an alien material, a dull metal with a violent red pulsating underneath it, as if it turned into a living thing of its own.

Tendrils popped out and into the ground again, a strange material being pumped inside them. They shared the same violet shade from the stripes above. A reek of grease and decay soiled the air, of unwashed scales and gunpowder. A stench that made Shadow consider drowning his nose with bleach to never be able to smell again.

Black Arms.

But that should be impossible. The Black Arms were dead. Gone. Shadow himself was responsible for it—the Black Comet was no more thanks to the Eclipse Cannon, and Black Doom was himself vanquished once again during the Time Eater Incident. There should be no more traces of them anywhere, much less in this backwater town in fucking Maine.

His chest tightened. That didn’t make any sense.

Shadow took a slow step forward, ears twitching, breath shallow. The clock tower loomed behind him, silent and unmoved, as if he had never stepped inside at all. As if it had spat him back out.

He turned on his heel, reaching for the door again—only to find solid metal where the entrance had been. The chimes of the clock tower had stopped, not even a faint tick-tock to hint of any life within. The whole world was frozen. Dead.

What even is this place? And what is it doing to me?

Chapter Text

The Master Emerald’s glisten flared dangerously, a surge of static electricity emanating from its vitreous surface.

Knuckles and Rouge were too preoccupied with their bratty-yet-routine lover’s spat to notice it preemptively. Once again, the bat went to bother his morning meditation to try and steal the powerful gem—motives pending. But their argument was abruptly cut short by a chill that seeped into their bones—deeper and colder than the crisp air of Angel Island.

“What was that?” Rouge was the first to speak, rubbing her arms as if she could shake off the unnatural cold. Her wings twitched, her keen senses picking up on the unnatural stillness that followed. Even the birds had gone silent, as if the island itself was holding its breath. “Did you feel it?”

Knuckles halted mid-squabble, his voice lowering as he examined the gem. “The Master Emerald herself seems to be… undisturbed,” he murmured, trailing a calloused finger along its polished surface. He paused, then added, “It’s not the usual Chaos disturbance. There’s a different kind of energy pulsing beneath it. Something else is at work.”

Rouge arched an eyebrow. “Something else? Like what—some other kind of energy?” She crossed her arms, her tone edged with both curiosity and a hint of caution. “But why would that be happening?”

Knuckles shrugged, his expression darkening with concern. “I don’t know. I only know it’s not a fluctuation in Chaos Energy.”

Knuckles tapped two fingers against his forehead, pensive. “I’m gonna call Sonic and Tails. Wouldn’t put it past Eggman to meddle with powers he doesn’t fully understand.” He turned toward his hut to grab his comm.

But before he could leave, Rouge interrupted. “Sonic’s on a roadtrip with Shadow. They left about three days ago. Should have arrived by now…”

Rouge searched her phone for the last conversation she had with Shadow. “Strange… They kept me updated the whole trip—mostly because they’re with my car—but…” She trailed off, the rest of the thought hanging in the air.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Knuckles crossed his arms “That Shadow guy never explains a thing.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Rouge countered, a note of frustration in her voice. “And even then, Sonic would’ve sent me a text or something if there was trouble.”

“So, where did they go?” Knuckles asked, his tone growing more serious.

“Silent Hill,” Rouge replied. “Pretty far away, a one-horse town for the most part.”

Knuckles’s brow furrowed at the name. Sensing his confusion, Rouge leaned in a little closer and added, “He received a letter—Shadow, that is—that told him to go there. Even stranger, it was from Maria.”

Knuckles’ dreadlocks bristled sharply at the mention. “Maria? Sending a letter? But she’s…” His gaze hardened, fists closing. “You better not be pulling my leg, bat!” He spat.

“Easy, meathead.” Unfazed, Rouge waved a dismissive hand at him. “I didn’t believe it either, even after he showed me.” She pointed a thumb to her chest, a cautious smirk at her glossed lips. “Shady business if you ask me, and I’ve seen shady”

Knuckles couldn’t help but chuckle deeply. “In any case, we should at least call Tails. He didn’t go with them, did he?” Rouge shook her head. “Then it’s settled.”

“You can go to his workshop, right?” She responded, stepping dangerously close to the large gem. “I’ll stay here… admiring the Master Emer— eek!”

“Negative,” Knuckles replied, lifting Rouge up and setting her onto his shoulder. “We are both going.”

Without waiting for another quip, Knuckles broke into a sprint toward the island's edge. Rouge barely had time to steady herself before they launched into open air, the sudden drop pulling a loud squeal from her throat. As Angel Island shrank to a speck behind them, the strange chill that had disturbed the Master Emerald seemed to follow, riding the winds that carried them toward Emerald Town.

“This doesn’t make any sense!”

Tails had been stumped for the past hour studying every single log and report generated by his equipment. The printed sheets of paper were scattered all across his station, some spilling over to the grease-stained floor of the workshop.

The purple Chaos Emerald Sonic collected a few weeks ago lay inside the remains of his Quantum Flux Converter’s containment tube—an intricate matrix of borosilicate glass infused with tungsten oxide for thermal stress, threaded through with gold nanoparticles embedded in boron nitride nanotubes—designed to channel excess electromagnetic energy from even the most volatile Chaos Energy outburst. Now… the only remains of it were scattered shards shattered beyond repair.

He hadn’t tried touching the Emerald yet—not only its usual glimmer was much brighter, it had a threatening edge to it, as tiny sparks flared under the glassy surface. The QF Converter would only be able to explode should a large influx of Chaos Energy be pumped into the machine, above what both Tails’ or even Eggman’s equipment were capable of.

Yet, it didn’t seem like that’s what happened.

His Chaos Energy Spectral Resonator didn’t pick up anything throughout last night—no errors, no spikes of energy or even anything above the background energy readings he always got. Then, barely an hour ago, Tails heard his prized invention shatter like a cheap wine glass.

Knock knock knock

For once, Tails was glad for the interruption—otherwise his brain might catch on fire.

“Knuckles! Rouge!” The kit exclaimed, surprised to see the unusual pair at his door. “What are you doing here? Sonic isn’t home, and—”

“Good morning to you too, hun.” Rouge teased with a wink, not offended by the bluntness. “We’re not here for Sonic, actually. We wanted to ask you if you saw any weird reading of Chaos Energy this morning.”

Tails' namesakes went rigid. "Well... you might want to see this." He invited them inside, leading the way to reveal the chaotic workstation, the Emerald still glowing ominously.

Knuckles' dreadlocks bristled at the sight, his fists clenching unconsciously. "I knew it," he growled, moving past Tails toward the gem. "The Master Emerald was acting strange too. But not this violently."

“When did this happen?” Rouge inquired, looking at the broken glass on the floor. “Did the Emerald cause this?”

“Actually, all the Chaos Energy readings have been strangely normal.” He grabbed a log of last night’s readings. “The Spectral Resonator was operating normally all night, and if there were any spikes it would have caught them. But this morning I came here to find the Flux Converter broken and the Emerald acting like… that.”

“Then we are not dealing with Chaos Energy, for once.” Knuckles considered darkly, head low and arms crossed. “There’s some sort of magic involved.”

“Magic?” Rouge repeated. “But isn’t Chaos Energy already magic?”

“Not exactly. Chaos Energy has both magical and physical properties in its nature, not unlike the wave-particle duality debate when it comes to light.” Tails explained. Knuckles and Rouge turned to him like he’d grown another pair of tails. “Like… if electromagnetic waves could alter matter and reality more than the generation of photons and excitation of electrons.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Rouge’s eye threatened to twitch, as her chin dropped dumbfounded.

“The physical properties of Chaos Energy are similar to ionizing radiation, but can also work as electrical power.” Tails pulled out a schematic from a large folder. “The Specter Resonator works by capturing background Chaos radiation by using a modified Geiger counter using the natural resonance between Chaos Energy and beryllium silicate crystals—basically normal emeralds.” Rouge blinked, struggling to keep up. “This is what allows us to measure the Chaos Energy, and use it to power machinery.

“But the real power of the Emeralds,” Tails continued, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, “lies in the magical properties they have. Sonic’s super form isn’t related to anything physical, we tried using similar radiation to reach the state, but we never could achieve it. Which is why a fake Emerald can have similar readings, but you can’t go super with them—they lack the magical component from Chaos Energy that we couldn’t replicate.”

Rouge blinked once, then twice, looking to Knuckles for some sort of help. As the echidna was more familiar both with the energy and his brother’s long rantings, he offered an explanation.

“Ahem. What Tails means is that the Emeralds are resonating with some sort of magical energy that’s separate from the Chaos energy. And a powerful one at that.” Knuckles rubbed his chin, listing all the forces they have dealt with in the past. “It can’t be the Sol Emeralds, otherwise Blaze would be here, not Dark Gaia, the Phantom Ruby was destroyed…”

Leaving the Emerald guardian to his musings, Rouge turned to Tails.

“Did Sonic send you a message this morning?” Rouge asked, grabbing her phone. “They should have arrived there an hour ago, but Shadow didn’t send me anything.”

Tails searched for his own beneath a pile of projects and schematics. “No, nothing on my end either.”

As if on cue, both started calling their respective partners.

“We're sorry, the number you have reached is not in service at this time. Please check the number, or try your call again.”

“Sonic isn’t answering.” Tails deflated.

“Neither is Shadow.” Rouge’s eyes narrowed as the pieces clicked into place. “How long has it been since that Emerald was acting up?”

Tails hesitated. “Hmm… a little more than an hour.”

“About the same time as the Master Emerald, and…” she trailed off, pursing her lips before continuing, “the same time they were supposed to get to Silent Hill.”

Tails blanched. “You don’t think they’re somehow related, do you?”

“Maybe.” Knuckles interjected with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be surprised if they were already causing trouble the second they got there.” 

“Or trouble was already expecting them,” Rouge retorted. She narrowed her eyes at Knuckles in mock suspicion. “Done listing mystical forces?”

“The info’s too vague to pinpoint anything.” Knuckles crossed his arms, not taking the bait. “That city is the only lead we have for now, and a flimsy one. Rouge, do you remember anything about the letter?”

Rouge tapped her temple. “She mentioned some ‘special place’, but Shadow didn’t know what she was talking about.”

“Does Mr. Edgar know? About the letter?” Tails questioned. Knuckles and Rouge turned to him with quizzical looks. “I mean, he’s her father. He’d probably know what she was talking about.”

“That’s a good point.” Rouge conceded. “I think he still lives in Empire City, but I can call Topaz to confirm the address in G.U.N.’s database.”

“Great, then I'm calling Vector.” Knuckles announced. “The Chaotix are the best detectives around, and we need more information about the place…”

“…especially if the Robotniks have any relationship with it.” Rouge added. “We can try and arrange a meeting with Edgar Robotnik for them.”

“I don’t think the Chaotix does that kind of investigation, though.” Tails argued.

“They do, but honestly, they’ll do anything as long as they’re paid.” Knuckles retorted. “They might even ask for transport to Empire City.”

“If this was official business, I could get a chopper from G.U.N. to take them. But after last time, they set new restrictions for me to take one. Hmpf, can you imagine?”

“What happened last time?” Knuckles asked.

“You don’t wanna know.” Rouge waved away, then turned to the kit. “But I’m sure this cutie pie wouldn’t mind giving them a ride.” Rouge coaxed, pinching lightly a tuft of fur on Tails’ cheek. “Right, hon?”

“U-uhm…” Tails stammered, a flustered hand rubbing the back of his head. “S-sure. I can drop them off.”

“I’m glad we could reach an agreement.” Rouge chirped with a wink. Knuckles uttered a muffled hmpf, a sharp gaze berating the bat for messing with his little brother. “I’ll see if I can contact the police department from the town. They might know something.” She excused herself, grabbing her phone to make a few calls.

“Right!” Tails exclaimed. “I’ll go prepare the Tornado.”

“How long ‘till we can take off?” Knuckles asked.

“I’ll try to make it quick. Thirty minutes, at most.” Tails calculated. “It’ll be two hours from here to Empire City, and then another nine hours to Silent Hill. I can get there at dusk, at the earliest.”

“Not like we have much of a choice.” Knuckles sighed, grabbing his comm. “They have to get here ASAP so we don’t waste too much time. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

"Roger!" Tails took off, his twin tails whirring with determination as he headed to the hangar.

Rouge's voice drifted from outside, her tone uncharacteristically sharp as she navigated G.U.N.'s bureaucracy. The sound seemed distant, muffled, as if the workshop itself was holding its breath.

Knuckles turned back to the purple Emerald. Its glow had softened, an eerie light dancing across the scattered papers and broken glass. A chill spread through his quills, and for a moment, he could have sworn he felt something—an echo of that morning's disturbance, but twisted, wrong somehow. The gem pulsed with an inner light that reminded him less of Chaos Energy and more of...

He shook his head, pushing away the thought. His fingers found the comm unit, already tuning to the Chaotix channel. But before he could speak, his eyes drifted one last time to the Emerald's gleam, and a prayer escaped his lips, barely a whisper.

"You better be safe, Sonic…"

Chapter Text

The stone facade of the church loomed above the quiet road. The tall spire, barely visible in the fog, towered over the small establishments of the main street, passing judgment on business and customers alike. Patchworks of stained glass graced the windows with simple, but striking designs—ones that seemed to faintly glow despite the deep fog.

Sonic climbed the steps and paused before the heavy wooden doors. The bell chimes had stopped not long ago, and a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Whoever had been ringing them—were they still inside? Were they even alive? He pressed one ear against the wood, straining to catch any sign of movement.

Nothing.

Swallowing his unease, he pushed the door open. It was heavier than expected, the effort taking more out of him than it should have.

Chaos, I feel weak.

He hadn’t eaten since the early morning, when he and Shadow had stopped at a gas station for breakfast. The trials of the day—running, searching, fighting through the unknown—were finally catching up to him, tearing him down like old fabric. His stomach protested softly, although Sonic didn’t know how he could feel hungry in a place like this.

Find Shadow . A list formed in his thoughts. Get out of this place. Get some chili dogs .

The interior held a solemn grandiosity in its simplicity. White plaster walls extended above him, adorned with portraits of solemn figures with dignified gazes, golden halos exalting their holiness. A wooden ceiling was supported by round, ornate pillars of varnished cedar, colorful refractions from the stained glass dazzling around the aged columns. Two rows of benches stretched from each side of him, all of them empty, pristine. 

At the front, the altar was a simple granite slab, holding an open book in a modest stand. A green cloth with golden embroidery draped elegantly over it, while a priest’s pulpit stood to one side, partially concealed by another swath of emerald fabric.

But Sonic’s gaze lingered on the most imposing piece of all—a full-size wooden crucifix hanging behind and above the altar, bearing a crucified man in some material he did not recognize. The hands and feet were nailed to the cross, dark stains representing that spoke of brutal sacrifice. Another wound was painted on the side of the torso, one that only seemed to add insult to injury.

The figure’s head limped forward and to the side, a face carved in great detail beneath a crown of thorns, streams of red framing an anguished face. His eyes were closed, bathed in soft light, and Sonic could imagine the pain and anguish hidden behind them. The carved expression spoke of willing sacrifice, of suffering embraced for the sake of others.

The hedgehog recalled that nightmare—when he encountered the mock-crucifixion before being attacked. But instead of horror and disgust, this sight made his heart twist in grief and compassion for the suffering figure. He had encountered similar images in his travels, mostly in Spagonia, Apotos and nearby territories, but he never paid attention to them until this moment.

The silence was deafening, yet something else lurked beneath it. A whisper of fabric shifting. The faintest inhale, like someone savoring a secret. The air felt thick—warm, despite the stone walls—and the sharp scent of old incense curled around Sonic’s nose.

Then, he saw her.

A woman stood before the pulpit, elderly and austere in her stillness. A white veil of thin lace settled over her head like winter frost, barely concealing the ashen hair beneath. She wore a simple brown garment, a shawl draped over her shoulders with elaborate trim that somehow reminded him of ceremonial robes. A red and black striped tie adorned her neck, a “fashion” statement that could make Amy cry. Her bare feet pressed against the cold stone floor, as if she drew power from the very ground beneath them.

A deep shadow was cast over sullen blue eyes, ones that bore directly into his own green ones with an intensity that made his quills bristle. Her bony face held a faint smile that wasn't quite right—not threatening or mocking enough to justify his instinct to run, not peaceful enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to intrude." He finally found the words to speak, aware of the sacred weight of the space above and around them. "Were you the one ringing the bell? I need help."

"I have been expecting you." Her voice carried an aloof sweetness that seemed to echo strangely in the empty church."It was foretold by gyromancy."

“What are you talking about?” The hedgehog inquired. Was his presence expected? Was it another prophecy?

“I knew you’d come.” The woman continued, her head tilting downwards, gaze still fixed at him.  “You have changed since that day, but so did I.”

A chill ran down Sonic's spine. She was looking at him, yet she saw someone else—was it Shadow? It wasn’t really far-fetched—somehow people still mistook the two after three years (some even asking if they were seeing double if the two hedgehogs were together). But if that was the case, how did she know him? What did she want?

“You want the girl, right?”

“The girl?” Sonic echoed, his voice edged with disbelief. “You’re talking about Maria?”

Her eyes glinted with an otherworldly certainty:

"I see everything." Her eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him. "She’s waiting, dormant, but not gone. Still bound to the fabric of this plane."

Was it true, then? Was Maria really here? This woman knew something, he had to get more information from her.

Desperation edged Sonic’s tone as he stepped closer, hands outstretched, pleading. “You know something! Tell me—where is she? Where is Shadow?”

But before his plea could continue, her expression hardened. She stepped back sharply.

“Stay back!” She commanded, voice cold and snappy like a whip. Sonic’s steps halted instantly, as if the words held a force that rooted his legs in place.  “Nothing is to be gained from floundering about at random. You must follow the path.”

“A path?” Sonic pressed, confusion mingling with his fatigue.

“The path of the hermit, concealed by Flauros.” She said, like it explained anything.

What? Sonic furrowed his brow, a myriad of questions forming in his mind. This is getting weirder by the minute. Follow a path? Concealed by… flowers? That doesn’t make any sense.

Before he could ask any of these questions, the woman pulled a small object from inside her dress—a small four-sided pyramid subdivided in smaller triangles, made with a clouded amber glass framed by a lusterless black metal. A strange power pulsated beneath it as a dull, yellowish light.

“This, the Flauros, is a cage of peace!” She proclaimed, rising up the pyramid like a trophy. “It can break through the walls of darkness and counteract the wrath of the underworld. These will help you fight the demons plaguing this place!”

Sonic stared at the pyramid, its glint oscillating like slow waves. Yet, its presence brought a dark foreboding in his chest, like it was a force not fully understood. The cold air caught in his throat, breathing halting as the words sunk in. Underworld? Demons? He echoed in his thoughts. This woman has lost it. Completely lost it .

The pyramid’s light oscillated slowly, its glow both mesmerizing and ominous. The woman placed it on the front altar beside a small key. “Make haste to the hospital, before it’s too late!”

And, as the cryptic words barely finished their echoes in the empty church, the woman turned away, walking at a brisk pace to a side door.

“Wait! Where are you—” Sonic shouted, but before he could go after the woman, the door slammed shut behind her. “...going.” He tried fumbling with the doorknob. “Damn it. Locked.”

He turned back to the altar, looking at the objects left at it. The key was the simplest one to understand—” Bridge Ctrl. Room ”, read the tag. His map confirmed he’d need to cross the drawbridge to reach the hospital. Yet, why did that lady have it in the first place?

Then, the… flowers? No, Flauros .

It felt… strange in his hand. Not the imminent kind of danger he was accustomed to, the kind that made his muscles coil into action. If anything, the pyramid in his hand felt too serene , the hypnotic pulse of soft light holding him in a mesmerized, almost trance-like gaze. Yet, the soft bristle of his fur, a subtle shiver that ran down his spine warned him of something else beneath the surface.

Still, whether or not the woman’s words could be trusted, this was his only clue to what was happening in town.

The backside of the altar was an open cabinet, holding a few items used in ceremonies—candles, towels, a few metal cups. He picked up a small, thin white cloth and wrapped the Flauros, dropping it in a separate pocket in the jacket ( How many pockets does this thing have, anyway? ). He didn’t want direct contact with it.

One last thing drew his attention—the open book on top of the altar. A thick, heavy tome despite the thin, flimsy pages, bearing sacred knowledge he never fully understood. 

"But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed."

A weathered piece of paper protruded from between the pages, its edges darkened with age. The handwriting was rushed, almost desperate, as if carved into the paper rather than written:

"For it is written, 'Man is not to live on bread only. Man is to live by every word that God speaks'. In the days of desolation, the bridge unto hell shall be lowered, and the forsaken shall rise from the depths. Hear brethren, as only thy faith will be thy guide, as those, and only those who embrace the ultimate sacrifice and walk by the light of the Herald shall be saved."

The words seemed to burn into his mind, each phrase carrying a weight that pressed against his chest like a physical force. His breathing grew heavy, as if the air itself had turned liquid. The words mingled with painful memories—a litany of victories and losses that blurred together until he wasn't sure which should be celebrated and which should be mourned. His heart ached as he recalled the countless nights of restless anguish, each echo of loss carving deeper into his soul.

Sonic found himself drawn back to the crucifix, its presence commanding attention even in the emptiness of the church. The carved figure's expression of willing sacrifice stirred something in him—not religious reverence exactly, but a deep recognition that resonated in his bones.

His gaze traced the figure's wounds, the crown of thorns, the nails driven through flesh. He thought of Shadow's words earlier: "Always being the 'knight in shining armor.'" The accusation had stung, but standing here now, Sonic understood something deeper about sacrifice. It wasn't about glory or playing hero. Sometimes it was about enduring pain so others wouldn't have to.

Find Shadow. Get out of this place. Get some chili dogs.

It sounded so simple. But standing beneath that figure—watching him suffer in silence—Sonic wondered if he had ever been free at all.

He was familiar with some of the human traditions and beliefs, and this particular one, despite the many interpretations and changes from one culture to another, even one town to another, the main message remained—the son of God (or was it God himself? He never figured it out) sacrificing himself for the sins of humanity in possibly the most cruel way imaginable.

Not in battle, not in glory, but as a result of overzealous devotees, whose unworthy prestige was threatened by someone who saw through their hypocrisy; a rigged trial leading to the death of someone, divine or not, who came to truly spread the message always meant for the people.

The unease twisted inside him like a knife to the gut. The carved figure was nailed down, arms outstretched, forever bound to his fate. How many times will his words be ignored, leading to senseless destruction? How many battles would he have to fight for others who can’t fight for themselves? How many times will he have to suffer in silence, pretending he isn’t tired, that he doesn’t care?

Sonic was no stranger to death in his line of duty; try as he might, he would never be able to save everyone. He spent many nights awake after the Chaos Incident, remembering, grieving—the water bursting out of the buildings, screams of the innocent civilians being dragged by the unrelenting current, gaping maws of the monster threatening to consume the world in an apocalyptic flood.

Everyone he knew and met during that journey—himself, Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and even Big and Froggy—participated in the reconstruction of the city, distributing supplies and medicine in shelters and aiding in the search and rescue efforts. In the many doctors, nurses, firemen and volunteers that helped through the turmoil, he understood the real meaning of being a hero. Yet, despite the workforce behind the massive operation, many citizens remained missing to this day.

A massive ceremony was held a few weeks after, in Central City, to honor the victims of the disaster, but Sonic couldn’t bring himself to attend it, despite all of his friends almost begging him to. He just couldn’t bear to see the resentful gazes from the families and loved ones weeping, crying, begging for answers. Why couldn’t their parents, children, friends, lovers be saved? Were they not good enough? Or was Sonic not fast enough?

Standing beneath the crucifix now, those memories felt closer than ever. The figure above him knew something about bearing the weight of others' pain, about the cost of standing between darkness and light, and the courage to withstand the consequences of said sacrifice. Maybe that's what Shadow was trying to tell him, in his own way—that sometimes the real sacrifice isn't in the running toward danger, but in facing what gets left behind.

Which led to the final question—was Sonic ready to face whatever this town was asking of him?

Find Shadow. Get out of this place. Get some chili dogs.

The list hadn't changed, but somehow its weight had. Sonic turned away from the altar, adjusted Shadow's jacket, and headed for the door. Whatever this town had in store for him, he'd face it the only way he knew how—head on, full speed ahead.

The road to Central Silent Hill stretched before him, miraculously intact through the fog. Sonic took a step forward, then froze—his ears twitching at a sound that didn't belong in this dead city.

Footsteps .

The noise was subtle—a faint sound of grass cracking under shoes, one that he wouldn’t pick up if not for the absolute silence in the streets.  His gaze followed it toward its source—a graveyard adjacent to the church, hemmed in by tall iron fencing, its spear-topped posts pointed menacingly as if guarding a castle.

Sonic squinted, trying to make something out of the thick fog, but could only see a faint, almost invisible silhouette blending with the haze. It wasn’t wandering aimlessly, like the jerky movements and wobbling march like the dolls. The figure stood upright, controlled; its steps were detached, slow, but steady. 

Another human . Sonic recognized, but the relief brought by recognition was soon replaced by concern.

Were they okay? Did they need help? They didn’t seem injured, but even an ordinary sighting could have deeper ramifications in this twisted reality. Yet, it wasn’t like him to leave someone to fend for themselves in a place like this—especially after the cryptic warning he heard just before.

He hesitantly pushed through the entrance gate, a shrill creaking from the rusty hinges making his whole body bristle like static electricity. The graveyard beckoned, each tombstone a silent witness to whatever scene was about to unfold. Sonic's muscles tensed, ready for either rescue or confrontation. In Silent Hill, he was learning, those two possibilities were often one and the same.

The hedgehog stepped closer to the figure, and he wasn’t sure his caution was for his sake or theirs.

The silhouette—a young woman—stumbled aimlessly along the graves, arms wrapped tightly around a loose beige sweater. Her brown, shoulder-length hair obscured most of her face, her pursed frown the only identifiable feature from Sonic’s position. The worn dark-ochre jeans wrinkled further as she crouched in front of a tombstone.

She seemed harmless. Maybe another soul dragged into this hell of a town.

Sonic approached tentatively, approaching her from behind. He tried to get her attention with a light tap on the shoulder. “Hey, excuse m—”

“ GASP ”

The girl scrambled to her feet violently, reacting to the gentle touch like one would react to a burn. "I'm sorry! I-I'm..." Her words tumbled out in panicked blurts, eyes darting between the grave and Sonic like a cornered animal. "I was just looking! I didn't— I'm not—" Tears welled up, but there was something else in them—a deeper fear, an older pain.

"It's okay! It's okay." Sonic held up his hands, keeping his distance now. Every instinct told him to step forward, to help, but something in her posture warned against it. "This one's on me, I didn't mean to startle you."

Under the light diffused by the fog, he could finally see her face clearly. Her youthful features clashed jarringly with brown eyes that carried a haunted distance—the kind that followed battle-hardened soldiers and scarred victims. The hedgehog's heart twinged in anguish at seeing such deep-seated pain in someone so young.

"Are you from this town? I am kind of lost." Sonic asked.

The girl cocked her head, her face scrunching up in confusion that bordered on disbelief. "Lost?" The word seemed to catch in her throat, as if the very concept was absurd.

“Yeah… I need to go to the hospital” Sonic rubbed the back of his head. “I’d try and ask someone for directions, but you’re, like, the third person I’ve found ‘till now.” He started tapping his foot. “The city is totally empty. Have you seen anyone else?”

“No… I’m sorry.” The woman averted her gaze. “I’m not from here either.”

“It was worth a shot.” Sonic shrugged. “I wonder how I’ll get to that hospital.” He mumbled to himself.

“O-oh—!” she perked up, eyes darting to the horizon as if recognizing something in the distance. “It’s hard to see with this fog, but there’s only the one road. It should be across the bridge…” She trailed off.

“Seems easy enough.”

The woman crossed her arms again, rubbing them nervously. The graveyard stretched before them, withered tombstones and wilted flowers silently watching them. 

“I think you should stay away.” The girl warned, voice meek. “This town… there’s something wrong with it. It’s hard to explain, but…”

Sonic couldn’t help himself from giggling. Oh, the irony , he thought, I should be the one warning you against it.

“I’m not lying!” She cried agitatedly, fists clenching besides her trembling body. . “Why do people always think I’m making stuff up?!”

Sonic was taken aback by the sudden outburst, his amusement evaporating like mist. There was raw pain in her voice, something that went deeper than this moment, deeper than this town. It reminded him of Shadow somehow—that same edge of desperate truth, of needing to be believed.

“I didn’t mean like that! ” He retorted, trying to not rile her up more. “I know what you mean, I’ve seen it.” Her gaze remained fixed, examining, but her posture relaxed “I just could have used the warning about an hour ago.” That seemed to appease her.

“I’m sorry…” Her features took a dejected turn, replacing the burst of sudden anger. Sonic didn’t know which looked more jarring.

“It’s okay.” He reassured. Another question formed in his mind. “Have you seen another hedgehog? About my height, black fur, red stripes…”

“No, sorry.” She apologizes a lot , Sonic thought in amusement. "You're looking for someone too?" Her voice carried the weight of old grief.

Sonic nodded, conscious of Shadow's jacket heavy on his shoulders. "Yeah, he’s my friend. We got separated after arriving in town.” He didn’t feel like telling the full story. “Who are you looking for?”

"My mama—I mean, my mother." The girl corrected herself, eyes shifting between the graves. "It's been so long since I've seen her. I thought my father and brother were here too…" Her eyes darted, never quite settling anywhere. "I’m sorry. It’s not your problem."

The words stirred something in Sonic's chest—an echo of his earlier reflections beneath the crucifix. Another soul carrying their own cross, their own private suffering.

"You could come with me," he offered, extending a hand. "We can look for them together. It's better than going alone."

The extended hand hung between them like a question mark. The woman stared at it, her body language shifting subtly—shoulders hunching, arms wrapping tighter around herself. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant sound of wind through dead leaves.

"No, I... I can't." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I need to do this alone." The words carried a finality that brooked no argument, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“But, you said it yourself!” The hedgehog argued. “The city is dangerous, and sticking together—”

“I’ll be fine.” She sighed, cutting him off. “Besides, I’d just slow you down.” She turned away, staring back at the grave she was examining earlier. “Sometimes it’s the best you can do, run so fast so nothing bogs you down.”

Sonic knew her words were not meant for him, but they cut deep all the same. How many times had he himself run ahead, leaving his companions behind in his wake? The thought sat uncomfortably in his chest, heavy as the leather jacket on his shoulders.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be in town for a while.” Sonic made his final offer, heading to the old gate and out of the cemetery. But, before finally leaving, he gave one last goodbye. “I hope you find your family.” 

“You too.” She replied, not turning her head.

The gate's hinges protested his exit with a mournful shriek, the sound hanging in the dead air. Sonic looked back one last time at the threshold between cemetery and street, looking at the scene like etched in stone—a lonely figure before a weathered tombstone, mournful and longing. He couldn't shake the feeling he would see the woman again, be by their own volition or not.

But the road ahead beckoned, and Shadow's trail grew colder with each passing moment.

“ A-argh! ”

Sonic groaned as he slumped over a gas pump, stumbling as a bout of dizziness made his head swim. “Move, dammit.”

The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding together like wet paint. His hand clutched the rusted metal of the pump, the cold surface anchoring him to reality as waves of exhaustion crashed over him. Each breath felt like inhaling smoke, burning down his throat and settling heavy in his chest.

When was the last time I felt this weak?

The gas station stretched around him in a tableau of abandonment—fuel prices frozen in time on a weathered sign, empty windows staring like hollow eyes, debris scattered across cracked concrete. The fog had followed him here, wrapping around the edges of his vision like a funeral shroud.

His free hand found Shadow's jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the wrapped Flauros. Even through the cloth, its presence sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. The pyramid's soft pulse seemed to mock his weakness, a steady rhythm that contrasted sharply with his own ragged breathing.

"Just... need a minute." He muttered to no one, sliding down to sit against the pump. His stomach twisted with hunger, reminding him of simpler needs—of gas station breakfasts and shared moments that felt like they belonged to another lifetime. The memory of Shadow's annoyed expression as he'd insisted on buying those extra chili dogs seemed painfully distant now.

The drawbridge was a few meters ahead, but it felt like his body refused to move. His gut protests with another growl, longer, deeper. He could stop here to grab a bite to eat. Besides, he wouldn’t make it far without something on his stomach.

He wasn’t sure when or how he got inside the convenience store—only when his left side crashed against the cold tile, and his vision struggled to make anything out in the darkness, that he knew he made it inside.

A handful of rings clattered against the dusty counter—none of the prices were in Mobian currency, neither was he in the mood for math. Sonic ripped open a packet of chips, shoving a handful into his mouth, driven more by desperation rather than appetite.

A rush of clarity struck him halfway through the second bite, the blurred shadows starting to make more sense to his returning vision. By the third, his tongue started tingling from the salt, prompting him to down a nearby can of Chaos Cola (he knew he would be thirstier down the line, but his body really needed the sugar).

He could imagine his friends lecturing him about proper nutrition, how his junk-food filled diet would be his cause of death rather than Eggman. He could see the news—” Beloved hero taken down by greasy tacos .” His crunching slowed down, less frantic, like his chewing reflected his ruminating memories. 

And, for a moment, he let himself just breathe , taking in the hazy lights coming in from half-closed blinds. The world outside felt distant, muted. He wasn’t safe , not really, but he could pretend he was. He could pretend this was just a pit-stop in another adventure. He could pretend his friends were waiting for him outside, talking about everything and nothing at all.

He missed Tails, Knuckles, Amy, Rouge. All of them. He missed home .

He crumpled the empty bag, managing to score a basket on a nearby trash can. “From way downtown, three for Sonic the Hedgehog!” He applauded himself, pointing two finger guns at the bin. Then did the same with the Chaos Cola.

Speaking of guns…

The weight of Cybil’s pistol made itself known in his pocket, like an embarrassing memory flickering back at three a.m. Between it and the Flauros, Sonic wasn’t sure which caused the chill creeping up his back—the frosty metal or the pulsing amber.  

He pulled it out, letting the dim light catch on its surface, the magazine still stuck inside the jacket. How many times had he faced down robots, monsters, ancient gods—all with nothing but his own abilities? His speed had always been enough. But here, in these fog-choked streets where shadows moved with their own terrible purpose, every step felt like running through molasses. Every corner held the promise of something his usual tactics couldn't handle.

"What would you think of me now, buddy?" he whispered, thumb tracing the grip. His little brother, despite the gadgets and tools he loved to make, had always abided by the “non lethal force” rule set by the hero, internalizing it like a mantra. Yet, would that be the case in this town? Or would he need to bend his morals—what made him who he was—in order to make it out?

The thought sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. How many times had he lectured others about finding "another way"? About being better than their enemies? The weight of the gun seemed to mock those memories now, each one feeling more distant and dreamlike than the last, like photographs slowly fading in the sun.

The empty pistol went back in his pocket, a compromise he wasn't ready to fully accept. Maybe he wouldn't need it. Maybe, even without his speed, it would still be enough. But the fog pressing against the windows seemed to whisper otherwise, carrying echoes of screams he wasn't sure he heard.

CLANG

CRASH.

Okay… That one he actually heard.

His head snapped in the direction of the noise. An entire aisle was knocked over, packets of snacks burst open and scattered around on the floor. Sonic clutched his legs close to his chest, his quills raising up almost instantly, as his eyes caught sight of the humanoid silhouette inside the store.

A figure stumbled over the tumbled shelves, the black hooded cloak that covered the rickety figure draping like an inky darkness over the metal. The dark form lifted itself with unsteady arms, so thin they shouldn’t be able to support the weight. An endless stream of teardrops flowed incessantly from the hood as the hunched figure trembled and huffed with muffled sobs.

It finally lifted itself from the ground, crooked legs struggling to keep the torso straight. The hands covered the hood opening, clutching the face as the sobbing escalated. The long, jagged nails sent a shiver down Sonic’s back, a whimper escaping his throat. That’s when the creature’s hands lowered themselves, and he finally saw the eyes

Oh, the eyes .

The head of the creature could only be described as a grotesque cluster of eyeballs, an assembly of different sizes, colors, and shapes, all moving with an unsettling independence. Some were bloodshot and wide with terror, others narrowed in accusation. A few—the ones that made Sonic's stomach turn—were clouded and lifeless.

The eyes shifted and writhed against each other in impossible ways, creating a horrific kaleidoscope of grief and judgment. Each one seemed to hold a different story, a different tragedy. Here, the fierce determination of a mother who never made it back to her child. There, the mourning stare of someone trying to find the one responsible for their lover’s death. A kaleidoscope of grief, vengeance and loss.

Then, they all turned to him, the pupils widening in a haunting recognition, a predator that found its prey. Sonic could feel the blood solidifying in his veins, his whole body freezing in the small hope that, if he didn’t move, it wouldn’t see him.

But the eyes knew. They had always known. They had watched him run—not toward danger this time, but away from their grief, their accusations, their need for answers he couldn't give. 

Then, with no mouth, the creature screamed.

“ COWARD! ”

The shriek rippled through the store like a screeching microphone, drilling through Sonic’s skull with resounding static. The air turned cold, humid, suffocating . The weight of the word threatened to crush him like concrete collapsing onto his chest. The shadows at the corners of his eyes began to writhe and twist, as the towering monster became the sole focus of his tunnelling vision.

A rush of adrenaline coursing through the back of his neck snapped him out of the stupor. His body coiled tight, muscle memory taking over as he channeled the raw energy of fear into something familiar—something useful . The spin dash charged with a high-pitched shrill, his world becoming a blur of motion and desperation.

The door stood before him like a membrane between nightmares and salvation. He launched himself forward, quills cutting through the thick air—

SLAM!

The impact rattled through every bone in his body. Instead of breaking through, the door rejected him, sending him careening backward like a rubber ball. He hit the ground hard, momentum carrying him into a tumbling roll before he finally stopped at the opposite wall, ears ringing with the thunderous aftermath of failure.

Sonic stood up, supporting himself on a nearby shelf so as not to fall again. His head reeled, the shapes inside the store jumbled together like jigsaw pieces. He looked up, breathing heavily from the sudden collision, before another wail made his vision snap back at the monster.

"Shit!" Sonic gasped, slamming himself against the wall as the creature's form stretched impossibly tall, its cloak rippling like liquid shadow. The eyes—those horrible, accusing eyes—multiplied across its surface, each one reflecting a different shade of his failure.

The gun found itself in his hand before he could process it, a soft click from the magazine warning he actually loaded it.

"Y-yeah!" His voice cracked as he raised the weapon, eyes darting between the figure and the finger pressing onto the trigger. "I have a gun! I'm not afraid to use it!" The words tasted like ash in his mouth, each syllable a betrayal of everything he stood for. "Stay back!"

The creature's arm extended, bones cracking as it reached for him with those razor-sharp fingers. Sonic rolled to the side, feeling the air displacement where those claws had just been. His back hit the store counter, bottles shattering around him in a rain of glass and sticky liquid.

"P-please!" The plea escaped him, desperate and raw. His hands shook around the pistol's grip, a lifetime of solving problems without weapons fighting against survival instinct. "I don't wanna hurt you!"

“COWARD” , it shrieked again, the sound distorting reality around them. “ MURDERER-TO-BE” .

In that moment, as if the world froze itself in amber, Sonic saw himself reflected in every eye—not the hero who saved the world, but the frightened soul who couldn't save everyone. Someone who had to choose whose life was more important.

"Tails, I'm so sorry." The words came out as a broken whisper, a final admission of defeat to everything he'd taught his little brother about being better than their enemies.

The creature finally pounced with a shriek, sharp nails reaching for his eyes. Sonic's whole body locked up, the reflex causing the fingers holding the gun to curl.

BANG!

" WAAAAARGH! " The wail that followed was primal, screechy. Sonic's back crashed against a wall as he was thrown off-balance by the recoil. His shoulder was jerked back, and he feared it popped out of place. The sound echoed through the store like thunder, leaving behind a silence more terrifying than any scream.

The few eyes pierced by the bullet burst like ink sacs, a mixture of blood and vitreous liquid oozing down the head. The figure fell to its knees, large hands flying up to cover the wound—but the other eyes, the ones still intact, they all turned to him. Each pupil dilated with a fury that made his blood run cold.

That wasn't pain in its posture anymore. It was rage.

Sonic scrambled backward, his injured shoulder screaming in protest. The gun nearly slipped from his trembling fingers as he ran to the window beside the door. The creature's sobs transformed into a wet, gurgling growl that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

He ripped off the blinds, fingers clumsy with panic. Holding the gun by its barrel, he slammed the rear end against the laminated glass. A small crack spread outward—too small, too slow. Behind him, the sound of bones cracking and reforming urged him to hit harder, faster.

Time was running out.

The next hit split the glass further, fissures forming a spider web all over the pane. Yet, the shards refused to fall, each swing of the pistol knocked off a handful of pieces, at best. The glass crumbled in slow, agonizing increments. His arms burned with effort, but the creature's guttural growls left no room for hesitation.

Sonic whirled around, coming face-to-faces with the creature. The intact eyes had multiplied, spreading across its form like a disease. Dark liquid still oozed from the ones that had been wounded, yet no pain could be read in its posture—only hunger. Its twisted arms reached for him, claws extended like needles searching for flesh.

The gun was already turning in his grip before he could think. The second shot came easier than the first, muscle memory betraying years of principle. The creature jerked back, fresh eyes rupturing in sprays of dark fluid. Another shriek echoed inside the store.

But it didn't fall.

It lurched forward again, forcing Sonic against the fractured glass. His thumb found the hammer, pulling it back with mechanical precision he didn't know he possessed. The third shot punched through what might have been a throat. The fourth caught something vital, making the monster stumble.

“ MURDERER!”

The fifth shot was pure panic, his finger squeezing the trigger as those razor claws brushed his chest. The sixth—the last—was a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever god watched over heroes who had fallen so far from grace.

The creature finally fell, the myriad of eyes closing as the life was drained from them. The left arms fell outstretched toward him, twitching weakly before finally dying.

He heard a snap behind him, a crackle of the glass threatening to give out. As he turned around, like it was waiting for the hedgehog to notice, the window finally crumbled.

If he only waited a few more seconds .

He could excuse one shot. It was only one shot! An accident, really! A knee-jerk reaction. He wasn’t like that, he shouldn’t be like that . 

But the empty gun in his hand told another story. Six bullets, Shadow said. He spent six bullets on one creature. A living being, one consumed by sorrow and pain. 

The silence rang louder than the gunshots, broken only by his ragged breathing and the soft plink of shell casings settling on the floor. Each one sang a quiet accusation as it rolled. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. A musical count of his descent.

Something clicked behind him.

The door—the same door that blocked his spin dash, that had trapped him in this nightmare—swung open with an almost apologetic creak. The fog beyond seemed to part slightly, as if offering an escape route now that he'd paid its bloody toll.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, hollow and borderline hysterical. "Is that what you wanted?" His voice cracked as he addressed the empty store, the dead creature, the mocking door, everything and nothing at once. " That's ” he pointed to the lifeless body on the floor, “ what it took?"

The gun slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering against the tile. Dark liquid—blood, he realized with a wave of nausea—had splattered across his gloves. “I didn’t— Chaos, I didn’t mean to—” his voice broke, tears falling from the corner of his eyes.

He looked at the dejected pistol on the floor. The metal caught what little light filtered through the fog, glinting like an accusation. Like an invitation. His fingers twitched, remembering the weight, the horrible simplicity of pulling the trigger.

"Just leave it," he muttered to himself, but his eyes remained fixed on the weapon. The fog beyond the door seemed to thicken, writhing with shapes he couldn't quite make out. Shadows that moved wrong. Silhouettes that shouldn't exist.

And his speed—his one reliable defense—felt like it was moving through molasses in this town.

His hand moved before his mind could protest, snatching up the pistol. A shaky breath shook his core. The metal was still warm, almost alive against his palm. This time, he told himself, it would just be insurance. A last resort. He wouldn't—couldn't—use it again unless...

Unless what? The thought caught in his throat like a barb. Where exactly was that line now? Five minutes ago, he would have sworn he'd never fire a gun at all, and now six empty casings littered the floor behind him.

The weight of the Flauros pulsed in his pocket. Two tools now, one a compromise of everything he stood for, the other a haunting reminder he had to press on. But the eyes of that creature—all that pain, all that accusation—they hadn't been the first he'd seen in this town. And something told him they wouldn't be the last.

"I'm sorry, Tails," he whispered, sliding the pistol into his jacket. "I had no choice," he whispered, but the words rang false even to his own ears. There was always a choice. That's what he'd always taught others. That's what he'd believed, right up until the moment that creature's claws had reached for him.

The fog swallowed him as he stepped outside, its cold embrace almost welcome compared to the suffocating guilt he'd left behind. But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his core, that this was only the beginning. The gun pressed against his side like a secret, a reminder that Silent Hill had shown him what he was capable of—what he could become when pushed far enough.

The question was: how much further would he have to go?

The fog clung to Sonic’s quills like a second skin as he staggered toward the drawbridge. The Flauros pulsed in his pocket, its rhythm syncing with his heartbeat—a steady, ominous reminder of the task ahead. Shadow’s jacket hung heavier now, the leather stiff with dried blood and guilt.

The raised drawbridge loomed above the road like a castle wall, the mist obscuring it like vines over stone bricks. The murky water below gurgled and swooshed as leaves and branches were carried by the slow stream.

He decided to ignore the faces swirling in the current, blurred features and sharp eyes scrutinizing his soul.

The Bridge Control was a small, two-story building on the side of the road, a simple metal staircase leading to the control room at the top floor. 

The key the woman gave him burned in his palm. He tried inserting it on the lock, yet the key didn’t seem to fit. He tried turning it around, didn’t fit either.

“Come on, not this again.” Sonic groaned.

He fumbled with the doorknob, twisting it down with much more force than necessary, the cold metal slipping from his finger. The door opened with a heavy creak.

“Heh-heh. Oops.” Sonic chuckled despite himself, the air entering a bit easier in his lungs. “Not the key to the door, then.”

The room was small, a desk to the side with a computer and many stray papers littering the little available space. Another map was folded over a chair’s leather seat, this one laying out the shopping district of the town. Sonic stashed it in his quills, leaving the old one in its place.

The main control panel dominated the center, a sprawling array of switches and gauges beneath a wide observation window. He inserted the key on a thin slot to the side, the panel lighting up when he turned it.

The machinery came to life, a low whirring making the metal rumble beneath him. His hands hovered over the controls, hesitating. He looked out the window, snowflakes gracefully stopping at the glass, melting and disappearing like they never were.

“…aaARD.”

A sound caught his attention—distant wails growing clearer as the seconds passed. Sobbing. The same haunting cries from the convenience store, carried on the wind like a warning. His quills bristled as he peered through the observation window, scanning the streets below.

One silhouette peered through the fog, the unmistakable writhing mass of eyes turning and twisting in all directions, looking for him. Another figure emerged. Then a third. They wandered the street below with terrifying purpose, bony legs carrying the shivering bodies, calling with hoarse voices.

“ Murderer… ”

"No time for second thoughts," Sonic muttered, yanking the main lever down. The mechanism groaned to life, old gears grinding like arthritic joints beneath the road. The sections began to move, agonizingly slow, a warning bell ringing loudly, attracting the creature’s attention to him.

Clang clang

The sobbing grew louder. The hedgehog realized with a sinking dread time was running out, the creatures already climbing up the stairs.

Sonic's gaze darted between the slowly descending bridge and the door. The gun pressed against his side like a hot coal, but his hand refused to reach for it. Not again. There had to be another way.

The observation window offered a perfect view of his failure—the bridge sections inching together with maddening slowness, the fog rolling between them like smoke from a funeral pyre. Below, more figures emerged from the mist, their cloaked forms converging on the building's base. Each step they took felt deliberate, purposeful, as if they had all the time in the world to make him face their judgment.

A loud bang rattled the door in its frame. The metal bulged inward, the large dent almost ripping the door apart. Another hit and the hinges would give.

Sonic backed away, eyes scanning the room for options. The desk was too flimsy to make a barricade. The windows didn’t open, neither would he be able to break them. His gaze landed on a maintenance hatch in the ceiling—an access point to the roof.

The bridge was halfway down when the door finally burst open. Three creatures crowded the threshold, their mass of eyes fixing on him with horrible recognition. Tears streamed down their hoods, but there was no sadness in their posture now—only fury, vengeance.

" MURDERER! " The cry came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, the word distorting as more creatures crowded the doorframe. Their thin arms reached for him, claws extended like needles searching for flesh.

"I'm sorry," Sonic whispered, though whether to them or himself, he wasn't sure. "I really am."

He lunged for the hatch as claws raked through the air where he'd been standing. The metal cover gave way under his shoulder, cold air rushing in as he pulled himself onto the roof. Below, the creatures' wails rose into a chorus of accusation:

"FAILURE!"

 "COWARD!" 

" FACE US! "

The words cut deeper than their claws ever could, but he forced himself to focus on the bridge. The sections were almost connected, the gap narrow enough now that he might—

A hand burst through the hatch, fingernails like needles reaching for his leg. Sonic didn't think—he moved. He broke into a sprint and jumped from the tower, away from the reaching claws, from everything they represented. For a moment, he was suspended between past and future, between who he was and who Silent Hill was forcing him to become.

He landed in a roll as the bridge locked into place, a jolt being sent through his tired muscles as the cold asphalt broke his fall. His shoulder complained with a dull throb, but he forced himself up, forced himself to run. Behind him, the creatures' shrieks faded into the fog, but their accusations lingered in his mind like poison.

His mantra formed in his mind again, a desperate attempt to muffle the bitter words in his head.

Find Shadow. Get out of this place. Get some chili dogs .

"I'm coming, Shadow," Sonic whispered, though whether it was a promise or a prayer, he wasn't sure anymore. "Just... hold on."

The fog swallowed him whole as he crossed the threshold into Central Silent Hill, leaving behind the last traces of the hero he used to be. Whatever waited ahead, whatever this town had in store for him, one thing was certain—he wouldn't be the same when he emerged.

If he emerged at all.

Chapter Text

Shadow gazed at the grey landscape with horror, the cold rain seeping into his fur as he was paralyzed by his stupor. His chest tightened, as the small, simple school was transformed into this grotesque parody of itself, a jarring mess of metal, dead foliage and alien organisms.

A lump formed in his throat, hand ready at the holstered gun, vision fluttering in and out of focus as his thoughts raced. A thunder echoed, lightning cutting the sky like a jagged spear. Shadow winced despite himself. He took a slow step forward, then another, as a mark on the floor caught his eye.

“I don’t remember this being here before.”

A large symbol was drawn in the middle of the courtyard, the same design etched on the shoulders of Valtiel, a soft glow emanating from it. It wasn’t painted; rather, it seemed to be carved into the earth itself, dark red markings searing the pale pavement like bleeding veins.

The strange symbols were much more visible in the ground than they were in the entity’s skin, although their meaning was still lost on Shadow. Geometrical markings filled the inside of the triangle. Strange markings were also imprinted between the two circles—words, maybe, but not in an alphabet the hedgehog knew. He grabbed the pen, drawing them on the map.

“Μετάτρον - Ἄγγελος τῆς Παρουσίας - ὁ Οὐράνιος Γραφέας ”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed as he studied the strange inscription. The carved lines pulsed with a faint scarlet luminescence—the same sickly hue that streaked across the sky. Yet unlike the repulsive Black Arms tendrils that infested the courtyard, this symbol radiated a different energy. Almost... protective.

Yet… was it really? After all, this wasn’t the first place he’d seen it, and Valtiel was the furthest thing from a protective figure. Was this feeling grounded in logic? Or was he latching on to the first recognizable thing in this mad place?

Shadow circled the symbol cautiously, crimson eyes never leaving its pulsing contours. Each step closer sent a wave of warmth through his body, as if it resonated with the energy from the sigil. The stench of decay and alien matter that permeated the rest of the courtyard dissipated here, replaced by an almost electric clarity that reminded him of the air after a lightning strike.

“What are you?” The words escaped Shadow as barely more than breath, immediately devoured by the oppressive atmosphere.

He knelt at the edge, his hand hesitantly trailing its border.

A memory surfaced—not his own.

A dark place. Humid. Lit candles.

A fire. Heat. Smoke.

It burned his lungs. Caustic. Suffocating.

A child’s voice. Not his own.

“ Mommy! It hurts! ”

Fear .

The image dissolved as quickly as it had formed, leaving Shadow with the unsettling certainty that whoever created this seal was in terrible pain.

His body jolted, almost throwing itself away from the mark like it struck him. His heart suddenly raced, slamming against his chest so hard he feared it would tear his ribcage and flee. The skin on his arms pricked where he felt the flames licking, a phantom burn spreading like a heatwave.

Gasping, he staggered to his feet, forcing himself to regain composure. The vision clung to his consciousness like smoke to fabric—impossible to shake. His glance darted between the seal and the school building, weighing his options with what little rationality remained.

Shadow clenched his fists, inhibitor rings gleaming dully in the unnatural light. Whatever memories this place had forced upon him, whatever suffering had created that seal—none of it changed his purpose.

“Maria,” he whispered, her name a talisman against the horror. The distant echo of her voice pulled at him with more force than any phantom pain.

He turned toward the school entrance, muscles tensing as he assessed the transformed structure. The seal's protection diminished with each step away from it, the corrupted atmosphere pressing against his senses once more.

“I've faced worse,” he muttered, though the tremor in his voice undercut his forced bravado.

The doors, if they could be called that, were a web of pale vines twisting and knotting around each other. As Shadow approached the entrance, the intertwined plants started writhing, a wet slosh sending a shiver down his spine and they allowed passage.

Shadow almost didn’t recognize the halls he’d been in ten minutes earlier, now a mockery of the ARK’s corridors of old. The dusty linoleum and cozy blue walls were replaced by cold metal plates, stained and rusted by blood and time. The ceiling lamps were either blown off or burned out, plunging the interior in a deep, immovable darkness. Thin trails of smoke polluted the stale air, leaving him with an ashy taste in his mouth.

The hedgehog shouldn't have been surprised the front door was now inaccessible, the machinations of this place already grating against his frayed nerves. Half of the lobby’s flooring had simply ceased to exist, revealing an abyss that seemed to stretch to infinity. Shadow had almost plunged into it, his reflexes barely saving him when his phone and only light source had already died inside the clock tower.

He forcefully rubbed his eyes to the point his eyelids stung like a thousand paper cuts, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare he suddenly found himself in. But, no matter how much he tried to break free from this distorted, corrupted reality, he was always greeted by the foul stench of bleach, sulfur and grime.

“This is real,” he muttered, clenching his fists until the fabric of his gloves strained against his knuckles. “Whatever 'real' means in this place.”

The building’s structure had been mostly preserved in its altered state—Shadow being led by the same map to the same doors with the same rooms he’d encountered. Yet, nothing inside those rooms could be remotely linked to the school he became accustomed to, each turn in these twisted halls threw another wrench in his already impaired sense of direction.

Chain-link fences walled off entire corridors, all of his previous paths being denied to him. Doors had their locks broken, stuck in their positions like guarding secrets frozen in time. The few accessible classrooms were turned into a haphazard assortment of furniture, discarded toys and pill bottles scattered on the floor.

Shadow found himself in one of the bathrooms on the first floor, as to quench the protests of his dry throat coated in ash and smoke. None of the faucets worked. Only rust-crusted pipes that groaned and shuddered when he tested the handles, releasing not water but a thick, dark fluid that pooled in the basin like oil.

He raised his head, the dim light from the window barely illuminating enough to see. His reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink fragmented his features into a grotesque mosaic—crimson eyes multiplied across the fractured glass, his own desperation looking back at him tenfold. A nearby noise took him out of his induced delusion—a labored breathing, followed by the unmistakable sound of gagging.

“Blurgh … GAH-Aak . Shit.” The voice came out hoarse from a nearby stall, a large one. The agent identified it as male, someone quite young. Then, the question formed in his mind:

Were they looking for shelter here? Trespassing? Or was it another mirage?

Shadow opened the stall door slowly, his own stomach churning as the person kept purging their insides. As he peeked through the door, he was greeted by a corpulent bear draped over the toilet. The battered blue baseball cap hung precariously on his head. His dirty khaki shorts sagged, exposing the uncomfortable sight of his rear.

“ Ah-hem .” Shadow cleared his throat, averting his eyes. The bear fumbled to the floor next to the toilet, his hat falling to the floor with the sudden movement. The front of his striped shirt was utterly soiled, a mixture of sweat, puke and who knows what else. His grayish eyes stared wide open at the hedgehog’s own, trembling slightly. “Who’s there?”

“I didn't do it!” The young Mobian erupted, voice cracking with hysteria. “It wasn't me!”

“What are you talking about?” Shadow stepped back, crimson eyes narrowing at the sudden outburst.

“I didn't kill him!” The bear raised an arm defensively, his entire body convulsing with fear. “He was... he was already like that when I got here!”

“Calm down, I’m not accusing you of anything.” Shadow's voice came out harder than intended, the already terrified bear shrinking into himself. Recognizing the raw fear in those wide eyes, Shadow forced his expression to soften. “There's only you and me here. What happened?”

The bear’s only response was to raise his hand and point to the stall next to him.

Shadow's crimson eyes narrowed, tracking the trembling finger. The adjacent stall door hung ajar. Something about its stillness felt wrong—calculated, rather than abandoned.

He approached slowly, years of combat training rendering his movements deliberate. The bathroom's oppressive silence amplified each sound—the bear’s ragged breathing, the distant echo of water pipes, the soft scrape of Shadow's boot against the tiled floor.

The stall door yielded with the slightest push, and Shadow felt all the air being forced out of his lungs when his mind failed to comprehend the sight in front of him.

“What the fuck?”

A faceless corpse hung with its arms extended to its sides, the body kept in place by rubbery, rope-like tentacles snaring each limb. The skin was gone, the muscles underneath fraying and tearing like fabric coming undone. But that wasn’t the worst part of all…

Large leeches were attached to the body by three chelicerae-like appendages on their head. Their gelatinous, worm-like bodies pulsed as wet slurps sucked the last remnants of organic matter off the body, little by little. One satisfied creature fell from the corpse's chest, revealing a single eye in the front of the head.

Death Leeches. Shadow recognized. Or an even more disgusting version of them .

He brought down his heavy boots over the bloodsucker’s head, blood and lymph exploding onto the floor like a burst cyst. A pungent smell of pus hit him like a gust, a hand promptly clamping over his mouth to keep the bile from escaping. As if on cue, the bear next door purged again, hopefully into the toilet.

A shotgun lay on the floor next to the body. Double-barreled, sawed-off, a pistol grip in varnished wood in place of a shoulder stock. Not Shadow’s favorite, could load only two bullets at a time, but the increased firepower was surely welcome. The hedgehog picked it up, his gaze transfixed at the feasting larvae, the familiar weight settling comfortably in one hand

He returned to the other stall, his posture controlled but laden with unspoken tension.  “Listen, kid—”

“Name’s Eddie.” The bear interrupted, a challenging glare meeting Shadow’s calculated one. “And I ain’t a kid, bub.”

Shadow shut his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. When he reopened them, his gaze was deliberately measured. “Apologies... Eddie,” he conceded, noting how the acknowledgment seemed to settle the bear. “Do you work here? Do you know what happened?”

“No... I'm not even from this town.” Eddie's voice drifted, unfocused and distant, before suddenly sharpening with paranoia. “Why ya grillin' me for? What are you? A cop?” The accusation hung between them like a shield, protecting against charges no one had made.

“I'm not,” Shadow lied through clenched teeth. “I don't have time for this,” he added under his breath, each syllable weighted with restrained frustration.

Eddie’s head hung low, averting his gaze from Shadow. There was something about him that seemed to resonate with the hedgehog, a distant echo of his own time with amnesia. A lack of direction, of faith, of someone who believed in him.

“Eddie, look.” Shadow's tone shifted, the harshness bleeding away. The change was subtle but enough to capture the bear's attention. “I know you didn't do anything. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on.” Then, in a rare moment of genuine empathy, he asked, “Why did you come here?”

“I… I dunno, they came at me.” The monsters, Shadow guessed.  “I didn’t know what to do so I ran. Figured it might be safe, b-but then I saw…” his breathing became short, “I saw the guy— blergh!”

“Breathe,” Shadow commanded, not unkindly. “Talking will just make it worse.” His gaze swept the rust-stained bathroom. “This place isn't safe. You need to get out.”

“Ayuh, you're right about that,” Eddie agreed, a nervous tic pulling at the corner of his mouth. “It's darker than a pocket in here. Can I come with? Maybe together we can find a way out of this town.”

“I'd rather not,” Shadow replied, weighing his options. “I'll look for a way out myself. You stay here where it's... relatively safer. I'll come back.”

“Ok...” Eddie's voice trailed off, the single word carrying the weight of someone who knew better than to believe in promises made in places like this.

Shadow felt horrible leaving Eddie in such a dark, dingy place, but letting someone with no combat abilities tag along could jeopardize both of them.

“One last thing...” Shadow paused, his silhouette framed against the dim restroom. “If I don't come back within the hour, assume the worst and run for the exit.” He gave the bear one final appraising look before pulling the stall door closed. “Be careful, Eddie.”

“You too,” came the muffled reply, tinged with the resigned fatalism of someone who had already accepted their doom.

Shadow already was in his third lap around the building, the acrid scent of decay fading and sharpening as he threaded through the corridor. The shotgun's weight provided a cold comfort against the mounting dread that seemed to seep from the very walls. The stains seemed to move with every step he took, following him. Watching him.

With his Chaos Energy debilitated, he could only muster a small Chaos Spear in the palm of his hand, emitting barely enough light to know where he was going. His map turned into a mess of notes, arrows, scribbles and sketches—any poster, desk, bullet case or screw out of place written down like they would guide him out of this nightmare.

Yet, it was the noises that were the most overwhelming part of this place. Loud echoes of clanging machinery pierced the still air much like an arrow through cheap armor. A low drone rippled through the metal flooring, pooling at his feet like the dread in his chest. The speakers spurted to life, a familiar message broken almost beyond recognition, but every word remained burned in his mind.

“……olony ARK will impact………seven minutes and fifty-th…. All of……be destroyed…”

Hearing his beloved professor’s voice threatened to break Shadow’s soul in two, the closest thing he had to a father driven mad by the loss of everything he built. The tone was so stricken with unfamiliar pain and grief that it might have been a stranger using Gerald’s mouth to speak.

His memory flickered back to the White Space, the last time he saw his family. How they still loved Shadow despite him not being the same hedgehog they knew, hardened by loss, war and time. How he ran from them as they faded away, a coward’s attempt to hide his tears from the only people who would have accepted them.

A hiss from his quills suddenly drowned all other noises.

Shadow was roaming the second floor of the building, checking once again all the doors and rooms. Each classroom he passed seemed to whisper with the phantom echoes of scientists long gone, their hushed voices rising and falling like a macabre tide.

The radio erupted as he passed the locker room, the heavy wooden door burst open—thrown to the floor and shattered like a cheap paperweight. The sight made Shadow’s bristled quills almost jump out of his scalp, as none of his previous attempts to open said door resulted in anything.

Shadow’s grip on the shotgun tightened as he stepped inside, the Chaos Spear in his other hand flickering harshly before fading completely. He used the now free hand to rummage his spines for the ammunition he collected around the school; an earthy, bitter smell alerting him like charged air before the lightning bolt.

He rounded the large bank of lockers, suddenly reminded of the cat he let out, only to lead it to his sudden death. His whole body primed itself, ready for someone—or some thing —to jump out of a locker at him. His gun pointed at the inky shadows, two shells loaded, two extra held between his teeth.

Nothing. The room was empty .

Yet, the radio wouldn’t stop emitting static, loud and uncomfortable. Shadow looked around the room, searched the corners, and even tried opening a few lockers, big and small, only to find them locked. In a fit of frustration, he pounded his fist against one of the metal doors, turning to leave. But before he could make it to the door…

Rattle. Bang. Rattle rattle.

One of the lockers started banging back.

It was the same locker Shadow found the cat in. Was it another animal? Or something worse?

The hedgehog approached the cubicle slowly, the thrashing inside growing louder and more desperate with every step he took. The door visibly shook, almost tearing off its hinges, as the noise became almost unbearable, each bang making Shadow’s whole body spasm in retaliation.

He undid the latch with the shotgun’s muzzle, and the door opened slowly by itself.

Creeeeeaaak…

T h e   m o n s t e r   l u r k s

Shadow stared at the cryptic warning, blood still glistening wetly against the locker's metal interior. The static from his radio slowly faded to silence, the absence of noise being both a relief and a warning of things to come.

The familiar weight of the shotgun offered little comfort as he pivoted slowly, scanning the shadows that pooled in the corners of the room. A metallic tang permeated the air, overwhelming the school's ambient decay. It reminded Shadow of the ARK's medical bay—clinical and sharp, yet with an undercurrent of organic wrongness that no amount of sterilization could mask.

His ears twitched at a sound so faint it might have been imagination—a soft scrape of fabric against metal from the larger lockers behind him.

And with that, the world exploded into motion.

The locker door exploded with a deafening bang. A mass of flesh and fabric collided with Shadow's body with sickening weight. Limbs tangled with his own, cold fingers brushing against his muzzle as he crashed backward onto the floor.

BANG

The shotgun discharged with a thunderous roar, the shot going wild as Shadow's finger clenched reflexively on the trigger. The flash briefly illuminated a face—once Mobian—suspended inches from his own, eyes milky and mouth frozen in a silent scream.

Pure instinct overrode thought. Shadow threw the foreign weight with all the force he could muster, flinging himself back into a corner. His body contracted, his arms coiling around his knees and wrenching them close to his chest. His hard spines flared out like barbed wire as he curled into himself, the Ultimate Lifeform reduced to a trembling ball of quills and fur.

For several heartbeats, he remained coiled tight, waiting for the attack that never came. Gradually, awareness returned. His chest rumbled with a foreign sound, sharp hisses escaping his throat like a wounded animal. His muzzle was the first part he dared to expose, nose twitching wildly, sniffing the air for danger.

Shadow forced himself to uncurl, wobbly legs approaching the body. It had landed lifelessly by the wall, limbs splayed at impossible angles. In death, a small object was knocked off its rigid fingers—a golden key.

“Library reserve…” he read the tag, his voice weakened and shaky. “More breadcrumbs…”

He gave one last look at the lumped figure on the floor, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Forcing his legs to cooperate, he bolted, hoping it would shake off the image of his mind. Yet, the oily scent of death clung to his fur like bad perfume. You can run, but only so far.

Unlike the warm, almost homely ambience of the main library, the reserve’s frigid air morphed Shadow’s breath into ghostly puffs of white vapor that dissipated against rusted shelves. Books found themselves scattered on the floor like casualties in a literary war, a pristine copy of The Wizard of Oz topping a pile like the righteous victor.

Shadow ran a gloved finger along the edge of an emptied shelf, the dust and rust further staining his dirty gloves. The disarray reminded him, absurdly, of Sonic's chaotic living space—clothes strewn across furniture, dishes balanced in precarious towers, a pile of socks growing larger each time he visited.

Shadow caught himself smiling despite everything. To be honest, he shouldn’t insult the library mess like that.

One book stood open over a large metal table in the middle of the room. A collection of lesser-known fairy tales from across different regions and times, none of which remotely familiar to Shadow himself. The open passage had a particularly short story, so bad it almost veered into cheesy territory. The hedgehog forced himself to read it to the end:

“ The Lizard and the Traveler

[…] Hearing this, the hunter armed with bow and arrow said, ‘I will kill the lizard.’ But upon meeting his opponent, he held back, taunting, ‘Who's afraid of a reptile?’

At this, the furious lizard hissed, ‘I'll swallow you up in a single bite!’ Then the huge creature attacked, jaws opened wide.

This was what the man wanted. Calmly drawing his bow, he shot into the lizard's gaping mouth. Effortlessly, the arrow flew, piercing the defenseless maw, and the lizard fell down dead.”

Nothing was a coincidence in this place. Every room, every open door, every note has led him somewhere deeper into the school, always managing to tie itself to Shadow’s past one way or another. He only needed to know what this particular clue pointed to…

…it’s the Biolizard, isn’t it? Shadow rolled his eyes at the thought, resigned. Of course, it’s that damn thing. Fighting it twice wasn’t enough, of course there’ll be a third one .

He closed the book, throwing it carelessly against one of the piles in the middle of the room. The unstable stack quickly came undone, spraying itself further over the floor. Like it was summoned, another volume fell beside Shadow’s feet. A small golden card stuck out from one of its pages.

“ Chapter 3: ‘Manifestation of Delusions’

...poltergeists are among these. Negative emotions, like fear, worry, or stress manifest into external energy with physical effects. Nightmares have, in some cases, been shown to trigger them. However, such phenomena do not appear to happen to just anyone. Although it's not clear why, adolescents, especially girls, are prone to such occurrences.”

The hedgehog picked the book up, his eyes tracing the passage over and over. The book lay open, its passages on manifestations and poltergeists stirring something deep in Shadow's memory. He traced the edge of the page with a gloved finger, his mind drifting to a half-forgotten moment aboard the ARK.

The small, sterilized room seemed to spin around as Shadow opened his eyes, distant stars dancing beyond the large window like dust in an old attic. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, the noise feeling too loud for comfort.

The loud shriek from his left woke him up in a daze, tracing back to a girl awakened by her own scream, trembling under the light covers. A few of the electrodes were knocked loose with her thrashing. The oxygen mask hung around her neck, likely because it triggered her claustrophobia.

“Maria…?” He called, his vision swiftly returning as he saw his sister’s shaken state. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, staring past him at something only she could see. Her lips trembled, forming half-words that dissolved into shallow breaths. When she finally spoke, her voice emerged fractured, each word a struggle against some invisible weight.

“Sh-shadow... she was... she was here.” Maria's fingers clutched her knees tighter, knuckles whitening. “Fire… s-so much f-fire…” A violent shudder ran through her body. “She was b-begging… for h—… for help…” Her voice cracked, tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“Maria, what’s going on?” Shadow knelt on the bed beside her, a hand placed over her own, rubbing circles at the back. “Don’t cry.” He tried comforting her.

Yet that seemed to undo her completely—her back trembled as loud sobs escaped her throat, the tears quickly soaking her hospital pants.

But, before he could offer any solace for his sister, all the equipment suddenly turned off, plunging the room into an eerie darkness. But before Shadow could properly react to the blackout, a sizzling noise cut the post-nightmare tension.

Fizzzzzz…… POP

Shadow threw himself over Maria as her nightlight blew up, the frosted glass scattering over the metal floor. Tiny crystalline shards glinted like fallen stars across the sterile surface, the sudden darkness broken by the machinery coming to life again.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was steady, masking the sudden spike of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Maria's breathing came in shallow, irregular bursts. Her fingers clutched at his fur with unexpected strength, her skin clammy against him.

“I saw her again,” she whispered. “She was calling. F-for me. Shadow, what does it mean?”

Shadow eased back, crimson eyes scanning Maria's face in the half-light. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, testament to nights of interrupted sleep. This was the third nightmare this week.

Knock knock knock

“Shadow? Maria?” The professor spoke through the small window on the door, biosafety precautions be damned when his granddaughter was in anything remotely close to distress. “What was that noise?”

“She had a nightmare, professor.” he said, carefully extracting himself to examine the remains of the shattered light. “And… her nightlight malfunctioned. A power surge, if anything.”

“DId she take her Risperdal today?” (“Yes, professor.”) “Hmm… I’ll discuss her medication with her psychiatrist tomorrow. For now, please take care of her for me, Shadow.”

“I will, professor.” The hedgehog nodded, climbing out of bed to take care of the mess on the floor. “I'll request a maintenance check of the electrical systems tomorrow, this faulty wiring could be the cause of someone’s death someday.” He said, sweeping glass fragments into his cupped hand.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Shadow?” Maria's blue eyes, luminous even in the darkness, fixed on him with an expression he couldn't quite interpret. “There's a connection. The girl, the dreams, the light exploding.”

“I believe…” Shadow responded, depositing the glass into the sharps’ waste, “that you're watching too many horror movies. Again.” He sat beside her, letting Maria pull him into a tight hug. “And I believe that coincidences can seem meaningful when we're already frightened.”

Emotional comfort wasn't his biggest strength, despite being Maria’s main caretaker, almost a nurse to her. It was something he was still learning through his connection with her.

“I'll stay here until you fall asleep again,” he promised. “We can deal with this in the morning.”

He nested himself at her side once more, her face buried in his chest. His skin prickled in protest, still sensitive from the sterilization process he had to go each day to stay close to her. But, if it meant to be at her side when she needed him the most, it would always be worth it.

All this time, he had interpreted these events through the lens of scientific rationality—power fluctuations, faulty wiring, the convenient explanations that allowed the world to maintain its shape. But here, in this place where reality itself seemed to warp and buckle under the weight of emotion, another explanation surfaced from the depths of his consciousness.

Maria had a connection to this place, to the events plaguing this simple little town in Maine. The blackout, the exploding light—were they caused by Maria? Sure, Chaos manipulation wasn’t uncommon among Mobians, and even some humans were capable of magic. But he never thought his sister could be capable of such feats.

Alessa was the first thing his mind wandered to, how sometimes her form seemed to flicker between a teenager and a burned child. She was as powerful as she was mysterious, if that… demonstration with the dog was anything to go by. Could she be the girl Maria saw? Was she responsible for the nightmares his sister had?

She knew Maria, that’s for sure, or who she was at least. If anyone could give him some answers, it was her.

Shadow closed the book with a decisive snap, dust particles rising in the dim light like spectral witnesses. He gave a look at the title: “The monster lurks” , by Leonard Rhine. A bitter taste filled his mouth.

Silent Hill wasn't merely showing him horrors—it was orchestrating them, leading him deeper into its twisted heart. The town had known he would find this book. Had perhaps arranged for him to find it, carefully positioning each element like a paper trail for him to follow.

He pulled the piece of paper out of the book, no larger than a playing card, its golden color standing out jarringly against the decayed room. It bore a simple design—a black key picture on one side, a row of three rectangles on the other.

The paper trembled between his fingers, not from his own shaking but from some inner vibration, as if the card itself were alive. The sensation lasted only a moment before the card stilled again. Shadow narrowed his eyes, turning it over several times. The rectangles… were they a clue? Or perhaps—

GROARRRRRR

A distant, metallic groan reverberated through the building, followed by a roar that echoed from deep below. The sound crawled up through the school's foundation, a primal vibration that resonated in Shadow's chest cavity and set his teeth on edge. It wasn't mechanical—not entirely. Something organic lived within that sound, something that breathed and hungered.

Shadow's ears flicked toward the noise, his body tensing. There was his answer.

He slipped the card into his quills and moved toward the door with predatory grace, each step precise and purposeful among the books scattered across the floor. The shotgun found its way into his hands without conscious thought, an extension of his body rather than a tool. Two shells loaded, two extras held between his fingers, ready.

He made his descent into the depths of the school, another Chaos Spear flickering weakly in his hand as he threaded the dark, rusted corridors. The air grew heavy, searing against his skin like hot coal. His throat felt dry, his eyes stinging from the invisible smoke of a phantom fire.

The roars transmuted as he approached—pain melding with rage, desperation with hunger. Not the mindless cries of the monsters he'd encountered in the fog-shrouded streets, but something with purpose, with awareness. Something waiting.

When he reached the final landing, Shadow found himself facing a door unlike any other in the school. Massive and imposing, the heavy metal portal had its surface charred and rough, scarred from a blazing fire. Dark crimson stains formed abstract patterns across its face, the color melding the omnipresent rust like they were one and the same.

Flanking the door, two sentinel figures stood in macabre vigil. Their forms were vaguely humanoid but devoid of identifying features—faceless guardians wrapped in filthy shrouds, held upright by rusted chains that disappeared into the darkness above. Black, glistening tendrils reminiscent of the Arms threaded through their forms, pulsing with subtle movement as though the corpses housed something still alive.

Shadow approached the door cautiously, his Chaos Spear raising to illuminate its surface. No handle. No lock. No obvious mechanism. He pressed his palm against the metal, expecting searing heat but finding it unnaturally cold instead, as though all thermal energy had been inverted.

He pushed, the door rattling ominously against its frame but refusing to yield. The Chaos Spear dimmed further, its light guttering like a candle in the wind. Shadow felt a corresponding drain within himself, as though his connection to the energy that sustained him was being systematically severed.

His attention returned to the door, where a detail emerged from the scarred metal—three rectangular panels arranged vertically across its center, in the same disposition as they appeared on the golden card. The middle panel contained a thin slot, its dimensions matching the laminated paper precisely.

Shadow removed the card from his quills, its metallic surface catching and reflecting the dying light of his Chaos Spear. As he slipped it into the waiting slot, he could feel the sentinels turn their empty gazes toward him, the room seeming to hold its breath in anticipation.

Click

The door swung inward, moving with the ponderous weight of a vault unsealing. Shadow stepped back instinctively, the shotgun raised. Darkness yawned beyond the threshold—not the familiar darkness of unlit space, but a void, an absence so profound it seemed to consume light rather than merely lacking it.

A gust of hot, fetid air rushed outward, carrying with it the stench of stagnant water and decay. Shadow's nostrils flared involuntarily, his body recoiling from the assault on his senses. The closest comparison his mind could conjure was the ARK's waste disposal system after a catastrophic malfunction—organic matter left to putrefy in sealed chambers.

Keep it together. Keep it together.

His Chaos Spear flickered one final time before extinguishing completely, the energy scattering like sparks from dying embers. A frustrated growl escaped his throat as he stepped through the doorway, relying on instinct more than sight.

The floor beneath his feet shifted from rusted panels to a metal grating, the old iron mesh dipping slightly under his slow steps. A primal grumbling rumbled through the room, a chill spreading through Shadow’s bones despite the searing air.

His progress was soon halted by a fence in the center of the room, the burning metal taking Shadow’s every single training in self-control in order to not grunt in agony as it scorched his skin. He took two steps back, the grating clanking and rustling in protest, the shotgun pointed at the shadows, expecting the mysterious creature to jump out at him.

What Shadow didn’t expect was a fire breaking out in the middle of the room, the flames soon rising and consuming an effigy hung above a circular pit, walled off by the same fence that burned him. The figure was wrapped in linens, its arms crossed on his chest, the sickly-sweet scent of embalming oils coalescing with burning flesh.

The metal fence soon revealed itself to be part of a larger mechanism, spinning around the dark chasm as the basement came alive around him. Gears clattered and ground, engines rattled and popped, a whistle screamed above while live steam dampened the room in a sweltering heat.

But it was the back of the room that commanded his attention.

A massive form emerged from behind the flaming effigy, menacing and hungry . At first glance, it resembled a crocodilian—four squat limbs, elongated body, thick tail. But the proportions were wrong, grotesquely so. Its skin was dry and battered, the grayish red hide marbled with patches of raw, exposed muscle. Black veins threaded beneath the surface, pulsing visibly with each labored breath the creature took.

Its head was the most disturbing feature—bloated and misshapen, nearly twice the size its body should support. Shadow could make out no eyes, no nostrils, just a vertical seam running the middle of its skull, like a poorly healed wound.

The Biolizard? The thought formed in Shadow’s mind, the visceral connection drawing every rational thought. No… this is something worse .

A name surfaced in Shadow's mind, drawn from the fairy tale he'd read upstairs: The Lizard . The hunter and the lizard. The arrow through the open maw.

“You're not the Biolizard,” Shadow whispered, his voice hardening as he tightened his grip on the shotgun. “But you're still standing between me and the truth.” His muscles coiled, ready for the inevitable confrontation. “And that's your mistake.”

The lizard’s seam suddenly tore open, its skull separating horizontally like an inverted mouth. A deafening roar erupted from the cavity, the sound so powerful it rippled the water and rattled loose metal throughout the chamber. Shadow felt the vibration in his chest cavity, his ears flattening instinctively against the assault.

The interior was a nightmare of glistening tissue and pulsating ridges. No teeth lined the opening, but Shadow could see the powerful muscles flexing—jaws designed to crush rather than tear, the cavity disappearing in a black void where its guts should be.

The creature lunged, leaping forward at a speed that shouldn’t be possible at its size.

Shadow rolled to the side, two shotgun shells striking the lizard’s flank, a dark, oily liquid pouring out of its torn apart flesh. The empty cartridges were soon ejected from the barrel, fresh bullets replacing them in a quick, almost mechanical precision.

The split-headed creature roared again, more in rage than pain. It turned with surprising agility, its tail whipping around wildly. Scales hit quills before Shadow could process what happened, the impact on the back of his head sending him flying face first on the floor grates. Pain flared across his cheek as he came to a halt, the blood staining his muzzle.

“Damn it.” He cursed, scrambling on his back as the split-head prepared to charge again. Its stocky legs skidded against the metal mesh, the open head ready to swallow him in one wrong move.

The shotgun barked again, the shells fragmenting to send a dozen metal pellets into the monster’s gaping maw. The creature paused for a split second, one that Shadow quickly took advantage of, whipping out his pistol. A barrage of bullets flew through the air, lodging themselves into soft tissue.

The lizard shrieked, pouncing toward Shadow in a desperate attempt to devour him whole. The hedgehog rolled to the side, the behemoth’s momentum propelling it directly into the wall. The force of the impact tore through a series of steam pipes, the rusted ducts releasing a cloud of searing vapor into the chamber.

Shadow raised an arm to shield his eyes, the scalding mist clinging to his fur in beads of condensation. Visibility collapsed to mere feet, the burning effigy now just a smudge of orange light pulsing through the fog.

But the monster thrived in this new environment.

Shadow could hear it circling—the scrape of claws against metal, the wet, meaty sounds of its breathing. His ears swiveled frantically, trying to triangulate its position as the shifting steam currents distorted sound and distance alike. He quickly reloaded his pistol, deciding its quicker fire to be more worthwhile than the shotgun’s slow shells.

“Come on,” he whispered, back pressed against heated pipes. Each breath pulled scorching vapor into his lungs. “Where are you?”

A shadow moved through the mist—just a flicker of darkness, there and gone. Shadow pivoted, finger tightening on the trigger, only to find emptiness where the creature should have been.

Something brushed against his leg.

Shadow fired instinctively, but the bullet tore through nothing but steam, the creature having already withdrawn. A low, rumbling sound emanated from somewhere to his left—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. The monster was playing with him.

Another scuffling came from his right, a dark silhouette barely seen through the white haze. The pistol cried out twice, but the bullets caught nothing but air as the shape melted away as quickly as it appeared. Shadow cursed under his breath, the acrid smell of gunpowder mingling with the metallic tang of his own blood.

Silence descended, broken only by the relentless grinding of gears and the soft hiss of escaping steam. Shadow stood perfectly still, ears swiveling to capture any betraying sound, any whisper of movement through the fog.

This isn't working.

The realization settled in his chest like a cold stone. Each shot revealed his position, each defensive stance telegraphed his intent. The hedgehog and the lizard stood in a perfect standstill, neither daring to approach the other or leave themselves vulnerable.

But it wouldn’t last forever, and the odds were quickly stacking against Shadow. The creature was learning, adapting—studying him with a predator's patience while he blindly fired at shadows. The ammunition wouldn’t last forever, and the moment his guns emptied, it was over for him.

Then, the story he read in the library resurfaced in his mind. The hunter’s taunting wasn’t simply to boast himself in the face of danger, but intentionally exposing himself to lure the monster into a false sense of victory.

“Come on out, you overgrown lizard!” He shouted, his voice cracking against the clanking machinery. “I’m not afraid of you!”

The sound of his challenge echoed through the chamber, followed by a stillness so profound it seemed to swallow the mechanical din. His hand shifted in the pistol grip, silently releasing the magazine out of the gun. He couldn’t have any live rounds for his plan to work.

“You want more lead?” He taunted, a dark form quickly forming within the steam. “I’ll give you lead!” He pointed the pistol at the vague shape, squeezing the trigger with the same strength as his bravado.

Click click

The mist shifted, parting itself akin to a crowd giving way for a parade. The lizard stood in full view, pawing the ground like a bull as it saw the chance to attack. It charged, the greedy head opening fully to display the inside of its maw, the blood glistening red from the shots fired against it. And that’s when Shadow saw…

…a core. Deep, pulsating, almost swallowed by the blackness of the creature’s insides.

He quickly whipped out the shotgun, two shells already loaded in the barrel, and fired.

The pulsing structure burst open as the shots tore it to smithereens, the oily blood gushing out of its mouth incessantly. Shadow loaded the magazine back into the pistol, another torrent of bullets following through. The creature let out a pained roar as the last bits of its core were blown up, round after round.

RAAaaawwrrrrggh...

Its dying cry barely faded before the immense body crashed into the metal grating, the impact rattling the whole room. Its mouth stayed open around the hedgehog, the torn insides spilling into the iron and dripping into the depths below.

“It worked…” Shadow breathed out, his head swimming as the victory afterglow sunk in. “I did it…”

His knees gave out under him, and soon a burning sensation took over his body once again. A violent coughing fit rattled his whole body, a deep exhaustion sending his torso collapsing forwards, his tired and trembling arms barely keeping it from crashing into the floor.

Then, the smoke, black and acrid, poured thick from his mouth. The ashen taste drowned all his other senses. Valtiel was toying with him again, a realization soon confirmed by a thunderous voice announcing in a foreign tongue:

“Ὁ Προάγγελος ἐνίκησεν τὸ πρῶτον θηρίον.”

“No…” Shadow groaned, his strength failing him as the darkness crept over his vision. “Not… again…”

His last memory was of a girl in a blue dress slowly approaching him, before the world’s light went out.

“MOMMY!”

Shadow was lying comfortably in Maria’s bed, his sister beside him tracing constellations through the large window in her room, when a loud crying snapped his attention. Loud, high-pitched, desperate. A child.

“Shadow, what’s going on?” Maria whispered into his ear.

“Stay here.” He prompted her, climbing out of bed and pressing an ear against the door as the commotion grew louder in the corridor. Yet, contrary to his instructions, the girl promptly joined him, also eavesdropping in a conversation out of their sights.

“Gerald! What's the meaning of this!?” A woman's voice cut through the corridor, each syllable dripping with unbridled fury. “Why is there a monster roaming around? What the fuck are you doing to my daughter?”

Shadow felt Maria flinch beside him at the profanity, at the naked rage in the voice. Her hand found his own, fingers intertwining instinctively.

“Honey, please!” A man's voice responded, placating and desperate. “It's just a misunderstanding. She must have wandered into a restricted area while we were talking with Gerald. The security protocols—”

“The Biolizard is kept under surveillance 24/7,” Gerald's familiar voice interjected, authoritative yet defensive. “All experimental specimens are contained within designated sectors. This is an unfortunate incident, but I assure you, the child was never in any real danger.”

“She could have been seriously hurt, Robotnik!” The woman spat the name like a curse, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. “I don't want any of those... things near any of our children!”

Footsteps approached rapidly, growing louder until they halted just outside Maria's room. The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, startling both Shadow and Maria back a step. Framed in the doorway stood a slender woman with severe features, her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun that accentuated the sharp angles of her face. Her eyes, the same startling blue as Maria's, widened in recognition, then narrowed as they fell upon Shadow.

Behind her stood Gerald Robotnik, his expression pinched with concern, and a tall, blond man Shadow had only heard in passing, one of Gerald’s sons. He was dressed in a fancy suit, yet his sharp appearance was betrayed by the tired bags under his eyes. In his arms was a small child with dark hair, tear tracks staining her reddened cheeks, her small body still hiccupping with residual sobs.

“Maria...” The woman breathed out, her jaw clenching as her gaze shifted between her daughter and Shadow. “Why is there an animal in your room?”

The question hung in the air, loaded with implication. Shadow felt something cold settle in his stomach.

“My name is Shadow, Mrs. Robotnik,” he stated evenly, straightening to his full height—still considerably shorter than the humans surrounding him. “I'm Maria's friend and companion. Professor Gerald created me to—”

“I always forget they can talk...” The mother mumbled under her breath, cutting him off. She turned to glare coldly at Gerald. “What's next? Are you going to say it's taking care of her instead of her own mother?”

Gerald's mustache twitched with barely suppressed indignation. “Shadow has been instrumental in Maria's treatment. His biology holds the key to curing her NIDS. If you would just—”

The cackle that erupted from the woman's mouth could only be described as hysterical. “This... porcupine,” she gestured dismissively toward Shadow, “is supposed to be the cure for my daughter? And you say you created it?” She shook her head, her lips pursed into a thin line. “Humanity has truly fallen from God's grace.”

“Honey, don't put your god into this,” the dark-haired man—Maria's father, Shadow presumed—spoke for the first time, his voice low and tired. “We agreed to let Gerald try to help Maria. He's doing his best.”

“By creating monsters?” The mother hissed. “First that lizard thing that terrified our baby, and now this... experiment standing beside our daughter like it belongs there?”

Maria's grip on Shadow's hand tightened painfully. He could feel her trembling.

“Shadow…” Tears pricked the corners of Maria’s eyes. “Why are they fighting?”

“I don’t know, Maria.” He responded, taking her hand into his. “Come on, we shouldn’t stay for this.”

Maria nodded, letting her brother take her to the observation room, the serenity and coldness of space a welcome escape from the heated argument. And, as they bathed in the light of stars that weren’t always there, he wondered—how could such a being of light as Maria be related to someone like her mother? Perhaps he’d never know.

In the end, the small family exited the ARK without even saying goodbye to either of them. That was the first time Shadow has seen Maria’s mother and sister, and the last the girl herself saw either of them.

Consciousness returned to Shadow in slow, methodic waves. First came sound—the hollow ticking of a distant clock cutting through silence. Then sensation—damp grass pressing against his back, each blade uncomfortably distinct. Finally, vision—the white haze of fog that seemed to devour everything in this forsaken town, rolling across the school courtyard in ghostly tendrils.

Was that all a dream? The question formed in his mind, a dull ache suddenly pounding the front of his head.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” A voice chimed beside him. Shadow’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes stinging as he recognized the airy tone it carried. “I started to think you’d never wake up.”

Shadow stood in full alert, propping himself up with his elbows, sitting on the ground of the school courtyard. The shotgun lay beside him in the grass, its metal casing slick with condensation. He couldn't tell whether the nightmarish realm he'd visited had been real or imagined—the boundaries between worlds seemed as permeable as the fog itself in this place.

A figure was kneeled beside him, her navy skirt slowly drenching from the wet grass. She wore a white dress shirt under a simple blue vest, her signature color. The golden locks cascaded gently over her shoulders, the waves seeming to sway in the still air. And her face…

Shadow's chest clenched tight. Her face held echoes of the girl he would never be able to forget, but sculpted by time into something more defined, more knowing. Features once softened by youth and illness now carried an elegant sharpness. Her blue eyes shone with that familiar warmth—so achingly real that reality itself felt like the dream.

And yet…

“Surprised to see me?” She teased, lips curving into a smile that was both familiar and foreign. Shadow felt his heart stutter in his chest, his voice cracking as he formed the impossible name.

“Maria?”

Chapter Text

The end is only hastened by those who delay, and postponed by those who rush. The endless mortal struggle to defy fate’s will can only be compared to a valve incessantly turning, no water ever sprouting—a mechanical, senseless, morbid chore, never reaching its purpose, hope not allowing it to cease.

The loyal servant of God stood before Valtiel, her hardened heart filled with vengeance and grief. A tool, once honed by devotion and passion—but dulled by her foolish arrogance and hatred—incapable of discerning acts of faith from acts of pain.

“Thy recklessness shall only undermine thine efforts, lamb.”

The church’s lower chambers bent themselves to the sound of his voice. The woman’s spirit crumbled into ice, throwing herself onto her knees, reverend. To illumine her face the faint candle flames in the catacombs were not enough, yet her veneration emanated crystalline in the features.

“I am but thy humble servant, Heavenly Scribe, for I cannot decipher the meaning of thy words.”

Her tongue was pure, unsoiled by the corrupted words of mortal speech. Admirable, yet her unwavering deference did little to placate his displeasure. In the space between heartbeats, judgment gathered like storm clouds before divine wrath.

“Pray tell, priestess, thy reason for handing the Flauros to the azure wanderer, for the Herald prophesied he is not. Hath thy senses dwindled to senility?”

The woman trembled, cast shadows masking her eyes like veils concealing a tarnished soul. Sorrowful and wavering, her speech turned—sputtering not unlike that of a murderer caught with bloody hands.

"Eleison, Messenger of the Lord," she intoned, her voice a tremulous blade between confession and calculated subterfuge, "the Herald beareth within him recognition of my countenance—scarred by memory's cruel blade, by grievances that fester like unholy wounds. His eyes would perceive deception where truth was meant to flourish, suspicion where sacred trust should bloom."

Her weathered hands clasped together, fingers intertwining like the very threads of fate she sought to manipulate. "The azure wanderer, untainted by cynicism's poison, would understand the vessel's true purpose—to reach its destined keeper through pathways unmarked by distrust."

The catacombs seemed to lean inward, stone walls becoming silent witnesses to her calculated confession. "I wove a tapestry of misdirection, my Lord—not born of treachery against divine will, but of necessity's cruel demand. The Herald's wariness would shatter like glass before truth's light, yet through the wanderer's innocent agency, the sacred relic finds its proper place in the cosmic design."

Valtiel's featureless visage remained inscrutable, yet his response suggested a grudging acknowledgment of her methodology. "Thine actions set an unprecedented path," he intoned, "one that reveals the delicate tension between divine prescription and mortal agency."

The aged flesh plied under his icy touch, wrinkles deepening like frost across her skin, time itself halting beneath his judgment. The hand tightened upon her chin, a whimper left suppressed in the woman's throat like prayers unspoken by the damned.

"Thinkest thou that I am blind to thine intents?" Valtiel's voice seemed to emanate not from his form but from the very walls themselves, a reverberation that caused dust to drift from ancient mortar. "Thy machinations dance upon a razor's edge, where intention bleeds into potential chaos. The Herald's path must not be disrupted."

The woman fell to the ground, prostrating on her arms, as Valtiel’s grip loosened. Gloom soon befell the catacombs, the faint flames flickering and stretching from an impossible wind. Valtiel twisted and contorted, unbound from earthly geometry.

"The vessel must be prepared, regardless of the hand that carries it.” The woman reasoned. “The Flauros seeks its conduit—be it through the Herald or another. The child's power cannot be contained by mere mortal designs—only by a mechanism beyond temporal understanding."

Valtiel's gloved fingers traced invisible geometries in the air, judging, always judging. "Thou playest a dangerous symphony, lamb. One miscalculation shall unravel millennia of preparation."

"Or," she whispered, "one seemingly errant note might resolve the entire composition."

The spectral dance halted, a quandary so intricate that time itself genuflected—its breath caught between potential and prophecy. Valtiel’s arms resumed their twisted paths, a verdict finally reached.

“The Flauros shall remain in the hands of the wanderer. The Herald is not a necessity for its powers to awaken. Further intervention shall only alert the child, for she already encountered the Herald, and knows what purpose he serves.”

Her breath caught within her withered lungs, a question forming upon lips that had uttered too many prayers. “What of the Herald, my Lord?”

“He shall be reminded of his truth, for the blaze in his heart was left squandered. Suppressed, yet not dormant, for thou canst not awaken who pretendeth to be asleep.”

“What shall become of me, O’ Heavenly Scribe? What orders shall I follow?”

"What hath been done can not be undone." Valtiel continued, his voice growing distant as his form began to fade into the surrounding shadows. "But the wheel of fate may yet be guided. Thou must sever the bond that anchors the Herald to this plane, and strike down the one that conspires against the birth of God.”

A new fervor lit in the woman’s eyes, a pure rage taking over her features like fire consuming drought-stricken fields.

“ Kaufmann ,” Venom spilled from her mouth akin to a viper’s, “the wretched worm. The cursed vials meant to thwart the course were properly disposed of, my Lord.”

“Thy work shall be justly rewarded. Thy sacrifices shall not be forgotten, yet thy trials persist.” Valtiel commended, as hope shone within the woman’s eyes. ”Thy mission is what follows, lamb. The wanderer’s fate is unbound, a blank slate to be molded by thy hands.” His form started to fragment, called to the side of his eternal Master. “Succeed, and thou shalt be reunited with the ones thou lost, forever basking under God’s light.”

Hope and dread intertwined within her breast like twin serpents feeding upon each other—an ouroboros of devotion and despair.

"And should I fail?"

Icy fingers wrapped her throat, her dulled eyes brought to the level of the featureless visage of Valtiel, a mirror in which she saw not reflection but absence—the void that awaits all who falter in divine service.

"The same might that thou struckest thine enemies shall be brought upon thee."

Frost burned her skin, yet the woman didn't dare fight the hand that suffocated, accepting judgment as her rightful inheritance.

"For all who draw the sword will die by the sword."

The woman once again fell on stone, the hand turning immaterial as Valtiel was called to the side of his God. Candlelight resumed its natural dance, shadows retreating to their appointed corners. The air, moments before charged with cosmic significance, now merely reeked of mold and forgotten faith.

The priestess remained prostrate upon cold stone, the weight of divine mandate pressing upon her withered frame. Neither servant nor master, but instrument—a vessel through which cosmic design might yet find fulfillment.

The fog beyond the station windows writhed like spectral fingers against the glass, as though unseen forces sought entry to the mortal realm. Inside, shielded from divine scrutiny but not from his own conscience, Sonic muttered to himself as he fumbled with the pistol, trying to load the bullets he found in the Police Station downtown.

“Don’t get used to this, Sonic. This is just a precaution.”

He sat on the floor against the plastered wall, each round he loaded another step away from the morals and compromises he always held in his heart. His hands haven’t stopped trembling, not fully at least, ever since he left the gas station, as if the blood on the floor had forever stained his soul in red.

“You won’t have to use it.” He muttered under his breath. “There’s always another way.”

Hanging overhead were various posters precariously glued to the plaster, from wanted criminals to employee notices. A particular anti-drug one had the depiction of a man with half his face morphed into a skull, so edgy it bordered on parody. The message could've been more effective if the slogan wasn’t so tacky. “ Better have a life dull, than turn into a skull .” He misread it no less than three times before finally getting it.

Who even comes up with this stuff?

The final round clicked in place, and the magazine once again found itself inside one pocket, the empty gun on the other. The lavender smell on the leather jacket had mostly faded, leaving the bitter, heavy, and somehow empty, coffee scent behind. Like a watered-down chili with too many peppers.

“Shadow…” He muttered the sacred name. “I wonder what you’d think of me now…”

Would Shadow be proud or disappointed if he knew Sonic had used the pistol? That he had gone through with shooting, killing , a living being? The agent had little qualms about taking out his enemies, usually tethering the line between a ruthless soldier and an unlikely hero. He also knew Sonic just wasn’t that type of hedgehog, always “taking the high road” whenever he could.

Sonic never guessed he’d cross that item off the list of things that made them different.

He took a deep breath. Then another. And finally found the strength to get up from the floor, his body staggering and falling back against the wall for support as he did so, his hands taking the brunt of the impact. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, fog taking over his senses, as the cold plaster he was leaning into transmuted into something softer, almost velvety.

The dingy station faded from underneath his fingers, and he felt a familiar sensation of white fur running between them. His head was nested on a broad chest, a strong arm wrapped around his torso. He sensed the ruby eyes staring down at him, not in judgment, but affection, one lazy hand petting his quills leisurely.

Comfy. Warm. Safe.

The daydream evaporated almost as fast as it formed, a jolt alerting his body of the impending fall if he didn’t act fast. He planted his feet on the wood, eliciting a creaking complaint from the old floor. He was back in Silent Hill, in all of its decrepit, empty… what’s the opposite of glory again?

The delusion must be really setting in now. Sonic thought in amusement. I must move before it gets worse .

His search for any clues inside the building proved mostly fruitless. An open pack of crackers, the still warm coffee in the lobby, a half-smoked cigarette—everything was poised like life itself was paused, enraptured by some higher power. 

He grabbed a report strewn over a desk and reclined on an office chair, seizing the opportunity to rest his feet over the table, as Tails never allowed him to do so at home. He took a sip of coffee while fishing for another cracker in his lap. His eyes skimmed over the page, dated as recently as last week.

“July 17th, 20XX

Coroner Seals called, saying it’s unlikely that Officer Gucci was murdered. The official cause of death was attributed to natural causes. But, medical records show Officer Gucci had no prior symptoms of heart disease."

He put the page down and picked up a scribbled note next to the computer. This one seemed related to some sort of drug operation.

“Product only available in selected areas of Silent Hill. Raw material is White Claudia, a plant peculiar to the area.

Manufactured here?

Dealer = manufacturer?"

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Sonic jested, an eyebrow quirked at the odd remarks. “Looks like this town is shadier than I thought… Not counting the fog, the crumbling roads, the monsters…” He chuckled at his own remark. Drug dealing seemed such a mundane problem in face of everything else happening, yet he couldn’t help but be intrigued about what happened in this quiet little place in Maine.

“It’s just how they say,” he mumbled to himself, taking another sip, “‘still waters run deep.’”

“Talking to yourself, blue boy?”

The unexpected response sent coffee splashing all over his muzzle, the innocent saltines flung from their spot and cracking as they hit the wooden floor. Sonic himself almost crashed with them as the chair jolted violently underneath, skidding away with the force of the scare.

“Cybil!” He hailed, half embarrassed, half relieved. “You’re really making a habit of scaring the daylights outta me.”

Cybil’s features were murky in the gloomy station, only her outline visible by the hazy light of the foggy town. Yet, her poise and attitude, her hand at the hip and head cocked to the side, still carried an air of authority that filled the derelict building like a physical presence.

"You seem to make yourself right at home," she snarked, gesturing to the scattered papers and the half-empty coffee mug. "Find anything interesting in the files, detective ?"

The emphasis on the last word carried a hint of mockery, but not malice. Sonic, still wiping coffee from his muzzle, gave an innocent, almost deflective smile. He stacked the papers back in their proper place, guiltily noticing the beige droplets stained the otherwise pristine pages.

“Just gathering some clues, that’s all.” Sonic replied, straightening his posture. "This White Claudia stuff, it's not just a small-town drug problem, is it? Seems like it runs deeper."

Cybil's expression flickered momentarily, something unreadable passing behind her eyes. She approached slowly, boots echoing against the wooden floor, and picked up the report he'd been reading.

“Hard to blame the officers when they’re dropping dead like that.” she murmured, scanning the document. She then turned to the hedgehog. "You disappeared on me back at Ms. Gordon’s house, you know. I went back to check on you, then I saw the door open and you were just... gone."

The accusation hung between them, unspoken but palpable. He could feel the weight of her unasked questions: Where did you go? What did you see? Who are you, really?

"Me?" Sonic countered, a hint of his usual bravado returning. "I finally got that thing open after you left. Turned back around to tell you and poof! I couldn’t find you either." He leaned against the desk, studying her reaction. "Seems like disappearing acts are pretty common in this town."

Something shifted in Cybil's demeanor – a microscopic relaxation of her shoulders, perhaps recognition of a shared experience.

“Anyway, did you get to the church?” She asked, recalling their original objective. “Was your friend there?”

“No…” He sighed, a weird exhaustion seeping into his mind. “I mean, I did find the church, but he wasn’t there. There was some old lady there, though.” He pulled the Flauros out of the jacket pocket, the light had completely gone out. “She gave me this and told me to go to the hospital.”

Cybil took the pyramid in her hands, holding it away from her face with a disgruntled expression. “Weird little trinket.” She dropped it back in Sonic’s hands, wiping off her gloves as he wrapped it back into the cloth. “I didn’t find anyone when I went there.”

“She left while I was still there. Left me hanging like an idiot, too.” 

The officer chuckled at the remark. “Old people aren’t always coherent.” Her expression turned sour, almost sorrowful. “There’s this guy back in Brahms that calls once a week saying there’s someone putting eggs in his fridge. Turns out it’s his grandson bringing him groceries every Friday. The guy has dementia, though, so bad he doesn’t recognize his own family. He sometimes thinks it’s a burglar or something.”

“Oof, that’s rough…” An awkward silence fell after the depressing story was dropped. Sonic didn’t know how to react to this, or even if he should. “Anyway,” he shot up from the chair, dusting the crumbs off his lap, “the hospital is the only clue I’ve got to Shadow. He said people could be sheltered there too.”

“It's worth a try, at least.” Cybil conceded. “It isn't like we have anywhere else to go.”

“Ladies first, mon cher.” Sonic bowed with a flourish, extending his hand toward the police station's exit. 

“My my, what a cunnin’ gentleman!” She jested back, chuckling into her hand at the hedgehog's antics. 

The frigid air of the foggy streets once again greeted them like an uninvited guest. Sonic clutched the jacket a little tighter, the Flauros heating uncomfortably in his pocket, as the July snowflakes drifted from the obscured sky.

Cybil began walking closely to his side, huddling for some warmth in a respectable distance. Even the wolf's thicker coat wasn't standing much of a chance in the out-of-season snowfall it seemed. 

Usually, the endless possibilities for action and freedom were the highlight of his adventures. Yet, as the fog took over his literal and metaphorical vision, his mind started to wander to what could be lurking beyond the white veil. None of the images formed brought any comfort. 

As the unusual pair threaded the empty streets, the mantra formed once again in his lips. 

Find Shadow. Get out of this place. Get some chili dogs. 

The commercial district's storefronts stood like abandoned stage props—mannequins frozen mid-gesture behind grimy windows, sale signs promising discounts that would never be honored. Every store had their lights off as some hadn’t even opened for the day yet, before all the owners and customers vanished into thin air.

Cybil rubbed her arms again on what felt like the hundredth time that day, this time side-eyeing her impromptu partner’s leather jacket with unabashed envy. Her light blue shirt and jeans did nothing against the out of season snow and fog, the cold piercing her thin summer coat like needles.

Thud. CLUNK.

The wolf's steps faltered mid-stride, her sensitive ears swiveling toward the sound—a discordant note in the symphony of silence that had enveloped Crichton Street. She and Sonic were already halfway to the hospital, no sign of life or movement from the moment they left the station. Until now, that was.

“Cybil?” The hedgehog turned back, having walked a few steps ahead before noticing his partner stopped midway. “What is it? Di—”

“Shh.” Cybil raised a finger to shush him. “I heard something.”

Sonic froze, straining his ears against the muffling effect of the fog. At first, there was nothing—then, carried on the frigid air, muffle sobs rippled like waves on a pond.

"Over there." Cybil pointed toward a large furniture shop down the street. “Inside that store.”

The officer took point without hesitation, muscle memory transforming her cautious stance into a controlled approach toward the building. Her right hand completed the ritual it had performed countless times during her years on the force—a fluid movement that transferred her service weapon from holster to grip, thumb drawing back the hammer with a soft click. The weight of the pistol anchored her to reality as her mind cycled through every scenario, each footfall measured yet urgent as they closed the distance to the store entrance.

The store's facade stood slightly removed from its neighbors, its wide display window embellished with elegant black arabesque decals that curled like dark smoke against the glass. The very front had sparse displays of mock living and dining spaces, plush sofas and MDF tables standing against dancing specks of dust. Somewhere in the middle, a large marble aisle housed many appliances for sale, from blenders to air fryers to ice cream machines.

Yet, it was the back of the cavernous showroom that drew their attention. An array of floor-length mirrors stood sentinel against the far wall, their wooden and metal frames capturing and fragmenting what little light penetrated from outside. And there, upon the plush carpet before this wall of watching eyes, lay a human form on its side—recognizable as living only by the shallow, irregular expansion of ribs beneath fabric.

From the distance the figure was, about fifteen feet from the shop window, Cybil could make out a few crucial details from the scene. A young woman, probably in her late teens to early 20s, dressed plainly in a sweater and pants. The head was supported by her right arm, the hand was clutching a knife pointed at the mirror.

At her side, Sonic took a sharp inhale. “Is that…?” He gasped.

“Do you know her?” Cybil turned to him, raising her eyebrow at him. I thought you and your partner came alone in town .

“No, I saw her just before.” He explained. “I met her briefly at the graveyard near the church.”

“Do you know what she’s doing here?”

“In this particular store? No.” Sonic responded simply, his eyes fixated full of worry and guilt. “I know she’s in town looking for her mother. That’s all I know, though.”

Cybil’s gaze turned back to the woman. “I don’t know what she’s planning, but I doubt it’s anything good.” She made a move toward the door, already poised to enter.

“Can you let me talk to her first?” Sonic pleaded, resting a hand on Cybil's shoulder as his green eyes glistened in concern. “She might recognize me. Also… I don’t mean to be rude but…” His gaze drifted downwards to her hands, a sheepish smile decorating his face.

Cybil followed his gaze, only now noticing she still had her pistol drawn out and ready.  With a subtle flush of embarrassment, she engaged the safety and returned it to its holster. The wolf rolled her eyes playfully as the hedgehog drew a sly smirk at her.

“Well played, blue boy.” She conceded with a wry smile, crossing her arms. “I’ll be here if you need me. And be careful, you don’t know her intentions.” The officer warned, sharpening her gaze at the hedgehog.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sonic earned himself a chuckle as he made a mock-salute to Cybil. Her eyes followed his figure as he made his way through sofas and coffee tables, stopping just short of the girl on the floor. His eyes met hers through the mirror’s reflection, a subtle gesture of comfort and acknowledgement as he tried to reason with the human.

The wolf leaned back against the window, her crossed arms rubbing each other in a pitiful attempt to drive off the oppressive cold. The snowflakes drifted like noise as her sharp vision scanned the fog-ridden road. Her ears strained back, struggling to catch the muffled conversation happening inside.

Then, suddenly as the chill that travelled down her back, a sound that didn’t belong echoed.

Bang

A gunshot. Sharp. Unmistakable.

The crack echoed across the distance, perhaps blocks away, but distinctive to ears trained by years on the force. Her body tensed instinctively, muscle memory kicking in before conscious thought could form.

"Hey, Blue." she called into the store, yet there was no reaction from the hedgehog. She knocked on the glass firmly and called again. “Sonic!” No response. She banged harder. “SONIC!”

Nothing. Not even a glance. It was like she wasn’t even there.

Bang Bang

Two more gunshots shattered the quiet landscape. Cybil glanced one last time into the store before bolting, her own gun finding itself back into her firm grasp, icy metal quickly warming to her touch. The frigid air stung against the blood rushing in her lungs, adrenaline shrugging the cold off like a worn coat. Every second mattered when there could be lives on the line.

Will Sonic be safe? The doubt lingered as the store’s façade faded into the trailing white haze. He’ll be safe. I’ll come back for him. There’s no time to waste .

Another shot. Louder. Closer. Direction: eleven o’clock. The drawbridge. 

A bitter tang formed underneath her tongue as her mouth became dry. The ashen murk stung in her eyes, tears prickling in the corners trying to keep her vision focused. Her combat boots stomped against the pavement like a rushing metronome, counting down the beats to the inevitable encounter with the mysterious shooter.

The bridge started forming through the fog, the simple stretch of road just as plain and unremarkable as when she passed not even twenty minutes before. The questions haunted her mind like a flurry of words: what were they shooting? Why were they shooting? Were they one of the townsfolk? Or did they stumble into town just like them?

And there, leaning over the metal guard at the side of the bridge, a figure materialized gradually through successive veils of white. Dark fur. Crimson streaks. A silhouette that registered in her memory with immediate recognition.

The black hedgehog

The encounter at the diner flashed through her mind—Sonic's mysterious partner, standing apart from the conversation, regarding her with those calculating red eyes. Shadow. Yes, that was it. The one whose curt responses and trail of violence had marked him in her mind—competent, potentially volatile, certainly not someone to underestimate.

Other images flashed through her mind—trails of dried tears in Sonic’s cheeks, bullet casings glinting in the dark pavement, the severed head of a dog. 

Cybil slowed her advance, deliberately making enough noise with her footsteps to announce her presence without startling him. The pistol in his hands stood like a warning to her of both the circumstances and of the hedgehog himself. At twenty feet, she stopped, the gun still gripped firm between her hands.

“This is Officer Bennett.” She announced her presence, training taking over her speech. “State your business in this area.”

The hedgehog turned his head to her, the weapon visibly trembling in his loose grip. His pupils shrunk into dark speckles in his red irises. His face was devoid of any known expression, only a wide, haunted look in his eyes that told too much and too little at the same time.

Then, in the few heartbeats that took an eternity to pass, the words stuttered out of his lips.

“ She’s gone .”

Chapter Text

Longing-Laced Pain

“ Gerald’s Journal

Entry #635

Maria’s condition deteriorated rapidly in the last few days. Way too rapidly. My little girl is a fighter, always has been. But this time, I’m scared the disease might finally beat her. 

We took out one of her medications two weeks ago, one of the stronger bone marrow stimulants. Her inflammation was under control, the crippling joint pain was gone, and we finally saw some improvements in her kidneys. She was running around the corridors like she wasn’t even sick in the first place. Now she’s alone in that goddamn medbay again. And even after reintroducing the stimulant again, we couldn’t see any improvements in her condition.

Today, Shadow asked me why he couldn't see her, if he did something wrong that he couldn't be near her. Their bond is something extraordinary, a light in this harsh world. I don’t want him to see her in so much pain again, because he will be in pain too. Last time he almost went ballistic demanding the doctors cured her at once, asking why they weren’t treating her.

Sometimes I forget he's just a kid. It's been barely three months since he came out of incubation. He’s quiet, he’s observant, he’s a fast learner, but he doesn’t know how the world works yet. He’s too innocent, too naïve. I'm trying to keep him away from G.U.N. as much as I can, teaching him as much as I can, before they can use him for destruction.

I’ve been rambling too much in this, so let me get to the point. This bone marrow transplant was decided as a rescue treatment for the spike in the NIDS symptoms. She doesn’t know how lucky she is that Shadow was made to be a compatible donor, but this isn’t the place to go into specifics. Had she been on Earth, it would take weeks, even months, to find someone, and she doesn’t have that time. Not that her mother understands it, anyway.

I worried that Shadow would see himself as just ‘spare parts’ for her, that he’d resent me, resent us, for creating him as a medicine, a weapon, an experiment. That anything we asked for him to do would be done out of obligation, or worse, spite. But as he laid down on that hospital bed, clutching my hand as they drove that giant needle into his hip bone, he asked me ‘will this save her, doctor?’

Would you look at that, my tears have already soaked the page! Sometimes I’m just a sentimental old fool.”

“Maria?”

The name hung in the fog-laden air between them, weighted with decades of grief and longing. Shadow's voice cracked, a raw tremor in the words exposing emotions he'd long since buried beneath layers of stoic detachment.

Her smile widened, head tilting with a curious mixture of affection and mischief that was achingly familiar. "The one and only." She extended her hand toward his face, pausing inches from his cheek as if uncertain of her welcome. "Shadow, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Shadow recoiled from her touch, crimson eyes narrowing as he scrambled to his feet. His quills bristled defensively.

"That's impossible," he stated flatly, but he couldn't help the trembling in his tone. "Maria died aboard the ARK fifteen years ago. I watched it happen."

She sighed, brushing grass from her blue skirt as she rose to her full height—taller than the Maria etched in his memories, her body having matured beyond the illness-stunted frame he remembered.

"Do I look dead, Shadow?" She reached for his gloved hand and pressed it firmly against her collarbone. "Feel that? I'm warm. I'm breathing. I'm real."

The steady rhythm of her heartbeat pulsed beneath his fingertips, mockingly authentic. He felt his hand drawn to the touch, grasping her shoulder as if she were to disappear if he ever let go. LIke she had disappeared before.

"If it’s really you, then…." Shadow withdrew his hand, the heat of her skin lingering on his fingertips like a brand. "…how? Why?” The questions tumbled forth, fragments of the cohesive reality he'd painstakingly constructed from grief and memory now crumbling around him. "Every record said you died. For fifteen years I carried your wish in every step I made, and now you're here?" His voice cracked, the carefully built mask he'd worn since his awakening beginning to fracture. "Maria, what's going on?"

Maria approached again, kneeling in the damp grass to meet his gaze. Her movements carried a fluid grace that seemed both familiar and distant—like a scene you don't remember in a beloved film. She rested her hands on his cheeks, and Shadow found himself surrendering to the touch—the warm touch both grounding him in the present and making him question if any of it was even real.

"Some things aren't meant to be understood, Shadow." Her voice carried the same soothing cadence she'd used when he returned from the scientists’ brutal experiments, battered and exhausted. "Sometimes, things have to be believed to be seen."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll understand soon." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you have faith in me, Shadow?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implications that twisted Shadow's insides into knots. The shattered remains of his trust reflected faces too familiar for comfort—Gerald, G.U.N., Black Doom. And more than once, he used those same shards to inflict the same pain he felt for so long.

The journey to learn to open himself again—after so many burns and scars etched into his very soul—had left him bare way too many times. He thought of the people woh allowed that confidence in others, and himself, to blossom again. Rouge, who comforted him when the weight of grief and guilt was too much to bear. Omega, who bore the scratches and dents when the rage boiled inside him. Sonic, who embraced and cherished him when no one could see past his flaws.

But Maria had asked for faith , not trust . And Shadow didn’t know if he ever had faith in his life.

'"I trust you, Maria." He finally answered, taking a deliberate step back. "But faith… I don’t know what you mean by faith."

The air hung heavy and thick between them. Shadow's gaze shifted from Maria's face to the school building looming around them. The weathered bricks and mossy limestone seemed to watch their exchange expectantly, as if waiting for the right words to be said. The dark symbol he'd discovered in the courtyard flickered briefly at the edge of his mind's eye.

"This place," he began, his voice low and guarded. "The school. Is this your special place? The one you wanted to show me?"

A sadness passed over Maria's features—fleeting but unmistakable. Her smile faltered, replaced by something far more complex—a deep nostalgia tinged with a sadness Shadow couldn't quite identify. For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to compress, humming an unspoken tension with the weight of a shared past and an uncertain future.

"No," she said softly, turning her gaze toward the foggy horizon beyond the school grounds. "Not here."

Maria's eyes wandered through the courtyard, and Shadow struggled to find whatever she was looking at, if it was anything at all. Droplets of condensation rolled down the window panes like teary eyes. A distant locker slammed somewhere in the empty hallways inside the building, the metallic echo traveling down his back as a shiver. The clock tower carried on its methodical ticking, the large hands only now displaying half past eight.

Just how long have I been here?

Shadow tried retracing his steps from when he entered the school, yet all of his memories of the place felt like images trapped behind frosted glass. He remembered Alessa’s warning in the library, Valtiel’s ominous words, and the clock tower’s door opening. After that, they lingered as vague feelings and concepts—decay, pressure, ash, fire, fear.

"The hotel, near the lake. That's my special place." When Maria spoke up again, a wistful longing softened her voice, and a spark of warm nostalgia lit behind her eyes as she reminisced. "We stayed there when we came into town, long before, well… everything."

He knew how excited Maria used to be recounting her stories of the town—the large breakfasts she had with her family at the hotel, the ravenous ducks she fed on the boat ride around the lake, the small play she watched in the amusement park in the evenings—one of the mascots, a pink rabbit, always ending up as the butt of the joke.

He just never imagined those long lost dreams took place in this nightmare of a town.

"You always wanted to ride a ferris wheel, but your parents didn’t let you.” He recollected the fond memory quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he did. “To see the world from above, not the way we always saw it from space."

"You remembered that?" Maria's voice was soft, surprised. And then, before he could stop it, the words were out.

"I could never forget anything about you." His eyes threatened to overflow, the unshed tears heavy with years of grief, as the admission came unbidden.

She reached for his hand again, her touch warm and real against his gloved palm. Each point of contact was a tremor against the walls he'd built around the raw wound of her loss.

"There's so much I want to show you there," she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "But we should go soon. Just the two of us."

Her emphasis on those last words triggered a flash in his mind—Sonic was somewhere in this town. Searching for him, perhaps. The blue hedgehog's worried face stood out like a beacon through the fog, their argument before separating now seeming petty and distant.

"Sonic is here too." Shadow said, watching her reaction carefully. "In Silent Hill. We got separated after a... disagreement."

Maria's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his hand, her eyes faltering for just a heartbeat. "Sonic? Is he... your friend?"

“Yes.” The answer came too ready, too quick. A knot of guilt tightened in his gut for forgetting his partner in his own self-absorption. "Something like that." 

Maria withdrew her hand, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear as she looked away. "I don't want anything getting in the way. What I want to show you... it's special. Just for us." Her blue eyes met his own again, pleading. "No one else can know. Not even him."

Shadow hesitated, torn between loyalty to his ally and the magnetic pull of the miracle standing before him. His instincts—or was it his rational mind?—urged him to not give into this, to not trust those sights too good to be true.

But, every time he glanced into those sky-colored eyes of hers, nothing else mattered to him but to stay by her side. To finally be able to see the beautiful woman she had become.

“I can’t just leave him. This place is dangerous, Maria. He can’t risk himself for me more than he already has.”

“And you’re just going to leave me instead?” Her tone was steady, calm even, but he could sense something seething underneath her words. “I thought you came here to see me.”

"I can't abandon him. I can't betray him like this," Shadow repeated, his voice tight with the effort of conviction. The words felt like small betrayals leaving his mouth, each syllable weighted with guilt as Maria's expression fell. "But I won't lose you again either."

Maria's fingers clutched tightly the fabric of her blue dress. Shadow didn't remember this nervous habit of hers from their past, though he felt he should. Was his memory failing him again? "You don't understand. We need to find—" She cut herself off, pursing her lips. "Nevermind. We need to go there while we still can."

“What if we find Sonic first?” Shadow took a careful step toward her, lessening the physical distance between them. "When I make sure he’s safe, we can go there. Just the two of us."

The proposal hung in the air, a fragile compromise. Maria's eyes darkened momentarily, something ancient and calculating passing behind them before her features softened again.

"You really care about him." She said, not quite a question. Her voice carried an undercurrent he couldn't quite place—was it jealousy, or perhaps disappointment? Shadow couldn't tell.

"He’s here because of me." He admitted, echoes of their earlier fight coiling his insides in a web of shame and regret. "I dragged him into this nightmare chasing after—" He stopped, unwilling to confess he'd been pursuing a ghost.

Maria interwove her fingers with his own, her crystalline eyes pleading to him before the question even formed on her lips, a silent appeal that mirrored the one he felt stirring within him.

"Then promise me, Shadow."

Her pleading echoed with the weight of a binding oath, pressing down on his lungs and stealing the air. The mist around them stilled, particles suspended in air that suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Shadow hesitated, aware of invisible threads tightening around him with each passing second in this cursed town.

"I promise." He replied, a biting taste of surrender and hope lacing his words. The promise hung in the air, a fragile bridge built over a chasm of doubt, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just Maria and the path they were about to take.

BANG

The ashen porcelain shattered against the cold asphalt, another one of those weeping dolls put to rest with a single shot to the skull. One might have thought that the wails and moans would become trivial after enough assault on your ears. Or that the radio cracking against your skull would turn into background noise after so many encounters.

Yet, each new scream made Shadow's skin crawl a little deeper. With each new burst of static, his gun was gripped a little tighter. Maria took cover behind him as the creatures approached, yet her closer presence behind him didn’t offer much comfort. On the contrary, 

the fear of losing her again became more tangible with each passing second; the sight of the pale arm snaking around Sonic’s throat flashed in his mind ad nauseam.

“T-there’s more of them,” Maria's trembling voice faltered behind him. As Shadow turned to the approaching figures, she whispered, "What are those things?"

“They're monsters.” It was the only response he could offer. “They won't hurt you. I won't let them”

The house he and Sonic found shelter in earlier was empty. The cupboard that barricaded the front door was pushed out of the way, and the gun he had left on the kitchen table was nowhere to be found. It was easy to put two and two together, but… why would Sonic leave through the front door when Shadow got out through the back ?

Did Sonic just… leave him?

He wouldn’t. Shadow knew he wouldn’t. Not after everything they went through together. Not after Alessa told him he was still in town…

…would he?

Shadow surveyed the street ahead, his breath forming delicate clouds in the frigid air. Everything beyond ten feet was obscured by the amorphous white haze, the drifting snowflakes further confusing the distant shapes and shadows. Remnants of what might have been an ordinary life—a newspaper stand, a mailbox, an abandoned stroller—stood as silent monuments to a shattered normality.

"We need to keep moving," he muttered, more to himself than to Maria. A weight pressed against his chest, nagging him that he was just running around the town in circles.

Ellroy St. was the only place he hadn't gone to yet, a smaller street that ran alongside the large river that divided the Paleville district. The rushing water broke the silence with a deep rumble, the constant noise filling Shadow's ears. Maria followed behind, the faint clicks of her shoes a counterpoint to the droning river, both grounding and unsettling him.

The foul stench of blood decay hit them like a wall. Less than three paces from the source, a chasm yawned at them, and before they could even see the body, the smell was overpowering. The work clothes were ripped and torn, gashes exposing muscle and bone beneath, as if something ravenous had feasted. The skin of the face and hands were grayed out and desiccated, their rough texture resembling sandpaper more than organic tissue.

“O-oh, God!” Maria gasped beside him, her lungs seizing in a series of violent coughs. She covered her mouth and nose with trembling fingers. “Shadow, this is horrible. Did the monsters get him?”

“Probably.” A metallic tang filled Shadow's mouth, coating his tongue like rusted copper. The urge to spit the taste out pressed upon him as if his saliva had turned to poison. His vision narrowed, darkness encroaching at the edges as consciousness threatened to give out. "Doesn't make much difference now."

A crumpled piece of paper was loosely clenched in the dead man's hand, stained with yellowed age and rust-colored splatter. The handwritten note featured wobbly penmanship, words left unfinished and lines slanting across the page as if written in haste or terror, yet still legible:

“if you're reading this

leave

this place is not what it seems

sometimes

you just have to look behind

run away run away run away run away run away

run away run away run away run away run away

run away run away run away run away run away”

Each word on the page seemed to pulse as if they had its own heartbeat, phasing in and out of focus the longer Shadow stared at them. Each repetition of "run away" felt like a hammer striking against the inside of his skull, the words echoing a primal, terrified urge deep within him.

The air felt heavy in his lungs, each intake of breath a conscious effort to withstand the crushing weight of his own actions and consequences. The deep-seated anguish that lay dormant in his gut started burning inside him again, and the frigid wind seemed to cut deeper through his fur, mirroring the sudden plummet in temperature within his soul.

Is that what happened to the townsfolk?

Were they picked off one by one by the monsters? 

Who would be next? Who would he lose next?

Would it be Maria, just when they finally reunited?

Or would it be Sonic, trapped in this nightmare?

His hand rested against the shotgun that shared the holster with his pistol. He couldn't quite remember where he came across, or how he acquired it. A familiar vulnerability creeping up his back as the icy breeze cut his skin, the same one he had when he couldn't trust his own memories. Only distorted senses remained – writhing leeches sliding across rotten flesh, damp tiles beneath his feet, the acidic burn of fetid bile in his nostrils. But, the harder he tried to remember, the more those recollections slipped through his fingers.

Why couldn’t he remember?

“Shadow, we need to move.” Maria's voice sliced through his thoughts, gentle yet firm. There was an undercurrent to her tone that hadn't been there aboard the ARK—a steely, almost stone-hearted pain, charged with a deeper understanding of this shifty reality.The quills at the nape of his neck bristled involuntarily, his body reacting to the jarring dissonance between this woman and the fragile girl who had died in his arms.

“Move where?” Shadow turned to face her, the question hanging heavy between confrontation and despair. “There’s nowhere to go. Everything's blocked.” His fingers tightened around the note, the paper crinkling in protest.

Maria's gaze drifted past him to something in the distance.For a moment, her features seemed to shift, a flicker of resolve beneath her skin that vanished too quickly for him to fully register. Her blue eyes reflected something that wasn't present in their surroundings—something distant, a path yet to be travelled.

"There's another way," she said, pointing to a storefront down the road. "Through that building over there. The back leads directly to Bloch Street."

Shadow turned, studying Maria's face.Her pale skin reflected a spectral light that blended with the white haze. "How do you know that? How could you?"

"I know this town, Shadow.” She smiled. The same innocent smile she had when the doctor asked who let the mice out of their cages, again.A private memory between them, intimate and real—yet somehow, unsettlingly, performative now, calculated. "Better than everyone."

The explanation hung between them, simultaneously plausible and out of place. Each word she spoke seemed to vibrate with a double meaning, existing in two states at once—truth and deception, memory and fabrication.

A distant wail carved the fog like a chisel striking wood—sharp, sudden, and grating.A sound that started as something almost human before twisting and contorting into something else entirely. None of Shadow’s commands seemed to reach his muscles, every fiber of his body turning both into steel and rubber, the terrifying paralysis rendering his muscles unresponsive. They needed shelter, direction—anything to escape the exposed vulnerability of these streets and the chilling sound that now hung in the air.

The building's façade consisted of faded blue bricks and wide tinted windows. A chalkboard sign hung on each side of the door, advertising the special discount and second-rate performer of the night. Neon lights arranged in the shape of cursive letters rested idle in the morning daze, waiting for the last rays of sunshine to disappear to awake from their slumber.

Maria's hand slipped into a pocket of her blue dress, withdrawing a small brass key that gleamed dully in the muted light. A miniature rabbit charm, its pink plush faded at the edges, dangled from the keychain. Something about it snagged at Shadow’s memory, a phantom echo he couldn't quite place.

"Horned Moon Dance.” Shadow read the sign above the tinted doors. “Why would you have access to a nightclub?"

"I don’t want to talk about it…" Her jaw locked, her eyes facing away from his own. Her fingers tightened around the key. "Come on," she breathed out, a visible cloud of condensation hanging between them. "We’ll be safer inside."

The brass key clicked open the lock with unsettling familiarity, as if welcoming them home.Shadow watched Maria's hand, steady and practiced, a stark contrast to the nervousness he expected. The discordance between the Maria of his memories—sheltered, innocent, terminally ill—and this woman who possessed keys to a Silent Hill nightclub, who should by all accounts be dead, created hairline fractures in his understanding.

"You didn't answer my question," Shadow said, voice low, as the heavy door swung inward. Maria's shoulders tensed beneath her blue dress, a flash of something—shame, perhaps, or calculation—crossing her features before settling into resigned melancholy.

"Not everything about my life has been beautiful, Shadow." The words fell between them like stones dropping in still water. "After what happened on the ARK, G.U.N. didn't just eliminate evidence. They eliminated futures."

The Horned Moon was little more than an average, run-down pub—the kind you go to when bowling is too expensive, or if you've been banned from everywhere else in town. Metal chairs with pleather seats were weathered down until only speckles of the paint remained. The dance floor stood empty, a thin layer of dust gathered over battered planks.

The bar mounted itself on the far wall, shelves of cheap liquor and piss beer. The black PVC coating was blemished with rings left by cold glasses and trails of drinks slid across the table. Maria slipped behind the bar, her gaze too sharp, her steps too methodical, to be simply wandering around in a new place. Shadow sunk into a bar stool across her, eyeing her carefully. He swallowed the realization dry, the feeling like nails dragging across his throat.

"You… work here," the thought was less a guess and more a stark realization. The contrast between the sheltered girl, shielded between sterile walls, and the grown woman that navigated a nightclub with practiced ease sent a knife straight through his heart. Just how much have I missed in these fifteen years?

Maria twirled a bottle of gin in her hands, the movements carrying too much thought and precision for a first-timer. A small glass, filled three quarters of the way, was placed in front of Shadow before he could even process it. He jerked back as the cup clattered against the bar top.

“Fancy some booze?“ Maria had an easy smile on her face, one corner of her mouth higher than the other, eyes glimmering with something Shadow couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s on the house.”

Shadow gawked at the beverage like she had handed him a cup of acid. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, but didn’t dare to lift it. His mouth stood agape as he watched Maria taking bottles from the wooden shelf, pouring the contents into a cocktail shaker like she was putting on a show for the patrons.

"This isn't you," he said, the words scraping his throat raw. "The Maria I knew—"

“Isn’t twelve anymore, Shadow.” She cut in, spinning the metal container around as her face hardened at the edges. “I can’t be the little girl I once was.” Maria poured the mixture from the shaker into another glass, raising the rim to her lips. “Or did you prefer me that way?” Something flickered behind her eyes—a shadow of resentment or pain. "Innocent. Dependent. Dying."

The accusation struck with precision, the small cracks in his resolve widening further with each word. Shadow's ears flattened against his head, a reflexive display of the turmoil her words provoked.

“Of course not! You’re everything to me!” Shadow lashed out, jumping from his seat and propping himself up to the bar. Maria took a slow sip from her glass, a raised eyebrow drawing over her flat gaze. “I… I-I don’t understand! Just… How? Every record said that you…” The words died on his throat, like they were a blasphemy against her memory.

“Died?” She completed the phrase for him, settling her glass beside his own. “I did, in a way. G.U.N. didn’t just take lives the day they raided the Ark. They took futures.” She crossed her arms, gaze unwavering. "They couldn't risk anyone talking about what really happened. About what they did to Gerald... and to you."

The pleather of the stool creaked as he shifted in his seat, restlessness starting to take over him. "You're saying they faked your death?"

"No," Maria said grimly. "I really was shot. They recovered me, patched me up just enough." Her voice hardened further, brittle with a pain that mirrored the cold glint in her eyes. "Just enough to extract everything I knew about Grandfather's work, about the Ultimate Lifeform project." She wouldn't meet his eyes, the unspoken history hanging heavy between them. "And when they were done, they dumped me into the world with nothing. No identity, no protection. Just the knowledge that if I ever spoke about what happened, they'd finish what they started."

The explanation hung between them, a chilling narrative that settled in Shadow's gut with a deep, unsettling wrongness he couldn't name. A knot formed in his throat, like an icy hand had coiled its cold fingers around it. Suffocating, overwhelming.

"That's not fair." Shadow rasped.

"Nothing ever is." Maria retorted with a broken, humorless laugh. The thorny vines tightened around Shadow’s heart. "Was it fair that G.U.N. dumped me into the world with nothing but the clothes I wore? That I had to degrade and humiliate myself just to eat?" Her knuckles whitened around her glass. "But the world doesn't care about fair. It cares about survival."

The weight of her words pressed against his chest. The walls seemed to shift closer with every breath he took. "I should have been there." The words came out strangled, thick with fifteen years of accumulated guilt. "I should have protected you."

"Yes," Maria agreed, her matter-of-fact tone a stark contrast to his own turmoil. "You should have." She reached across the bar, her fingertips cool against his face. "While I was fighting just to survive each day, you were sleeping. Safe. Preserved." Her voice softened to a whisper. "But it doesn't matter now, does it?"

The pain and abandonment in her words tightened Shadow's chest, as if his heart was being ripped right out.. He felt his own pulse pounding against his throat, all of his peripheral vision darkening as Maria once more became the center of his thoughts and nightmares.

Her expression softened, a semblance of the girl he remembered flickering across her features. "I thought... I thought you would save me," she whispered, a tremor in her voice, her eyes filling with tears that might have been genuine. "Grandfather created you for me... as a guardian, as a lifeline." Her fingers traced the red stripe on Shadow's arm, following it down to his gloved hand. 

Shadow's mind reeled, fractured memories of fifteen years ago surfacing once again—the regular medical tests aboard the ARK, Gerald's fascination with his regenerative capabilities, the organs and tissues he donated to her—the pain and guilt slashed him as he was reminded of his true purpose. He hadn't just been a weapon or an experiment; he was her medicine, her only chance for a cure.

"And when G.U.N. came," Maria continued, lowering her head as her voice became broken by sorrow, "they didn't just take my grandfather or my home. They took my cure." Her hand moved to rest against his chest, one finger pointing directly at his heart. "They took you."

Her nail jabbed harmlessly against Shadow’s skin, but to him, it felt like she twisted a knife right between his ribs. His failure to protect her compounded exponentially—a crushing weight that exposed not only his failure to save her life in that moment, but the betrayal of the very purpose of his creation.

"I used to dream about you coming to save me, every night for years." Her eyes met his, blue depths swimming with what looked like unshed tears. "But you never came. And eventually, I stopped dreaming altogether."

Shadow’s eyes started to burn, her figure blurred, and his breath hitched. He forced his lungs to take air, a gasp becoming a sob that became a tear, and that tear became his undoing.

“Maria, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, frozen in place as if he might crumble under the weight of regret. “I failed you for so long. I-if I had known…” The tears trailed down his cheeks, so hot they felt caustic. He covered his face, trying to hide his shame. “If I hadn’t b-been…”

"Why do you work for them, Shadow?” The question cut through his broken words. He raised his head, facing her icy eyes again. “Don't deny it, I saw the symbol on your holster." She pointed to the pristine logo almost glowing against the dusty bar. "Why do you work for someone who took everything from me, from us?"

The accusation hung between them, sharp as broken glass. Shadow's fingers traced the emblem unconsciously, the familiar texture now foreign beneath his touch. Each ridge and curve of the insignia seemed to burn against his skin, branding him with the sins he carried.

"I…” He trailed off, his head reeling from all the revelations. “I don’t know. I thought it would be a way to keep my promise," he whispered, the words ringing hollow in the stale air of the nightclub. "To honor your wish, to give humanity a chance."

Maria's laugh was a brittle thing, like ice cracking over troubled waters. It reverberated off the empty walls, multiplying until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. Shadow's ears flattened against his skull, his senses assaulted by the overwhelming sound.

"I know. And I admire you for keeping your word for so long." She leaned forward, her shadow stretching behind the bar. Her voice was somber, her next words carrying a darkness that didn’t belong. "But not everyone deserves those chances. I know that now."

Lightning flashed through Shadow’s mind. The images of one of his last memories with Maria cycled themselves at a nauseating pace—blank void, red sky, webbed wings. He remembered the surge of determination coursing through his veins as he faced Black Doom one final time; his family standing behind him, his armor and sword against the insatiable hunger for power from the dictator.

“Shadow, I’m so proud of you.”

She was his lighthouse, his beacon to find his way home when he was lost in the sea of his own potential—an ocean of possibilities that only seemed to drown him with mistakes, hubris, and destruction. 

“You’ve been through so much, but you’ve stayed true to yourself.”

True to myself… The thought wandered through the halls of his broken identity. True to what, exactly? There was a sudden bitter taste on his tongue, a reminder of everything he was not.

She didn’t know what he had done, how many mistakes he made before meeting her past self one last time in the White Space. The times he broke the very promise that kept him going. The pain he inflicted on others. On his friends. And yet, they all forgave him, welcomed him back with open arms time and time again.

A familiar blue face conjured itself before him, its voice filled with scorn and anger.

“You tried to destroy me in the past too, remember? You even tried to obliterate an entire planet.”

Did he deserve those chances after all?

“After all, if Eggman can't be forgiven, can you?”

If Maria couldn’t forgive him, was there any hope for anyone else to?

"That doesn't sound like you," he said cautiously, the air trapped in his lungs as if a single breath would expose him for what he was. "But you… you always believed in the best of people. Even when nobody else did."

A bitter smile played across her lips. "Fifteen years changes a person, Shadow. Especially fifteen years of surviving rather than living." She turned back to him, something unreadable flickering in the depths of her eyes. "But I don’t want this to change. What we mean to each other."

Maria's hand found his, and Shadow had to fight the urge to pull it away, the touch simultaneously familiar and foreign, like revisiting a childhood home now occupied by strangers.

"You said something about the hotel." The question came out hoarse, dragging across his throat like sandpaper. “What do you want to show me there?”

Maria's gaze seemed to drift through him, seeing something in the distance only visible to her. "It's a surprise. You need to see it for yourself." She straightened herself up, a gentle smile gracing her features. "Something I forgot there a long time ago, that I remembered only recently. Something I want to share with only you."

A surprise? Shadow raised one eyebrow. Memories of Maria's usual surprises in the Ark flooded his mind, ranging from simple, endearing things—hedgehog-shaped cookies, ribbons and hair ties she weaved in his quills— to utterly exasperating—like waking up with half his fur dyed bright pink (he never figured out where she got the paint, or how it stained his fur for a whole month).

He found the strength in himself to smile back. He crossed his arms, forcing his brows to knit in a fake scowl, the old dynamic between them flickering back to life. “Maria, Please don’t tell me you let the mice out. Again.”

Her laughter rang out in the empty building, easing the tense atmosphere, like church bells on a Christmas morning. She put her hands behind her back, an exaggerated grin breaking out her face “I don’t know… Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

Shadow allowed himself to laugh, too.

Shadow wasn’t made to “feel cold”. He could sense the icy bite of winter when he forgot to take a jacket, the chilled glass of whiskey in his grasp when Rouge took him out for drinks, or Maria's freezing hand holding his when he stood beside her as she fell ill with fever. Yet, his metabolism was meant to generate enough heat for him to function as low as a “toasty” -42 ºC, without any drawbacks or need for external heat.

So, when the frigid wind of Bloch St. ruffled his quills and stung his eyes, a loud, blaring alarm sounded in his mind as his muscles spasmed and trembled, desperate for warmth.

“Are you cold, Shadow?” Maria asked from behind him. “I can borrow my jacket if you want.”

“I’m fine, Maria.” He retorted, but when he turned to look at her, she had already taken off the garment. “No, wait- I’m-”

“No, it’s alright.” She interrupted, putting the vest around Shadow. The article felt baggy in his shorter torso, to the point of looking more like a saggy dress than a sleeveless jacket. “Look at you!” She cooed. “You look so small in this. Now you look like my little brother.”

Shadow ran a hand through his spines, averting his gaze. The vest felt warm, blocking out the incessant breeze that whistled between buildings and alleys like a mourning howl. But he couldn’t help feeling exposed, gawked and pointed at like just another animal in an exhibition.

“You seem weaker than the last time I saw you.” Maria noted with no discernible tone or emotion in her voice. “Have you been eating alright?”

Shadow's breath hitched in his throat, the question burrowing under his skin like a parasite. The nonchalant tone in her voice was unsettling in its casualness. Her gaze traveled from his face down to his chest, lingering on areas where his fur had been growing back from recent battles. He knew he had not been performing at his usual level, but hearing her voice those concerns only amplified his sense of failure.

"You’re never cold, for starters," she continued, reaching out to adjust the vest around his torso. "You didn’t use your powers a single time, just relying on the guns. You’re going really slow too, and you’ve been watching the monsters from afar instead of fighting them." She traced the edges of the white patch on his chest, dried and frayed at the edges. “This isn’t the Shadow I knew. You were better than this."

Maria's gaze remained fixed on him, expectant, assessing. Those blue eyes—so achingly familiar, yet wrong in ways he couldn't describe—seemed to peer directly into the fragmented landscape of his psyche. He searched her face, hoping to find the same admiration he remembered, but instead saw only a clinical detachment—assessing him like one of the Ark's test subjects rather than her dear friend. The same detachment he saw in the scientist's faces when he failed a simple task, or didn't achieve the result they expected.

But this time I did fail, didn't I? Shadow’s stomach lurched as Maria's words sank in, the criticism striking him with the force of a battering ram. He had promised to protect her, to be the hero she believed him to be, and yet here he was, diminished and faltering in her eyes. His whole existence seemed to pause at that very moment, the snowflakes slowing to a halt as his heart sank into a dark whirlpool of dread and self-loathing.

“You’re slow. You’re a coward.”

“You should have been there.”

“You’re weak.”

“This isn’t the Shadow I knew.”

“You take everything you have for granted!”

“You were better than this.”

“I-I’m not… It’s that… This town… I-It’s doing something to-” His words stumbled out like his faltering conviction, every reasoning ringing as hollow excuses in face of his perceived failures. Maria tilted her head, her gaze remaining indifferent. “Nevermind. I’m just tired.”

“If you’re sure…” A crooked smile, bordering into a smirk of pity, crossed her face. “I won’t press you to talk if you don’t want to.” She lowered her head and walked past him, taking the lead in the empty road.

Shadow's gaze drifted to their surroundings—the fog-shrouded street, the shuttered storefronts like empty, soulless eyes, the oppressive silence broken only by distant, inhuman wails. Everything felt simultaneously real and dreamlike, tangible yet ephemeral.

Just like Maria herself.

The dissonance between the girl of his memories—frail, gentle, eternally twelve—and this woman beside him created fissures in his understanding of reality, like a patchwork of the person he knew like the back of his hand with something else entirely. Her familiar gestures and expressions collided with unexpected behaviors and knowledge. She was a patchwork of the person he had known, stitched together with something else entirely.

Yet when she smiled at him, when she laughed that same crystalline laugh he remembered from the ARK's observation deck, the doubt receded momentarily. In those fleeting seconds, he could believe that this was truly Maria, that she had somehow survived and found her way to this nightmarish town just as he had.

“But…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Maria halted mid-step, looking at him expectantly. The words he had long denied finally bubbled to the surface. "You're right. I'm not the Shadow you knew."

The admission felt like surrender, each word extracted from some deeply buried place he rarely acknowledged even to himself.

But you're not the Maria I knew either.

The thought remained unspoken, lingering in the frozen space between them. Shadow adjusted the oversized vest around his shoulders, the garment heavy and confining just like her very presence. Their walk continued in such oppressive silence that Shadow felt his ears were being stuffed with cotton, his own attention had turned inwards rather than to the streets ahead until Maria suddenly stopped in front of the gas station. Shadow almost bumped into her in his own daydreaming.

“What is it?” He asked, standing beside his sister and following her gaze to the building.

“This wasn’t like that before.” She pointed to a large window at the front of the convenience store, tiny shards of what once was a glass pane scattered on the pavement outside. “Some monster must’ve tried to go in. We should keep going.” Maria turned away from the building, ready to resume their stroll.

Shadow, though, didn’t follow her—a quick glance at the scene told him something was deeply wrong about it. First, the window was broken from the inside —had a creature tried to break in, the glass pieces would’ve been inside the store. Second, the door was wide open right beside the window, so there was little reason to break the glass anyway. Something wasn’t adding up.

He checked the count in his handgun—nine out of fifteen. Not enough. He loaded up the magazine to full, each click echoing in the strange quiet. He couldn’t be too careful. He took off the vest, handing the garment back to Maria. “I’m going to check it out.” He stated simply, his gaze fixed on the storefront.

“What?” Maria turned to him with such an incredulous look that Shadow thought he had grown a second head for a moment. “You can’t be serious. What if there’s more of those things inside?”

“Then I’ll be dealing with them," Shadow stated firmly, “Sonic could be in there for all I know.”

“Sonic? Is that all you’re about now?” She leaned toward him, putting her hands at his waist. “He didn’t even follow you back in the house. He went the other way, didn’t he?”

“How did you-?” Shadow's mind reeled. He never voiced those questions, nor did he ever tell Maria where each of them went. Then how would she possibly know? A long sigh escaped him. “Nevermind. I'll be right back," he tried reassuring her, but the words rang hollow even to his own ears. His fingers tightened around the gun's grip, finding strange comfort in its cold certainty. "Stay outside, and shout if anything shows up.”

Maria's expression darkened, a shadow passing over her features. "I’ll be waiting. But don't take long." Her voice carried an unnerving edge. "I want to reach the hotel today, if possible."

Shadow took a deep breath, biting his tongue before a snide retort could make its way out of his throat. It isn’t the time for this, he reasoned, returning his attention to the gas station in front of him. The air grew increasingly dense as Shadow approached the door, each step resonating against the asphalt like a countdown. Maria's mumblings faded into white noise behind him, her voice melting into the omnipresent fog that clung to the building like a shroud.

A deep, circular dent on the thick metal door was the first thing that stood out to him—the thick metal shaped outward by such force it was surprising the depression wasn’t an outright hole. Yet, Shadow didn’t have to question for long as to what could have caused such a large indent, as the blue quills scattered just past the threshold pointed him to a rather obvious answer: Sonic had been through there.

The cold light peering through the blinds cast an unnatural glow in the dark interior, as if the mist outside had seeped in, filling the space with a silver haze. Shadow’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to make sense of the blurry outlines of overturned shelves and scattered packages. The distinct scent of gasoline mingled with something metallic and raw—a coppery, visceral smell he'd encountered too many times on battlefields to misidentify.

Blood.

In his muddled vision, Shadow couldn’t see the dark liquid spreading over the tiles before his left boot sloshed against it. A shudder spread from that leg all the way to his spine, his fur jolting upright like a presence had made its way behind him. He shut his eyes, his whole body jerking away from the puddle that continued to grow beside him, before he finally found the courage to open his eyes again, his gaze fixed on the floor, carefully avoiding the red pooling between the grout lines.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before . I t's just blood. It doesn't mean anything. Yet, the words hung hollow, failing to quell the rising tide of dread within him. His eyes didn't dare follow the crimson stream back to its origin.

It’s not his. It’s not his. It’s not his. Those three words looped in his mind, a mirror of the frantic pounding of his heart. He needed to look, needed to know. His vision started to trace the cursed trail inch by inch, counting the bullet casings scattered across the floor—one, two, three, four, five, six—and on the last one, he finally saw the body.

The sigh that left Shadow’s lungs shouldn’t have sounded so shaky and desperate for release; the cloaked figure on the floor—a thin, frail creature forsaken by Chaos— couldn’t be mistaken for who Shadow feared it was. Yet, his relief was short-lived, as the bullets, the corpse and the blood coalesced into a chilling picture in his mind.

Did Sonic… did he do this? The question echoed in the sudden silence, a harsh, discordant note. Shadow swallowed dry, struggling to find the right rhythm to breathe. No. This can't be right.

Carefully, Shadow stepped around the puddle, using the muzzle of his gun to gently lift what he assumed to be the hood of the cloak. The bile rose in his throat—the creature’s head was nothing but a large mass of vacant eyeballs, the ruthless touch of death having rendered them cloudy and lifeless.

Shadow's gaze fell down to the puddle of red beneath him, his reflection distorted and fractured by small ripples in its surface. He wondered if Silent Hill had forced Sonic, the embodiment of unwavering morality, to see his own identity fracture in the face of survival. What circumstances led to the very first time he pulled the trigger? And what had made him do it five other times?

The next question probed his mind, a dark spear tearing through his dwindling resolve, sharp and unforgiving. If Silent Hill could push Sonic—the eternally optimistic, stubbornly moral, “there-is-always-another-way” Sonic—to such extremes, what might it force Shadow himself to become? What would it demand from him?

“SHADOW! HELP!”

Shadow’s blood froze in his veins as Maria’s desperate plea snapped him out of his stupor with the same urgency of fifteen years ago. The radio shrieked inside his quills, threatening to pierce his eardrums in two. Metal creaked to his right, and before he could fully process what was happening, a shelf full of soda bottles and snacks came down on him.

More of the creature’s eyes burst open as the heavy rack fell onto its head, spurts of cloudy fluid and dark blood pouring out of the wounds. Narrowly avoiding a similar fate, Shadow threw himself into the ground, feeling a gust of air hit his back quills as the uncoordinated roll broke his fall, splatters of blood staining his dark fur.

A deep, thunderous growl came from behind the fallen shelf, the sound rumbled inside his ribcage like waves of fear and fire. Shadow pushed himself up, the gun promptly finding itself on his firm grip, and locked his aim at the origin of the sudden disturbance.

The creature towered over him at seven feet tall, a humanoid encased in a prison of cloth and plasters from its face down to its torso, legs and arms. The bandages reeked of pus and old antiseptic, a rotten smell that gagged him like it took root on his own lungs. A single, almost glowing yellow eye in a black sclera was the only thing not covered in bandages, the small patch of skin around it an ashen, diseased grey.

The casts shifted and bent around its joints, looking like plates of armor meant to protect the flesh within. It carried a bat in its right hand, the rotted wood wrapped in barbed wire—a rudimentary weapon, but dangerous and deadly if one was careless. Its limbs moved with a slow, deliberate stiffness, each action carrying a calculated precision that belied its awkward appearance. And as Shadow would soon find out, the monster's apparent limitations in speed and range only masked a deeper, more insidious threat.

Before the hedgehog could decide whether to shoot the creature or leave it to find Maria, a thin, rubbery thing coiled firmly around his leg. He looked down, finding a medical tube wrapped around him like a tentacle, rooted to a catheter protruding from the creature’s chest.

With no limbs attached or even a bigger force commanding it, the tube pulled Shadow’s leg with an unnatural, unforeseen strength. Something was knocked loose from his quills, a metal clinking behind him as his back hit the floor. 

Shadow reached behind himself with his left arm, awkwardly grabbing the object behind him. It was the knife he grabbed at the school after killing the imp, its presence a surprising weight in his hand now.

The catheter dragged him relentlessly across the floor towards the entangler creature. It raised the bat above its head, aiming down at the hedgehog’s face. He had to act fast. He threw the pistol aside and snatched up the shotgun from his holster, two shells already loaded in the barrel, aiming for the head of his attacker.

The bat came down before Shadow could fire. His right forearm caught the bat before it could hit. The rusty, jagged wire dug against his skin, a hundred searing pinpricks tearing at his flesh. A grunt of pain died in his throat. His grip on the shotgun loosened, barely able to keep it in his hand. He had to keep himself from trembling or giving in before the barbed metal struck his eyes.

His attacker pulled back the weapon for another blow. There was no time to think. He raised his shotgun again, this time relying on instinct rather than taking the time he didn’t have to aim. The blast burst the yellow eye, a black oily liquid oozing down the monster’s face as it hollered in pain. 

Before the creature could recover, Shadow clenched the knife in his hands and cut down the tube coiled around his leg, pulling the plastic off himself. He rolled out of the entangler’s range, grabbing the discarded pistol before putting it in his holster.

Maria shrieked outside again, her screams growing more desperate and wild. “Where are you?!” The radio hadn’t stopped yet; on the contrary, it only grew louder each second. 

Damn it. Maria was still alone out there. He shouldn’t have taken so much time, shouldn't have been so careless, so weak . Shadow gave one last look to the wounded monster inside the store, and his heart started to ache. Its appearance, the pained whimpers escaping its bandaged form, its slumped posture—they were all so painfully human, yet so utterly wrong, a twisted mockery of life unlike anything he had ever seen.

“Hold on, Maria!” He couldn't afford to dwell on the creature's suffering when Maria was in danger. “I’m coming!”

He burst through the doorway, his crimson eyes immediately locking onto the scene unfolding before him. Maria stood her ground against one of the tube creatures, her blue vest torn at the shoulder where she'd twisted away from grasping catheters. She gripped a jagged piece of broken glass—probably from the shattered window—and slashed desperately at the medical tubes that writhed toward her like serpents.

" Get away from me! " she snarled, managing to sever one catheter in a spray of a pale yellow fluid. But the creature had five more, and her makeshift weapon was already cutting into her palm, blood dripping onto the pavement at her feet.

The entangler pressed forward, using its superior reach to keep Maria at bay while its remaining tubes probed for openings. One coiled around her ankle, yanking her off balance. She stumbled but didn't fall, using the momentum to drive her glass shard deep into the creature's bandaged torso.

" Shadow, do something! " she shrieked as another tube snaked toward her exposed throat.

Shadow put himself between Maria and the monster in a blur of motion, his knife severing the tube at her neck. The creature reeled back, a dark ichor spurting from the cut. Maria fell on the pavement and immediately pressed herself against his back, her breathing ragged but determined.

A barrage of bullets left the hedgehog’s pistol, embedding themselves in the thick layers of fabric covering the entangler's torso. Two catheters were severed by stray shots, falling lifelessly on the ground like deflated snakes. The creature staggered but didn't retreat, its remaining tubes lashing out with renewed fury.

A catheter lunged at Shadow, knocking the blade from his grip and wrapping around his wrist with whip-crack speed. The plastic tubing constricted like a tourniquet, cutting off circulation as it began to drag him forward.

From the corner of his eye, Shadow saw the wounded creature from inside the gas station stumble through the doorway, its single blind eye still leaking a dark fluid. Another entangler emerged from the heavy fog to their left, its bandaged form moving with that same deliberate, mechanical precision. Three of them now. And Maria, despite her defiance, was bleeding and weaponless.

The tube around his wrist tightened, dragging him toward the sudden appearance of snapping mandibles—teeth hidden beneath the creature's bandaged face, yellow and broken like old tombstones. Shadow planted his feet, muscles straining against the inhuman pull.

He pulled out the shotgun once again, aiming at the chest of the creature, taking advantage of the close range to deal as much danger as possible. The spread of shot snapped the tendril holding him, spraying his face with the smell of sulphur and old vinegar. The monster was blown back by the blast, crashing against the floor with its torso torn open and burnt at the edges.

The following sight would haunt Shadow’s nightmares for years to come.

Dozens of catheters wiggled and writhed inside the entangler, its flesh and bones completely replaced by the plastic tendrils moving with a mind and will of their own. The mass bulged outwards, spilling onto the floor like the eviscerated guts

Shadow’s muscles froze in place as he saw the tubes contorting and spasming at the entangler's final moments. At last, the tendrils snapped open and gushed their contents onto the pavement like bleeding veins, a large puddle of blood and fluids forming underneath the creature’s lifeless body.

“Shadow, look out!” Maria’s sudden warning broke Shadow out of his stupor, the creature at his left aiming another catheter at the hedgehog’s neck. He grabbed the thin tube, which coiled around his hand, and pulled with all his might.

The entangler was sent to the floor as his legs didn’t have the speed or coordination to keep themselves upright against the sudden force. The tube was yanked clean out of its chest, flailing erratically in his hand before the plastic started to fade between his fingers, leaving behind a watery, thin liquid in his hands.

“I got an opening, come on!” Shadow hauled Maria up to her feet, pulling her behind him as more snarls and groans came from within the fog. A haunting feeling started to creep up on him—metal corridors, the incessant stomping of military boots behind them, scared blue eyes behind him asking for guidance while he searched for the escape pod.

The memory struck him like a physical blow. Maria's hand in his, just as it had been fifteen years ago. The same desperate flight, the same crushing weight of responsibility. History rhymed with itself in verses of pain and regret.

No. This time it’ll be different. He’s not going to stop. He’s not letting them catch her this time. He’ll save her no matter what.

They ran through the fog-shrouded street, Shadow's enhanced hearing picking up the shambling pursuit behind them. The radio static in his quills grew more violent, a cacophony of interference that made his teeth ache. Maria's breathing was labored but steady—she was keeping pace better than he'd expected.

Did she become faster? Or am I getting slower?

Shadow’s perception was one he was running in a dream. Any inch of progress out of the gas station felt like he had a stretch band around himself, each step becoming slower, almost floaty, as if he was being pulled back to the cursed building. As an irony only found inside one’s delusions, the flat ground turned into an almost vertical hill. He projected his body forward, his torso almost parallel to the asphalt, if only to try to keep moving forward.

Maria’s weight behind him became harder to pull along, his own arm stretching beyond his shoulder’s range to keep up with her. She felt like floating in place, refusing to be dragged along. He didn’t dare to look back, a chill creeping up his back telling him not to, feeling she would disappear from his grasp. That he wasn’t allowed to see her, lest that blessing would slip between his fingers like Eurydice slipped from Orpheus.

Shadow’s steps slowed as he reached the bridge, the familiar sounds of growls and wails fading into a menacing silence behind him. The dense fog clung tightly to the landscape, swallowing everything beyond the concrete edges. At the far end, a tiny figure in navy stood motionless, framed against the pallid glow of the mist.

Her presence struck him sharply—her solemn face, the way her eyes gazed outward with stark curiosity, tethering between foresight and amusement of events to come. Though he had only met her twice before, those brief encounters had etched themselves into his mind like a ghost marking its territory.

"Alessa." The name fell from his lips in a swirl, but in the oppressive silence, the mumbled words echoed loud as gunshots. An inexplicable surge of recognition gripped him, that her guarded nature, layers of secrets unknown led him to believe that she was more involved in this shifted reality than she let on. How much power did she wield over the town? Was she a pawn herself, or something far darker, carefully pulling strings behind the scenes?

Maria leaned in close, her voice a grim whisper meant only for him. “Whatever you do, don’t follow her. Everything she ever tells—” she hesitated, her eyes dark with warning. “Don’t trust anything she says. She’s not what she appears to be.” Her words, dripping with distrust, made the hairs on Shadow’s nape prick instinctively.

The air suddenly shifted with a prickling static, humming a foreboding tune that preceded a storm. Shadow's fur bristled, a cold sweat collecting in his brow as a smothering heat started to take over his body. Below, the rushing waters writhed and roared, merging with the relentless static that filled his ears, as though the noise was coming from inside his own skull.

He stared into the fog, heart pounding, senses overstimulated. Somewhere behind the mist, Alessa watched silently, her gaze unblinking and unreadable, before she silently walked away from the chaos that would be unfolding. It was in that moment he realized: the shadows in this town concealed layers far deeper than mere physical danger.

Desperation surged through him. His hand scrabbled at his quills, fingers trembling as he fumbled to silence the intrusive scream threatening to drown him. He patted the spot where he remembered putting it, but he found nothing. His spikes dug into his own hand and his search started to become more frantic, his breath more shallow, and his thoughts more scattered.

"Shadow, are you okay?" Maria’s voice pierced his racing mind, confused and steady but tinged with a rising fear. "What's going on?"

“It’s too loud!” He broke out in a desperate call. “Take it out, please! Please! Take it out, take it out!” Tears started prickling at the corners of his eyes as the cacophony threatened to consume everything. He clawed at his scalp, trying to tear out the torment inside his brain.

"I don't get it." Maria’s tone sharpened as her increasing worry veered into bewilderment. “Take what out? You’re not making any sense,” she tried to get a response, but her words only intensified his chaos, adding more weight to the hurricane of confusion that spun within. His entire being was caught in a whirl of sensation—each nerve stretched tight, each breath shallow and ragged, the relentless chaos overtaking his entire existence.

“The radio!” He shouted again, his voice fracturing in a strangle cry. “It’s inside my head! The static—it’s inside! I can’t— I can't—” His pleas devolved into an incoherent yelling. The overwhelming noise pounded in his ears. He couldn't feel Maria's hand slip from his hold, joining his frantic search for the device. The deafening chorus started to reach a breaking point where his vision started to fade at the edges.

“Here, I got it.” Her voice was gentler, trembling at the sight of her brother's frayed state. She yanked the batteries from the device with shaking hands. The static hiss softened as she severed the connection, cutting off that terrible noise.

But relief was fleeting, shattered by a shrill, piercing alarm that blared through the air like an early warning of chaos to come. Shadow fell to the ground, the rough asphalt scraping against his knees, as he clutched both sides of his head as if shutting out the world could save him.

The world's edges bled into each other like melted paint—the lights turning too bright, the shadows too deep—as if the very fabric of his perceptions was being unraveled. Shadow covered his eyes in a futile attempt to keep the blinding lights out of his head. A taste of copper and ash coated his tongue, a fiery burn rising from his throat like a cursed poison.

"Shadow, can you hear me? Snap out of it! Please!" Maria's broken whisper cracked like thunder in the chaos entrenched in his mind. "The monsters! They're back! Shadow, please!"

The world fractured around him like shattered glass, each shard reflecting a different layer of agony. The alarm's piercing wail drove spikes through his skull, drowning out everything—Maria's voice, the approaching monsters, his own desperate attempts to breathe. Shadow's enhanced senses, usually his greatest asset, had become instruments of torture, amplifying every stimulus until reality became unbearable noise.

"Shadow!" Maria's callings were distant, distorted, as if her voice was coming from the other side of a chasm. "They're here! The bridge—we have to move!"

He tried to respond, tried to force his body to obey, but his muscles had locked into rigid paralysis. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, screaming. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. His vision strobed between blinding white and absolute darkness, making the approaching figures in the fog appear like phantoms bleeding through dimensions.

The shambling forms of the entanglers emerged from the mist, their bandaged limbs moving with that horrible, deliberate precision. More than before—five, six, maybe seven of them, their catheters writhing like hungry serpents in the air. The static that should have warned him was gone, torn from his quills, leaving him blind to their proximity until they were almost upon them.

"No, no, no..." The words tore from his throat like broken glass. His promise echoed in his mind with devastating clarity: This time it'll be different. He's not going to stop. He's not letting them catch her this time.

But he was stopping. He was failing. Again.

Maria stood over him, her blue dress torn from their earlier escape, the jagged piece of glass still clutched in her bleeding palm. She looked down at him with something between desperation and resignation—the same expression she'd worn in those final moments aboard the ARK.

"I can't carry you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Shadow, please. I need you to get up."

The entanglers pressed closer, their single yellow eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. One extended a catheter toward Maria's back, and Shadow saw it all with crystal clarity through his overwhelmed senses—every detail burned into his consciousness like a brand. The way the tube moved through the air. The precision of its aim. The complete helplessness of his own frozen form.

"Maria, behind you!" The warning ripped from his throat, but his body remained a prison of paralyzed muscles and overloaded nerves.

She spun, slashing desperately with her makeshift weapon. The glass bit deep into the catheter, severing it, but three more took its place. They coiled around her arms, her waist, lifting her from the ground with inexorable strength.

"Shadow!" Her scream pierced through everything—the alarm, the static, the chaos in his mind. For one crystalline moment, the world snapped into focus. He saw her face, twisted with terror and heartbreak, saw the way she reached for him even as the monsters dragged her away from his grasp.

His body finally snapped into movement. But, by that point, it was already too late.

Maria was pulled to the side of the bridge, her form starting to be swallowed by the fog as she got dangerously close to the edge. One entangler threw her against the steel railing, an audible slam sending a knife through Shadow's heart as her body crashed against the cold metal. Maria's feet scraped against the asphalts as she tried to find purchase, her hands clawing to find any sort of grip. Below, the rushing water roared like a hungry beast, its dark surface invisible in the fog.

Shadow’s reflexes betrayed him, his trembling hands blindly fumbling as his pistol instinctively aimed and fired. The shots ricocheted off the cement, missing the fragile tentacles or embedding uselessly into the pavement as deafening echoes of despair amid the chaos. A piercing dread gripped his chest as he watched her struggle, helpless in a nightmare that refused to release her.

His feet scrambled to move, his soles skidding like he was trying to run on ice. The entangler lifted her body again, dangling her over the railing.

Time crystallized into fragments of horror. Maria's blue dress billowed in the wind, her golden hair whipping around her face as she struggled against the catheter's grip. Her eyes found his own across the impossible distance—not filled with accusation, but with something far worse: understanding. She knew what was coming. She knew he couldn't reach her in time.

"I'm going to fall!" she pleaded, her blue eyes finding his own across the impossible distance between them. "Please, Shadow. Not again."

The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. Not again. The same words, the same desperate plea she'd made fifteen years ago as G.U.N. soldiers surrounded them. The same promise he'd failed to keep then, failing to keep now. Shadow's legs finally found traction, his body launching forward in a desperate sprint. But the fog seemed to thicken with each step, the bridge stretching like taffy beneath his feet. Reality bent around his desperation, mocking his enhanced speed with elastic space that refused to be crossed.

The entangler's grip shifted, the tendril loosening their hold on Maria's body, swaying precariously over the churning darkness below. Shadow threw himself forward in a final, desperate leap. His fingers stretched toward her, close enough to feel the displaced air from her reaching hand.

Their fingertips brushed—a whisper of contact, a flicker of hope—before the catheter suddenly let go.

For one impossible moment, Maria hung suspended in the fog, gravity forgotten. Her blue eyes reflected the pale light filtering through the mist, and in them Shadow saw everything: forgiveness for his failures, love despite his weaknesses, and a terrible, gentle acceptance of what was about to happen.

"Find the hotel," she whispered as the world converged into a singularity between them in those final moments. "Avenge me."

Then, as time resumed its cruel march, she finally fell.

"MARIA!" Shadow's scream scraped his throat raw, torn from the deepest wells of his anguish. The sound seemed to echo infinitely, bouncing off the shrouded landscape like a death knell. Her form vanished through the fog, swallowed by the thick haze and into the rushing waters below.

He never heard a splash.

Behind him, the entanglers had vanished as silently as they'd come, their purpose fulfilled. The bridge stood empty except for the echo of his anguish and the terrible absence where Maria should have been.

Shadow collapsed against the railing, his trembling hands gripping his pistol until his knuckles turned white. He had been created to protect her. Had promised himself he wouldn't fail her again. But when the moment came—the single most important moment of his existence—he had been nothing but a broken weapon, paralyzed by his own fractured systems.

The silence that followed was deafening—no alarm, no static, no sound at all except the rumbling river and his own ragged breathing. Even Silent Hill seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what he would become now that everything he'd fought for had been torn away. A heavy mist of condensation started to muddle his vision. His eyes burned, yet no tears sprouted, his whole body too stunned by grief to react at all. His gaze never left the haze below, waiting for some miracle to come and bring her back to him.

But nothing ever came.

Find the hotel. Avenge me . Those words etched in his mind like a branding iron, repeating themselves until his stomach twisted in a wave of misery and nausea. Maria—the sister he loved with all his being, the innocent girl with a heart bigger than the whole sky—asked him to avenge her. Just how much pain had she suffered to harbor that resentment? What had the world done to her all those years?

Was humanity even worth protecting after all?

In the distance, footsteps echoed against the bridge's steel grating—deliberate, measured, cautious. Someone was approaching through the haze, their movement purposeful yet respectful of the scene they were walking into.

Shadow remained frozen against the railing, his pistol still clutched in white-knuckled hands. The weapon felt foreign now, a tool that had failed him when it mattered most. His enhanced hearing picked up the subtle details: the careful placement of boots against metal, the slight hesitation in stride as the newcomer assessed the situation, the professional restraint in their approach.

At twenty feet, the footsteps stopped.

"This is Officer Bennett." The voice cut through the suffocating silence, training and procedure taking precedence even in this moment of obvious tragedy. "State your business in this area."

Shadow turned his head slowly, his movements mechanical and hollow. The wolf from the café stood there, weapon drawn but not aimed, her posture coiled in a restrained caution, almost as if perceiving him as an unpredictable danger. Cybil Bennett. The name surfaced through his grief like debris from a wreck.

The pistol trembled visibly in his loose grip. He knew he needed to say something, maybe even defend himself against any possible accusation she may have; yet no words appeared before him in the aftermath, as the events unfolded replayed in his head in a whirlwind of tragedy and loss. Each second seemed to last a lifetime, as the two of them stood in silence in the dead landscape—where unspoken truths told more than any statement

And, as the realization crashed upon Shadow like a sudden downpour, the words stuttered out of his lips.

"She's gone."

Cybil's gun remained steady, but her posture shifted as she lowered the weapon methodically, not seeing the situation as a potential threat anymore, but as the remains of a scene she was too late to witness. Shadow's gaze turned back to the churning waters, rendered unseen by the thick silver haze covering the town.

"Sir, I need you to lower your weapon,” she urged gently, lowering her own firearm with painstaking care. Her tone was measured but not cold; it carried the weight of someone seeing a tragedy unfolding, knowing she was arriving to the aftermath of heartbreak rather than imminent danger. Her eyes flicked back to Shadow, who was visibly shaking, fists clenched around his gun, his breath ragged and shallow. "What happened? Who's gone?"

"Maria, she—" Shadow's throat tightened at the name. The grip on his gun faltered, the cold metal clattering against the pavement pathetically. "She fell. I couldn't save her. I-I wasn't fast enough."

Cybil paused beside him, taking in Shadow's words as eyes swept the bridge. She took note of the scattered bullet holes in the pavement, the twisted metal where something had clearly struck the railing. "Listen... Shadow, is it?" He managed a faint nod, unable to meet her gaze directly. "She fell into the river?"

"Yes." The word emerged hollow, drained of everything except terrible certainty.

Cybil hesitated, weighing hope against harsh reality. The fog made visibility nearly impossible, and the current below was unforgiving. Still, protocol demanded she try. "I can't promise anything, but I'll start searching as soon as possible. This stretch isn't too deep—there's a chance she made it to shore. What did she look like?"

His voice took on a distant quality, as if he were describing someone from a half-remembered dream. "Human. Blonde hair. Blue dress. She fell just before you arrived."

"Then I need to move quickly, before the current takes her too far downstream." Cybil reached out instinctively to guide him, but immediately withdrew as Shadow recoiled from her touch with violent intensity. "Sorry. I didn't mean to... Look, I need you to come with me. Your friend is downtown, and he's been looking for you."

"Sonic?" The name seemed to pierce through Shadow's devastation like a shaft of light through storm clouds. Not hope exactly, but something sharper—purpose forged in the crucible of loss. "He's here?"

"He was helping someone in a store downtown," she explained, already picking up pace and motioning for the hedgehog to follow her. "He was going to the hospital to look for you, but we got sidetracked."

"The hospital?" Shadow's voice carried a note of confusion that cut through his grief, striding along the wolf in quick steps. "Why there?"

"He can explain it better to you, but some old lady in the church told him you would be there."

Cybil’s words hung in the air, fragile yet oddly weighty, as shadows flickered at the edge of his perception. Her explanation, simple on the surface, unraveled threads of questions that clawed at Shadow’s mind. Why would an old lady at the church, a stranger with no authority over his life, claim to possess knowledge of his whereabouts, only to send Sonic in a wild chase for…well, shadows? Especially when he was an outsider to this place, with no connections save to a single letter written by his sister?

And Maria—what was her meaning in all of this?

She might have been part of the town long enough to establish connections, yet the relationship between her and Alessa remained shrouded. Where was that mutual distrust rooted? Why did Alessa accuse him of being a pawn? Why had Maria warned him about Alessa's supposed lies? Shadow’s pulse quickened with a mingling of curiosity and unease. As they moved away from the damp, echoing bridge, the passive shadows here whispered of hidden truths, flickering like the distant stars obscured behind the swirling fog.

And as Shadow's thoughts became entangled in a web of mysteries and half-spoken truths, he didn't notice a tall figure rapidly approaching from the fog, frantic steps and unrestrained sobs tearing through anything in its way. Cybil shouted beside him, warning him to get out of the way, but it was too late, as a young woman crashed into them full force.

Cybil, in lack of a more eloquent expression, fell on her ass, barely avoiding the brunt of the collision. Shadow, however, didn’t have such luck, as he was sent sprawling to the ground with a bitter grunt, his face scraping the asphalt as one arm became trapped under his body. 

The hedgehog found himself in an awkward tangle, legs cramped beneath the woman's torso, as no enhanced reflexes could foresee the sheer randomness of the encounter.

The girl scrambled to her feet, a flurry of apologies blurbing out in a panic spiral. “Oh my God, Oh my God. I-I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t mean it!” Her face was red and swollen, trails of tears down her cheeks. Her watering eyes carried a haunted flickering behind them, the kind Shadow recognized from shell-shocked agents and, in his darkest moments, from his own reflection.

"Angela, wait up!" The voice cut through the fog before its owner materialized—another figure approaching at a rapid clip. Angela's head snapped toward the sound like a prey spotting the predator. She backed away in slow, tentative steps, before breaking out in a sprint of her own. The fog swallowed her as quick as it spit her out, leaving only the echo of her footsteps and the lingering impression of terror given form.

"You okay? That was quite the fall." Cybil asked, brushing the dust from her uniform, before extending her hand to Shadow. He regained his footing with unsteady legs, leaning way too heavily at the police officer as a harrowing fatigue spread through his muscles.

He felt like shit , the burst of adrenaline from the fall being replaced by a growing sense of frustration, grief and emptiness in his chest. His face stung, his arm was partially asleep and, oh!, he just lost his best friend from fifteen years ago. Again.

But before he could respond, the fog parted once more, the earlier voice finally revealing itself in hazy blue quills and familiar green eyes.

"Shadow?" Sonic’s voice was tinged with a careful hope reserved for miracles that might still prove to be illusions. He approached Shadow with slow, tentative steps, as if the agent would disappear if he came too fast or wished too hard.

The blue hedgehog closed the distance with a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of Shadow’s neck. “Where were you? I was so worried!” Any residue of anger at the perceived betrayal washed away under Sonic’s touch.

How could he believe Sonic abandoned him, when he was being held like that?

Shadow didn’t realize how cold he was until Sonic’s warmth seeped through his skin. He  wrapped his arms around this partner, the leather jacket crinkling as they pulled each other closer. The hug felt like finding a rock in the middle of the tempest at sea, a home you can always come back no matter what, a monument of acceptance without the need of any words.

And that was enough for him to finally crumble.

Chapter Text

The woman in the mirror wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. Those bags under her eyes, the nails bit down to the quick, the scars under her sleeves. The longer she stared at the reflection, the less she recognized herself.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had a soul. The last time she felt any sort of joy. All her days felt empty. So empty. Wake up. Brush teeth. Bus. Wait tables. Bus. Home. Make dinner. Brush teeth. Sleep. Repeat.

Customers yelled. Boss yelled. Daddy yelled. It’s all they ever did. It’s all they’ll ever do. Screw-up. Lazy ass. Whore. She was only good for one thing. Nothing else.

She hated men. Their presence. Their eyes. Their hands. They were all the same. They wait. Disarm you before pouncing. Use you and leave behind a broken husk. Come back with honeyed words. Regain your trust before shattering you again and again and again.

She hated how she never had the strength to fight. How she always saw it coming but could never stop it. Her body couldn’t take it anymore. Her mind couldn’t take it. She wanted to escape so much. But she never got to. She never had the courage.

The knife was stained red. She didn’t remember how it got there. She didn’t know whose blood was that. She didn’t care.

 She needed to find her Mama. Just see her one last time. Say her goodbyes.

Then she could leave in peace.

“Oh… it’s you.”

The woman barely lifted her gaze from her lying position to glance at Sonic, though it felt more like she was looking through him rather than at him.Her reflection fractured between three different full-length mirrors that lined the back wall—he wondered if he’d found a deeper meaning in this if he was more of a poet.

She held the knife in a way that seemed like she was trying to stab the floor, though her movements were clumsy, awkward. Her face was flushed, eyes covered in fog, tear streaks crossing her face in slanted lines.

“Do you remember me?” He smiled at her, his own way to offer comfort and familiarity to someone. “I’m Sonic. We met at the cemetery.”

“Angela.” The name came out hollow, slurred like each syllable unearthed a different shade of pain.

“Angela. That’s a beautiful name.” The comment—meant as comfort, as connection—sent tremors through her entire frame. Her grip on the knife tightened until her knuckles went white.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

"I don't know what you're going through," Sonic said, lowering himself to sit cross-legged nearby, trying to catch her eyes in the mirror's reflection. She refused to meet his gaze. "But you don't have to face it alone. There’s people out there who care for you."

"Really?" She sneered, her mouth twitching in a smirk of both contempt and defeat, like she heard that same lecture way too many times. "But… aren’t we the same? It's easier just to run. It’s what we deserve."

Those words coiled around his insides, awakening a feeling deep inside him, one that bore the likeness of a parasite feeding on his lifeforce. One that he never allowed himself to surface, never allowed to fester in other people’s hearts, no matter how hopeless the situation appeared. Despair .

"I'm not like you. I’m not running from this." The words blurted out before he could stop them, defensive and sharper than intended. "We don't deserve this, Angela. Whatever brought you here, whatever happened—"

Angela raised her head, fixing him with a stare through the mirror. Her voice cut through his speech, dripping of mockery and challenge. "Are you afraid?" The question hung in the air between them like a gun ready to fire. Then, just as quickly, her eyes were flooded with a dull misery, voice reverting to a broken whisper of regret. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Sonic forced his quills to relax, reminding himself that her anger wasn't really meant for him. Didn't make navigating that conversation any less challenging, as every word he chose felt like taking a step on a minefield. "Did you find your mother?"

"No… Not yet."

"Did she work here? Live nearby?"

"I don't know…"

“ Sigh . So… all you know is that she lived in this town.”

That simple assumption broke through Angela’s daze, the fog vanishing from her eyes in an instant. She twisted around to face him directly, the mirror no longer an intermediary. 

“What did you say?” She sputtered, propping herself in her arms. Her voice cracked, the rising suspicion merging with raw fear in her posture. “How do you know about that?!”

“Whoa, easy. I just assumed ‘cause this is where you’re looking for her.” Sonic’s skin prickled, like the air charged with static after that burst. “Thought it was obvious.” He added with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah…” She sighed, almost like admitting defeat. Her previous exasperation dissipated like smoke, leaving only ghosts of loss and turmoil clouding her eyes. “Sorry.”

A thick silence stretched across them, the type that quietly raises a wall when one’s darkness seeped through the cracks. Sonic found himself at a complete loss—every word that appeared before him died before reaching his throat. Every approach he'd used before, every speech he'd given to countless others teetering on the edge, rang hollow here. Inadequate.

He'd never encountered someone who seemed so... unreachable.

But Angela's mother—that was her anchor, wasn't it? The reason she was still here, still searching. Was it a cry for help, or a last goodbye? 

He cleared his throat lightly, testing the waters. “Your mom… Were you two close?”

Angela’s breath caught in her throat, eyes widening slightly. The hand with the knife was raised to her forehead, a chill spreading through Sonic’s spine when he saw the sharp edge so close to her face. 

“I guess…” She avoided his gaze, the response carefully neutral. She pursed her lips, and Sonic wasn’t sure if she was holding back tears or another outburst. “Did you… find the person you were looking for?”

Okay, maybe he was coming at this from the wrong angle. Maybe he should try veering the conversation off her situation. Give her space, wait for an opening to talk about it. She couldn’t avoid this forever, not if she wanted help.

“Nope. Still trying.”

The admission was simple and honest. Angela's shoulders seemed to relax gradually, as if his shared uncertainty had somehow lessened the burden of her own.

"Is he... important to you?" The question emerged quietly, almost hesitant—the first time she'd shown genuine curiosity about anything beyond her own labyrinth of pain.

"Yeah. He is." The words came easier than he expected. "He’s got this thing where he pretends he doesn’t need other people, but..." He shrugged, the gesture encompassing years of complicated partnership. “He's family, you know? The kind you choose."

Angela's grip on the knife loosened slightly, her knuckles no longer bone-white. "Family," she repeated, the word tasting foreign on her tongue.

"He’d do the same for me." Sonic smiled in reminiscence. "Even if we fought, even if it’s my fault he’s lost in town like this—he wouldn’t just abandon me like this, y’know?" He paused, the smile falling from his face as he was reminded why he was treading that hellhole. "I’d like to believe he wouldn’t, at least."

Something flickered across Angela's face—maybe recognition, maybe envy for that kind of connection. "Must be nice," she murmured, "having someone who'd look for you."

The words hung between them—a confession she hadn't meant to make. Sonic felt the weight of unspoken histories, of searches that had ended in disappointment, of a lost soul with no hope of being found.

“I should find my mama.” She moved to stand, movements stiff and uncertain. Sonic found himself unwilling to accept the dismissal. Something about the way she held herself—like she was carrying the weight of the world and didn’t know how to set it down—made walking away feel like abandonment.

"Why don't you come with me? We could look for them together." The offer spilled out before he could second-guess it, extending a hand to help her off the floor. "City's too dangerous to go alone."

"I'll be fine. I'll just slow you down." Angela waved him off, standing up by herself and wiping the dust off her clothes. "You don't have to worry about me."

But Sonic was already worrying—about the way she dismissed her own worth so casually, about the knife she carried like both a weapon and a burden, about the hollow look in her eyes of someone who’s given into despair.

"W-what about that?" He pointed toward the blade in her hand, the question emerging from both genuine concern and fear

Angela followed his gaze, and for the first time seemed to truly see what she was holding. The knife caught the dusty light in dull reflections, its edge worn smooth, its tip stained maroon. Her expression shifted, a mixture of recognition, fear, and something that might have been relief.

"Will you hold it for me?" The request came out small, vulnerable in a way that made Sonic's chest tight. "If I kept it, I'm not sure what I might do."

"Sure. No problem." He agreed, trying to push down the cold feeling that settled in his stomach. This was the first time she'd asked for help—any kind of help—and the weight of that trust felt enormous. He couldn’t refuse it, but with the gun already too heavy of a weight, he had no intention of keeping the blade.

Sonic reached toward her, his movement slow and careful. The space between them seemed to stretch, seconds dilating into something that felt like forever. He went for the handle, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand.

Angela screamed.

Sonic froze on the spot, pulling his hands back as the knife came up between them both barrier and threat. Angela recoiled violently, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Her eyes widened with terror, perceiving something other than the blue hedgehog before her.

Both of her hands gripped the handle tightly until her fingertips turned purple, her breathing heavy before her hold on the blade loosened, letting it fall from her grip. The knife clattered on the wooden floor, the noise making both of them flinch. Angela gripped the sides of her head, the heels of her hands pressing hard against her ears.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Angela bawled, voice cracking as the tears came unbidden down her face.  “I’ve been bad. Please… don’t…” She glared at him with the primal defensiveness of a wounded animal, a bitter distrust like he was the one that personally attacked her. 

And before Sonic could stop her, she bolted out of the building, her clumsy sprint spreading a trail of havoc across the store—chairs overturned, a coat hanger pushed aside, a vase shattering against the floor.

The sound of breaking ceramic finally snapped Sonic from his paralysis.

What did I do? The question hammered against his skull as he stared at the abandoned knife, metal pointing the dusty light at him like an accusation. The thought burned in the back of his mind—she was out there alone with whatever lurked in the fog, carrying whatever demons that had just torn through her, armed with nothing but her terror and the certainty that she was beyond saving.

Move.

Sonic's legs finally obeyed, propelling him forward through the maze of displaced furniture. His usual grace was replaced by a wobbly, reckless urgency, catching his feet on overturned chairs and table corners as he pursued the ghost of Angela's retreat. The store's entrance loomed ahead—a threshold between the relative safety of enclosed space and the malevolent streets beyond.

He burst through the doorway into Silent Hill's oppressive atmosphere, the fog immediately wrapping around him with an icy grasp. The familiar weight of the town's wrongness seeped into his lungs and pressed against his consciousness.

To his right, in the direction of the drawbridge, he caught the faint silhouette of her shape as Angela threaded through the fog, her steps progressively getting muffled by the distance. His best effort to dash resulted in something with the pace of a jog, every attempt to propel himself forward feeling like wading waist-deep in cement.

Her form was long obscured by the snowflakes and the ever-present haze, the staccato of her footsteps disappearing beneath the howling wind. All hope to find her was lost, her presence erased little by little like a memory faded by time…

“Look out!” Sonic recognized Cybil’s cry in the distance. But before he could properly process why she went so far away from the store, he heard the full-force collision of bodies, followed by the painful crash down onto the asphalt. 

“Oh my God, Oh my God. I-I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t mean it!”

“Angela, wait up!”

He saw Cybil’s silhouette helping someone off the asphalt. At first he thought it was Angela, but the figure was… off, too small, too angular. Then he recognized who it was, the name falling from his lips in relief and disbelief.

“Shadow?” His partner had barely been pulled to his feet before Sonic tackled him in a tight embrace. “Where were you? I was so worried!”

Sonic wasn't expecting a straight answer out of Shadow—maybe something like ‘ none of your business, hedgehog ’—but nothing could prepare him for the raw, heartwrenching crying that came out of him. The agent's fur was devoid of its usual warmth, its frigid texture making Sonic feel like he was holding a corpse.

“Shadow, what's going on? What happened?” He tried asking, but it only intensified Shadow's sobs and shuddering. “Cybil, did you find him like this?”

“I heard gunshots. Found him on the bridge, he said someone fell into the water. Human, blonde hair, blue dress. Sounds familiar?”

An icy bezoar of dread formed in the pit of his stomach—there was only one person that Shadow would be this shaken over. Their earlier fight burned hot in his mind, the accusation he'd made that Shadow was chasing a ghost cutting though his conscience like a spear. He’d actually found her, she was alive, and she was here waiting for them. Was .

And now, Sonic felt the sharp blade of guilt twisting in his chest—for not believing Shadow, for inciting their earlier fight, and for not following him right after he stormed out of the house. If he’d done better, if he had stayed , he would have prevented whatever happened to her.

“Must be Maria, his friend. I didn’t know her personally, but we were going to meet her in town today.” Sonic didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice leveled through the cacophony inside his mind. “Why didn’t you call for me at the store?”

“I tried! I was screaming for you to help, banging on the glass and everything.”

“Cybil, I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear it, I swear!”

“It’s fine, water under the bridge,” Cybil waved the apology off, her eyes sweeping between Shadow's broken state and Sonic's exasperation. "What happened in there?" Her voice carried the controlled tension of someone trying to hold multiple crises together.

“I don’t know . One moment she was giving me the…” He swallowed dry. “…the knife, the other she was pointing it at me! She started screaming and saying sorry, and then she ran out!”

Cybil’s glare hardened, not quite in anger, but  carrying a bewilderment that came with disappointment. “And you just let her run away with a knife in her hands? ”

“It’s in the store. She dropped it, and I—I just… I didn't know what to do!”

Cybil's jaw tightened, her composure cracking at the edges. "'S what I get letting a civilian handle police work," she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Listen, I need to find her now before the river carries her further.”

“Fine, I’ll follow Angela then—”

“Don’t.” Cybil’s tone sent a chill along Sonic’s spine. “You got the knife off her hands. Good. I don’t need you going after her and setting her off again. Let me handle this.”

 “But I can help! What if you need me for something?”

Cybil pointed to Shadow, still wrapped in Sonic’s arms, weeping and shuddering. “Your friend needs you. More than I do. You know where the hospital is?” Sonic nodded. “I’ll meet you two there when I can.” She started to leave, pausing when passing by them before saying, “And uhm… I’m so sorry for his loss. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.” Sonic heard the officer’s steps vanishing with the distance, not having the courage to turn and see her being swallowed by the fog.

He felt utterly pathetic .

Cybil’s words started to ricochet in his mind like bullets of shame and accusation. She didn’t know who he was, and still chose to trust him in a situation he wasn’t ready to handle. He thought that he’d be able to reach Angela through her pain, but not only had he failed to help, she was now alone in a town full of monsters, with no weapon, and no one to look for her.

Sonic’s chest constricted with the merciless weight of failure. Angela's terrified scream melded with the memory of Shadow storming out after their fight. Two people he could have helped, should have helped—and now one was lost to the fog while the other trembled in his arms, broken by grief Sonic had dismissed as delusion.

Sonic ran his fingers through Shadow’s quills, feeling the other’s weight as both an anchor and a burden—he’d stopped crying at some point during the discussion, but Sonic could still feel the agent's body trembling.

It was a reminder that some things couldn't be outrun or fought, only endured.

“Shadow?” Sonic called softly. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Shadow's breathing steadied, but his grip on the jacket threatened to rip the leather. When he finally lifted his head, a hollow look in his puffed eyes—haunted like the scorched landscape after a wildfire.

"She's gone."  Shadow's voice barely held itself together through sheer force of will. The words emerged brittle and final, repeated like a mantra he couldn't quite believe.

"I know." But there was no comfort Sonic could give, no empty words of reassurance, only the hollow feeling that came with failure with the people you care about.. "I'm sorry."

Shadow pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his glove, the gesture swift, almost angry at itself. His usual rigid posture returned like clockwork put into place, puppeteered by his own need to move forward. But the subtle way his shoulders hunched betrayed the fragile composure he tried to convey.

"The hospital," Shadow said, not quite a question.

"Yeah. You up for the walk?"

A flash of something—irritation, maybe pride—crossed Shadow's features. "I can manage."

They moved through the fog-shrouded streets in tandem, the silence between them not quite uncomfortable, but charged with the ache of fresh wounds. Sonic found himself matching Shadow's stride, who started to stumble on shadows despite trying to maintain his characteristic pace. His breathing remained controlled, deliberate, but Sonic caught the anguished rhythm his partner's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"The radio." Shadow's voice cut through the muffled atmosphere. "I left it on the bridge. Maria took out the batteries, and then she..."

He halted in his steps, turning back like the lost memento would find itself back into his hands. Sonic saw the way his eyes started to cloud, his hand closing into a trembling fist, the breakdown threatening to resurface.

"Hey." Sonic put a hand on Shadow's shoulder. "One step at a time, okay? We can find another one." Shadow's jaw tightened, but nodded. 

Alchemilla Hospital's imposing three-story silhouette emerged from the fog ahead, its cinderblock walls and iron picket gates promising neither comfort nor answers. Just another waypoint in a town that seemed to feed on suffering.

But they would face it together. That much, at least, was a welcome change.

“Where is it?! WHERE IS IT!? ”

The shouts rumbled through the white hospital corridors, each word a thunderous roar cutting through the sterile silence. The clacking of pristine black shoes struck the floor like a clock counting down to a man’s own demise. Had any staff remained, they would have scattered like a flock of birds, quaking in their boots not for their lives but for their livelihoods—that subtle distinction had always amused him. But the halls stood vacant, as if the building itself had exhaled its occupants into the fog beyond.

From the moment he woke up in the staff room—his neck stiff from hours slumped in an uncomfortable chair—Kaufmann had known. The peculiar weight of the air, the absence of ambient sound, the faint smell of rust that shouldn't exist in a medical facility. Silent Hill had shifted, and with it, everything that mattered.

He crashed into his office, the heavy mahogany door slamming against the plastered wall with such violence another dent made itself visible. And there, amid the wreckage of his professional sanctuary, Dr. Michael Kaufmann felt something alien twist within his chest— fear , raw and unfiltered, the very emotion he had spent decades inflicting upon others.

His meticulously organized realm lay devastated. The mahogany desk—imported at considerable expense—stood violated and exposed, a slew of papers strewn on the floor from patients raptured by the same event that overtook the once peaceful town. One of the doors from the cupboard was ripped out of its hinges, left discarded on the floor, as his prized book collection was gutted from its insides, their broken spines scattered across his red Persian carpet like victims of a raid.

But these were mere peripherals, stage dressing for the true violation.

The portrait of Paracelsus—that damnable gift from Dahlia—had been removed with surgical precision from the wall. Behind it, the wall safe gaped open, a black mouth emptied of secrets. The money, the documentation, the carefully compiled insurance against those who might one day seek to betray him—all gone. Items he had once considered essential, now revealed as trinkets in the face of what truly mattered.

For there, positioned with deliberate theatrical cruelty where he couldn't possibly miss it, lay the shattered remains of the glass vial. Droplets of the red liquid stored inside spread across the imported carpet like accusatory fingers—his last resort in this reality that increasingly bent toward madness, deliberately destroyed.

Kaufmann stood motionless, watching the stain spread with the detached horror of a man observing his own autopsy. His teeth ground together with such force that a lesser man's jaw might have fractured, pure hatred crystallizing within him like a tumor.

"No no no nonono. NO! "

His fist descended upon the violated desk, the impact sending tremors through the wood and causing the few remaining items to dance like objects in a seance. The pain shooting through his knuckles was distant, almost theoretical compared to the rage consuming him.

"That fucking bitch is going to pay for this.” He spat, not as a threat, neither as a prayer for retribution. It was a promise, a covenant for the betrayed doctor to enact his own sense of justice.

And, as his rage scorched in his chest like a blazing furnace, his mind traced back to a lifeline left forgotten in his memories. It was his first experiment with the red liquid, before his own hubris made him careless about her eventual betrayal. It wasn’t as refined or as plentiful as the sample in his office, but it would suffice.

“The motel, of course!” Kaufmann’s eyes widened in realization. The corner of his mouth twisted into a presumptuous smirk. “That bitch would never think of searching there. It isn’t too late to revert this.”

The revelation brought a momentary clarity to his fury, like lightning illuminating a night-shrouded landscape. He needed his room key, and his gun for whatever could be lurking in the altered landscape. He deliberately left in the examination room, sealed inside a medical waste container where no curious nurse would think to look. A peculiar hiding place, perhaps, but discretion had become second nature in a town where walls had ears and shadows had eyes.

Kaufmann stalked through the corridors,the staccato of his own footsteps probably the only thing grounding himself in reality. The door to the examination room stood ajar, a sliver of the silvery ambient light barely illuminating the deserted space.

The thick cardboard container was meant to safely discard syringes, scalpels and other sharp materials to be incinerated later. No one would dare open and rummage them to find some small object and risk an infected needle piercing their hand, which is why they made the perfect hiding place for the doctor’s secrets.

He opened the sealed box, digging up a thick layer of brand-new syringes (he wasn’t stupid to use bloodied ones) concealing his belongings—a sub-compact Glock 26, two boxes of 9 mm ammunition, the copper key that locked away his last resort against that crazy bitch.

“You’re not getting away with this one, Dahlia.” He promised to himself, sticking the key inside his jacket pocket. “I went along with your little plan for way too long.”

Flap... flap... flap...

A rustling uncomfortably close to the window took him out of his own thoughts. Kaufmann fumbled with the gun, fingers suddenly clumsy with unexpected dread as he released the safety. He raised the weapon, its muzzle trembling almost imperceptibly as he aimed at the frosted glass pane. Beyond the window, snow drifted in lazy spirals across the hospital's courtyard, the flakes appearing black against the oppressive white fog that had devoured the world outside.

"What the fuck was that?" He mumbled, legs suddenly stiffened, as if the floor itself had partially liquefied and begun to engulf his expensive shoes. His mind was torn between commanding his body to flee toward the door or investigate the sound.

The noise came again—not the innocent flutter of fabric caught in the wind, but something more deliberate. Something hunting . A scraping against the glass, like bone on slate.

He didn't have time to decide.

Kaufmann heard it before he saw it—a fluttering of wings just outside of the examination room, a piercing screech that seemed to contain the distilled essence of every patient's cry he had callously ignored, and then, an explosion of glass and shrieking metal as the creature crashed against the window.

The thing that burst through bore only the faintest suggestion of being an animal, the pale, leathery skin stretching unnaturally across its abnormal wingspan. The elongated head bore two glassy, clouded eyes over a sideways jaw lined with jagged, bloodied teeth. Two legs were poised to attack underneath, three ivory talons in each paw ready to claw his eyes out of its sockets.

Time crystallized into a perfect moment of terror as Kaufmann’s gaze locked onto the creature. The world around him—the pristine examination room, the hospital that had been his domain, the very town that had bent to his will—all collapsed into a singular point of horrific focus.

His muscles betrayed him, frozen in primal recognition of something so fundamentally wrong that his body couldn't process the appropriate response. Fight or flight dissolved into paralysis as the monster's leathery wings beat the air, propelling it forward with unnatural speed. The creature's clouded eyes reflected nothing, absorbed everything, two vacant pools that seemed to recognize him not as a man but as sustenance.

The moment shattered.

Shrieeeeek

The sound pierced through his consciousness, a frequency that vibrated through bone and sinew, that spoke of rage and hunger so ancient it predated civilization. Kaufmann's survival instinct finally erupted through his paralysis, fingers clenching around the cold metal of the Glock.

Too late. Too slow. The creature's talons extended, poised to tear through expensive fabric and the flesh beneath.

BANG

Alchemilla Hospital’s reception area was dimly lit by the scattered light that came from outside, the walls in green and dirty beige lending an unsanitary, neglected feel to the whole place. Not abandonment, per se—the posters on the wall were pretty recent, a magazine on the coffee table was open as if the reader left in a hurry—but like a skeleton crew was left to its own devices by management and had to upkeep a whole hospital with minimal funding.

The large, L-shaped sofa in the corner had its leather cover peeling at the seams, any comfort coming from familiarity rather than technical quality. The reception desk had the expected disarray of a busy morning and too little attendants. The tacky olive and black tile floor had a thin layer of dust over it, disturbed into thin clouds as the hedgehogs entered the empty building.

“ Phew . This place needs a new coat of paint since the 70s, it feels like,” Sonic remarked, trying to keep up some sense of good spirit in face of everything. He closed the door behind him, the creaky hinges echoing tenfold in the absolute quiet.

Shadow, who entered first, sank into the old couch, not having uttered a word the whole way. His hands rested in his lap with unrest, fidgeting with his gloves, pulling invisible bobbles in the pristine fabric. His head was tilted to the left, eyes fixed on the floor like the old marble would tell the secrets of life and death.

Sonic ran a hand through his quills, torn between asking the difficult questions, or sitting in awkward silence. “Hey, uhm…” Shadow raised his head with a hollowed stare, and Sonic regretted even opening his mouth in the first place. “Nice weather, huh?”

The look Shadow gave him made Sonic want to smack himself into oblivion. “Really,” the agent huffed with a raspy voice, “You want to ask about Maria, don’t you?” He turned his head away, a bitter smirk forming in his lips. “She would’ve liked you. The Maria I knew, anyway.”

' The Maria he knew.'  Sonic rubbed his arm, a lot of questions forming in his mind, but his courage faltered when he tried asking them. There was something fishy underneath all of this—the town, the letter, Maria herself. But before he could gather the nerve to open his mouth again, the sharp crack of a gun shattered the silence.

Bang!

Their heads snapped to the sound, both hedgehogs coiling to run towards investigating it. Shadow’s hand hovered over the holster for a moment, before he changed his mind and summoned a Chaos Spear. Sonic saw a strange conflict in his face—the agent never hesitated in using firearms to fight, so why was he resistant to use them now?

A door stood ajar at the end of the hall, a sliver of silver lights spilling out into the corridor. As Sonic pushed it open carefully, the smell of ash and copper hit him. He saw a man, dressed in a grey suit, out of breath in a metal chair, the gun in his hand still spewing smoke. 

On the floor, a horrifying crossbreed of a bird and a pterodactyl lay, drowning in a pool of its own blood as the man watched it die with bated breath. Its glassy eyes turned to Sonic, reflecting the horror on his face before death clouded them.

The hinges creaked, and the man was pulled out of his stupor. He jumped from the chair, whipping his pistol at the hedgehog without a second look. He fired, the muzzle of the gun lighting up like a flare. Sonic ducked, the shot barely missing his ear before ricocheting off the corridor’s wall with a flurry of sparks. 

“Wait! Don’t shoot!”

The man fired again. Shadow flattened himself against the wall as the bullet pierced the air where he'd been a second before. The feeble Chaos Spear flickered out of existence as his concentration was broken.

“Back off, pal! ” Sonic bared his teeth, pointing his own pistol at the man. “We’re not here to fight.”

The man’s eyes widened, the grip on his gun loosening. He finally seemed to recognize the two hedgehogs were sentient beings. “Thank God, it’s just you animals,” Sonic flinched at the backhanded insult, hardening his glare at the man. Shadow didn’t seem to care, “Don’t think I could handle another monster.”

“Do you work here?” Sonic lowered his gun, his grip not as uncomfortable, the weight not as foreign as before.

“Yes, I’m doctor Michael Kaufmann.” Great. Not only was he an asshole, he had a medical-grade ego to boot. “Are you two cops?”

“We’re just tourists, just got in town,” Sonic lied, seeing a flicker of malice behind Kaufmann’s eyes, “Name’s Sonic, and this over here is Shadow. Do you know what happened?”

The man sighed deeply, putting the gun away in his pants’ pocket before going off into a rant. “I was taking a nap in the staff room, and when I woke up it was like this. Everyone seems to have disappeared… And it’s snowing out this time of year… Something’s gone seriously wrong,” Kaufmann grabbed two paper towels from a dispenser, cleaning off the blood spilled on his shoes, barely looking at Sonic as he went on. “Did you see those monsters? Have you ever seen such aberrations? Ever even heard of such things? You and I both know creatures like that don’t exist.”

“Yeah… sure.” Sonic rubbed his arm. “Have you seen anyone around? A girl, maybe?

“A girl? I just told you I haven’t seen anyone.” Kaufmann chastised. “You looking for her?”

“There was this woman at the church saying something about a girl in the hospital.” Sonic said. Recognition flickered across the doctor’s eyes. “Do you know that woman?”

Kaufmann paused, processing the question before shutting it down completely. “No,” His expressionless tone was to make himself more convincing. It didn’t convince Sonic, “In any case, I should be going. Don’t wanna be here when those things overrun the place.” 

Sonic had to step aside as the doctor made his exit, almost being run over by the man’s brisk pace.

“By the way,” Kaufmann barely turned his head to talk to him, “if you’re gonna shoot something, might as well load your gun.”

Sonic finally noticed the empty pistol in his hands, and suddenly it felt too much of a weight to hold even if the magazine was held in his other pocket. He threw the gun on the floor, feeling that his very soul was stained by once again resorting to such methods. The metal clattered resoundingly against the floor, his bumbling awkwardness eliciting a derisive snort from Kaufmann. 

The echo of his footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving behind the metallic taste of gunpowder and unspoken accusations. Shadow approached slowly, almost detached from what happened. He stood sentinel beside the doorframe, his crimson eyes fixed on the bloodstain where the creature had died. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, ready to snap.

"Did you just..." Shadow's voice cut through the quiet, more concerned than critical, "Pull out a gun on the man?"

The question hung in the sterile air. Sonic felt his quills bristle, the surprise in Shadow’s voice hammering like judgement in his brittle state of mind. After everything—after Angela's screams, after failing to help her, after watching his partner collapse with grief—now this.

"Fuck off," the words escaped before he could stop them, raw and defensive, "Why aren't you using your gun, anyway? You never had problems using them before."

Shadow's shoulders tensed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "They made me weak, Sonic,” The agent turned his gaze away, wrapping his arms around himself. “She told me as much. If I didn’t rely on them so much, maybe I’d…" Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, his chest heaving shallower, faster. 

The murky light from outside seemed to dim, the shadows inside the hospital turning deeper, hazier, like a jury from hell witnessing the downfall of frailed minds. Sonic could feel the weight of accumulated failures pressing down like the fog outside—thick, suffocating, inescapable. Every good intention had turned to ash in his hands today.

"Shadow, listen to yourself," Sonic's voice carried an edge of desperation beneath his frustration. "The Maria you knew, the Maria you tell everyone about, would never say that!. Don't you see that?"

"Don't." Shadow's head snapped up, eyes blazing with something between fury and anguish, "Don't you dare talk about her like that. You didn't even believe she existed until—"

"Until what? Until I found you falling apart? Until she died and left you to pick up the pieces again!?" The words spilled out before Sonic could catch them, each one a match struck in a room full of gasoline. "Shadow, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

But Shadow had already recoiled as if struck. The grief that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted into something dark, venomous. " You left me first."

Sonic blinked, his mind going blank in face of the accusation. “Left you?” What was Shadow even talking about?

"At the house. You didn't follow me. You went the other way." The words came in staccato bursts, each one punctuated with a primal hurt between heavy breaths. The hospital's oppressive atmosphere seemed to compress around them, turning their private pain into something claustrophobic and dangerous.

“Shadow, I followed you right after you,” Sonic felt the ground shifting beneath him, confusion mixing with mounting outrage, “I’ve been searching for you halfway through town for the last hour! How could I have left you?!”

"Then why was the front door open?" The question emerged with simplicity, carrying the weight of abandonment and broken trust. Shadow's composure was cracking like ice under pressure, revealing the terrified, grieving creature beneath.

"The front door? Is that what this is about?" Sonic's voice pitched higher with disbelief. The absurdity of it—of everything—crashed over him like a wave. Their screaming match at the house, the sight of Shadow leaving him behind in the house, the monster he killed in the store, the confrontation with Angela and Cybil’s disappointment, and now this paranoid accusation over an open door.

"Just answer me, Sonic."

Sonic’s barely kept control finally snapped in two.

"The dog house, Shadow! The fucking dog house! Remember the note we found about that fucking thing? I had no idea where to go!" Sonic yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice rasping with the sheer force of fury and disappointment. "I turned right around to look for you and this is the thanks I get!? You left without giving a single shit about me, and now you're being a jerk just because you found a fucking door open!?"

The words hung between them like weapons drawn. Shadow's breathing had become even more ragged. The agent who could face down government conspiracies and supernatural horrors was falling apart over the perceived abandonment by the one person he'd learned to trust.

"You just care about yourself!" Tears streamed down Sonic’s face as the accusations spilled out, not from a place of truth, but from the thrill to hit where it hurt. "You dragged me into this hell of a town because you can't move on from her death! She's dead, Shadow! Dead people. Don't. Send. Letters! And now we're stuck here because you can't listen to fucking logic!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Sonic expected anger, expected another screaming match of two broken people fighting on who was less in the wrong, he even expected physical blows being traded until their outsides matched their bruised hearts.

Instead, he watched in growing horror as his partner's face crumpled completely. His carefully constructed walls didn't just crack—they shattered.

Shadow's sobs came like a dam breaking, ugly and raw and not the barely controlled grief from before. His knees gave out, sending him sliding down the doorframe until he sat crumpled on the hospital floor.

"She is dead!" Shadow's words came between heaving breaths, each syllable torn from his throat. "Again! And it's my fault!"

Sonic felt his whole body trembling, his face wet from sweat and tears. Any and all anger suddenly evaporated at the sight of the Shadow the Hedgehog—the stoic, unshakeable agent—reduced to this broken thing, leaving an empty anguish in the pit of his stomach.

“ Your friend needs you. More than I do.” 

Cybil's words echoed in the back of his mind, yet another blow in his already frailed state. In that town, with those people, he wasn’t the world-renowned hero he saw himself as, but just a guy with a savior complex, with all the good intentions but none of the tact needed to resolve anything.

And worse yet, he failed with the person that should matter the most. Failed as a hero, as a protector, and as a friend. He was so focused on helping strangers he knew nothing about that he crushed to the ground the person that needed him the most. The one who asked him to be there, who broke down in his arms in the middle of the street, who trusted him with so many delicate moments in his life.

He failed Shadow.

Sonic had to force himself to breathe, each intake of air scratching down his throat like a razor blade. The weight of his own mistakes dropped him to his knees, as he watched Shadow with his heart heavy with worry, shame and guilt.

“W-what are-you… looking at?” Shadow barely lifted his head to talk, the trembling words barely audible between sobs. The fur on his cheeks was so drenched with tears it glistened under the phantom light. “I-I know… you don’t want to b-be here. Just… leave. Please.”

Sonic got up from the floor. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust whatever would come out his mouth.

But he wasn’t going away, either.

He sat beside Shadow on the marble floor, a tentative hand pulling him gently until his head rested on Sonic’s chest. Shadow’s shoulders tensed, but there was no push against the touch. The two of them soon turned into a mess of limbs and feelings, grasping at each other like it would be their last time together in the same room.

And as Sonic slowly stroked the black and red quills of his companion, he started to reflect on the circumstances that led them there—wandering a ghost town, sitting on the floor of a ghost hospital, soaking in their own tears and haunted by their own ghosts.

Sonic knew the reason—the real reason—that Shadow invited him over Rouge or Omega, and Shadow knew why Sonic accepted it so readily. They might never have been truly together, but they never got over each other, either.

Their pitiful attempt at a relationship fell apart because they never tried to be on the same page about anything. Shadow had always kept Sonic at arm’s length, and he, in turn, never bothered himself to bridge that gap. They allowed that hollowness to fester right under their noses, a tenuous “It’s fine” situation that bled into all of their interactions. Until a spark from a betrayal that never happened blew up their time-bomb peace treaties.

They couldn’t pretend it was 'fine' any longer.

Shadow’s muffled sobs had subsided, now laying on his side over the blue hedgehog’s chest. Sonic placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, scratching behind his ears. 

“I’m sorry…” Shadow said, and that was probably the first time Sonic heard those words coming out the agent’s mouth, “I really thought you left me. Even she said so…”

“Maria? But how would she know?” Sonic asked, confused. Shadow only gave a slight shrug in answer. “Where did you meet her anyway?”

“At the school. Down the street behind the house,” Shadow answered simply. Sonic raised an eyebrow, prompting the other to clarify, “I… went in there after Alessa. A human girl. She was being attacked by some sort of dog, but when I tried to help her, she ran away.”

“Then the dogs really were your doing.”

“One of them was, but the other she… threw it at the lightpost with a flick of her hand,” Shadow mimicked the movement with his own hand. Sonic’s eyes widened at that. Humans weren’t known for their magic, much less something complex as telekinesis. “She knew Maria, but she wouldn’t answer my questions. She thought I was sent by her mother to get her.”

“Looks like you’re not the only paranoid one,” Sonic’s jab earned him a half-hearted slap in the shoulder and a tired glare, “Do you think she knows what happened to the town?”

“Worse, I think she’s related to all of this. She told me to go after you and get out of here,” Shadow said, his eyes darkening with bitterness, “She was at the bridge just before Maria and I were attacked. I don’t think she’s trustworthy.”

“I’ll be on the lookout,” Sonic replied, “You were looking for me too, huh?”

“Yes. What of it?” Shadow replied with a defiant edge to his voice. Sonic couldn’t help chuckling at the agent’s flustering. “Speaking of that, the wolf commented that someone in the church told you to go to the hospital.”

“Oh, yes. That, ” Sonic rolled his eyes as he remembered the strange encounter, “There was this strange woman in there. She started rambling that she was expecting me, that I had changed since the last time she met ‘me’. I think she thought I was you .”

Shadow grimaced, making a face of almost disgust, “I have no idea who that woman’s supposed to be. And we’re not that similar.”

“Anyway, she told me to ‘ Go to the hospital before it’s too late .’ I thought you could be heading here to meet Maria.” Sonic made spooky gestures with his hands, mocking the cryptic and fatalistic message. He pulled out the Flauros from the jacket’s pocket. “She gave me this thing too. Said it was a ‘cage of peace’, or something.”

He unwrapped the small pyramid to show it better, but as he did so, Shadow let out a groan, clutching his head with one hand. Almost instinctively, the object was knocked off Sonic’s hand and sent tumbling through the floor.

“What was that for?!” Sonic sputtered out. 

"My head—! The voices, they’re loud!" Shadow's words cut off as another wave of disorientation hit him. He was now kneeling on the floor, hands clasping over his ears. His body lurched in a fit of coughing as a dark smoke poured out from his mouth and nose. “Keep that thing—! cough cough Away from me!” He roared.

Sonic scrambled to his feet after the Flauros, a million thoughts racing through his mind on what to do with the cursed object. The pyramid emanated an intense, pulsating light, almost scalding against his palm, and Sonic felt a pull within his very soul towards the thing.

No. He couldn’t focus on it. He had to get it to stop.

Then it clicked. He had the Flauros with him the whole time, wrapped in that small piece of cloth. That strange reaction only started when it’d been pulled out of the jacket. He grabbed the white cloth and enfolded the pyramid tightly with it, shoving it as far as the shallow pocket allowed.

The dark smoke cleared out, leaving Shadow collapsed onto the floor, his breathing heavy and erratic. Sonic kneeled in front of his friend, watching the fog slowly clear from his eyes.

“What the hell is that thing?” Shadow spat out as his glare hardened, “ ‘Cage of peace’ , my ass. That woman knew exactly what she was doing when she gave you that thing. She was counting on you bringing it to me. The question is why."

“She must have some nasty beef with you.” Sonic quipped as he helped Shadow off the floor. “Are you okay? What happened just now?”

“I’m fine, just dizzy. This isn’t the first time this has happened today,” Shadow pointed to the Flauros inside the jacket pocket. “You should give this thing back to that woman, it’s too dangerous to be around it.”

Sonic blinked. “What.” He exhaled sharply, “Dude, I’m not a doctor, but I’m sure people don’t spew black smoke on a regular basis. And I’m definitely not giving it back to her. If it’s too dangerous to be with me, it’s twice as dangerous to be with her.” Shadow gave a noncommittal “hmpf’ , but otherwise didn’t protest. “Anyway, I’ll go get some water. Might as well roam around a bit while we wait for Cybil.”

“I’ll go with you.” Shadow ‘offered’, but there was a plea underneath his tone not to leave him alone. Sonic didn’t want to roam by himself either.

By Sonic’s standards, the reception area was a disgrace in customer service—no magazines to leaf through without reading, no TV with a volume too low to hear anything, or even a water fountain to pass the time drinking water. The rooms behind the desk also didn’t offer anything useful or interesting—only a simple office that led back to the examination room where they met the enigmatic doctor.

The L-shaped hallway contained the administrative floor of the hospital—a few offices, storage, a conference room and a kitchen. The still air had a strong scent of lavender and pine to try and mask the excessive amount of antiseptic used. Sonic already felt a pounding in his head in the few seconds they spent in the corridor to head into the kitchen, and Shadow behind him looked ready to hurl.

A few bottles of water were conveniently placed over a metal counter, remedies for their dried and sore throats from all the walking and screaming. Water dripped from the sides of Sonic’s mouth as he noisily emptied a bottle in almost a single gulp. Shadow stared in mild disgust as he grabbed one to himself.

“Sorry… Didn’t think it was that bad,” Sonic said, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove. 

Shadow only sighed in response. He had that thousand-yard stare once again, sipping slowly from the bottle in his hand. He was closing on himself again, no doubt reliving whatever were his last moments with Maria.

Sonic cleared his throat. “So… where’d Maria been all this time?”

“G.U.N. patched her up after they shot her. Then they left her to fend for herself. She didn’t say much where she’d been before coming to this town, but she worked at a nightclub here. Aside from that, she didn’t say much.” Shadow’s retelling was truthful, but Sonic could sense he didn’t fully believe what he heard. Or at least, the agent saw the glaring holes in the story.

“Did she say anything about that ‘ special place ’ in the letter?”

“The hotel near the lake. She wanted to show me something there.” Shadow pursed his lips, eyes downcast, “I wanted to find you first, but she was insisting on being only the two of us. I think she was jealous of you.”

A subtle warmth spread through Sonic’s heart at Shadow’s adamancy on finding him, but there was something else that bothered him in that story, “Was that what you meant by ‘ the Maria you knew? ’”

Shadow visibly swallowed dry, shoulders tensing like a turtle retreating into its shell. “I guess,” the plastic crinkled in protest as the agent squeezed the bottle harder, “She didn’t look that different, aside from being older. It was the things she was saying. About me working for G.U.N., about her wish, the way she asked me to—” He cut himself off, his face scrunching up like he’d shared too much. “Nevermind, it’s not important.”

“Of course it is!” Sonic insisted, making Shadow wince at the abrupt change of tone, “She was your best friend. This isn't something friends do .”

Shadow stood there in silence for a moment, leaning against a sink while fidgeting with his water bottle. Sonic feared he overstepped again, leading to even another fight, until the agent asked in a small voice. “Sonic… do you think I got weaker ever since we met?”

Sonic couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting that subject to surface, but he wasn’t expecting it so soon, or how much it hurt him to see his friend so… defeated and insecure. What did Maria even say to Shadow? That didn’t look like him. At all.

“Of course not,” Sonic asserted, feeling a fire in his chest, “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and that has never changed. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

Shadow didn’t meet his eyes, but a small, crooked smile appeared on his face. The conversation died there, leaving too many emotions to process and too little words to express them.

Not eager to break that peaceful silence so soon, Sonic started questioning himself why there wasn’t a single trash can in the kitchen, leaving to the corridor looking for one. The door to his right was left ajar, the director’s office plaque basically an invitation for him to snoop. But, as he entered the room, he was taken aback by the sheer chaos that awaited inside.

The whole room had been thoroughly ransacked by someone—the cupboards and cabinets were gutted open like fish, their drawers thrown around the floor, books and photos scattered on the floor like victims of a massacre. Amongst them stood the proud smile of dr. Kaufmann in his younger years.

The photo had him standing in front of Alchemilla Hospital alongside a few dozen doctors and nurses from the staff. The building behind them was in somewhat better condition, although much of that was the sun shining down directly over the town. The back of the photograph had written “ February 23rd, 1999. Appointment ceremony as the new director.”

The desk plaque was under some medical texts. “ Dr. Michael Kaufmann, M.D. Hospital Director.” Sonic rolled his eyes, at least he knew who was responsible for the building falling apart. He started to regret not pressing Kaufmann further when he had the chance, but best case scenario the doctor would probably only threaten him and leave without giving any answers. Worst case scenario… 

…he didn’t want to think about that.

On the floor behind the director’s desk, there was a clipped newspaper clipping dated from seven years ago. One of the articles was cut out from the page. A real shame, since it also ended up cutting out the crossword puzzle on the other side.

But what really drew his attention was the broken glass on the floor, alongside a puddle of a transparent red liquid. His instinct was to call it blood and move on, but the faint floral scent and syrup-like consistency made him doubt that first impression.

“Shadow, c’mere a minute!” Sonic called, and as the black hedgehog appeared on the door, he motioned to his partner to come closer, “Have you ever seen something like this?”

Shadow took off his glove, touching the liquid and spreading it between two fingers, then bringing them up to his nose, “Some kind of plant extract. Quite concentrated, too.”

“Do you know what plant it could be?” Sonic remembered the chalkboard at the police station. Was this white Claudia? He hadn’t seen the plant’s appearance or the processed drug. Still, a strange liquid on the floor and a fleeing doctor could only lead to one conclusion.

“I would say roses with some kind of citrus, considering the color, but it’s hard to tell from the smell alone.”

“Any way we can get a sample?”

“Why?” Shadow made a weird face at the request, “Is this really necessary?”

“I think Kaufmann is a drug dealer,” Sonic whispered. Shadow raised an eyebrow at that, “There’s this PTV drug in town that nobody managed to find out who the dealer was. I think this is it.”

Shadow’s eyes widened as he followed Sonic’s logic, although the expression soon turned to worry with a tinge of annoyance, “I can’t believe I’m helping you with this,” Shadow walked away and out to the corridor, “I’ll go get a syringe. We can use that water bottle.”

Surprisingly, the bottom of the original flask was in almost one piece, with a decent amount of liquid still inside. Still, the process of sucking and transferring such a small amount took way longer than it should, especially when Sonic insisted on getting every drop possible from every surface they were able to. Yes, even the soaked carpet and the linoleum.

Sonic’s mind wandered to the ramblings of the church woman, whether they came from religious zealotry, drug-induced delusions, or a combination of both. Kaufmann knew who she was—his silence held more truth than his words—and although this was just baseless conjecture, the hedgehog couldn’t shake off the image of her being one of the doctor’s customers.

Still, none of that explained the Flauros.

“Are we done here?” Shadow asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I guess so,” Sonic turned to him with a cheeky smile. “Now we only need to check the rest of the hospital.”

Yet, to Sonic’s dismay and Shadow’s further annoyance, their impromptu investigation soon hit a closed door. Several, in fact.

On the first floor, the only thing other rooms provided was either expired medications, an out-of-power elevator, or, at most, a few workplace and sanitary violations. Having lived in the Ark all his early life, Sonic found it amusing to see Shadow insulting even the hospital’s choice of paper.

“Why would anyone use waxed paper for this? Even their records are falling apart. Fits the pattern,” he said as he peeked through a few patient charts. His gaze lingered a little longer when he found the shape of her name on someone else’s record, “Don’t think she would come here for the medical treatment.”

The stairs to the second and third floor were unbarred, but the doors leading to the main hallways were either locked, blocked or jammed. A separate set of stairs led to the basement, but aside from the generator they used to power the elevator, everything else was similarly out of reach.

The elevator itself was located on the opposite side of the build in relation to the stairs, a metal box with nothing special. Big enough to accommodate wheelchair and bed-bound patients, with the same tacky marble floor from everywhere else. The panel had six metal buttons—B, 1, 2, 3, open and close doors—with a crust of dirt from prolonged use and infrequent cleaning.

They had already covered all the ground they could in the basement and the ground floor, Sonic headed to the second floor.

Ding , the elevator made as the doors opened.

Once again, another jammed door blocked access to the rest of the corridors. Sonic gave a well-placed kick near the handle, part to try and see if the wood would cede, but mostly because of the mounting frustration weighing down his shoulders. He kicked it once, then twice, then a third time with Shadow’s help, but the door barely budged.

Ding , the elevator made again.

The third floor had the same roadblock. This time, Sonic and Shadow tackled the door; first separately, then together. Once again, they wouldn’t be able to proceed.

Weariness started to settle in their bones. Defeated, they both returned to the elevator, ready to go back to the reception and wait for Cybil there. But as they returned to the stuffy metal box to go back to the first floor, Sonic noticed an extra button on the panel. A button labeled “4”.

“A fourth floor? Was this always here?” He asked Shadow, but only received a shrug in response. “Guess it doesn’t hurt to try…”

But before the elevator doors even closed, there was already a shift in the air. Maybe it was the slowness which they ascended, or it was the rust creeping under the door they didn’t notice, or the distant siren that blended itself with the hum of the elevator. They just hung their heads low as they waited for the ride to be over.

The elevator didn’t ding.

The hedgehogs only noticed they reached their destination as an ardent breeze washed over them. If the rest of the building still clung to the thin façade of a barely functioning hospital, the fourth floor dropped all pretenses and presented itself as a place left to rot.

The walls’ original color was rendered unrecognizable under a thick layer of grime. Pipes and valves stretched across the wall like roots of a rotting tree, some sections almost fully corroded by rust. A suffocating stench of sulphur and smoke clung to their senses like roots spreading through their lungs. The noise of machinery clanged both in the distance and inside their skulls, adding to the droning of an air siren until it formed a maddening cacophony.

Sonic opened the door to the main corridor slowly, feeling his heart pound against his chest as both sound and smell rang like a distant memory that happened yesterday. The metal handle was warm, but it seeped his body heat like a block of ice. His feet treaded the ground like it was soft fabric, but the footsteps echoed like heels on marble.

The L-shaped hall led back to the elevator on one end, and to the stairs to the 3rd floor on the other. There were no ceiling lights, but a scarlet glow washed over the whole room. A strange drawing was painted on the far end of the corridor—a triangle with geometric lines inside two circumscript circles. It alternated into a static form and a pulsating line as it faded in and out of Sonic’s vision.

Shadow walked by him, standing a few feet before the figures painted in the wall. Sonic joined him soon after, studying the agent’s expression as it shifted from confusion to recognition and then apprehension.

“You know what this is?” Sonic asked, mirroring the worried expression.

“I’ve seen this before, but I don’t remember where,” Shadow placed his hand inside the circle, tracing along the edges of the triangle. Suddenly, his head fell limp as if he fell unconscious, though his eyes remained open. His red irises turned dark and unfocused, and when Sonic placed a hand to steady his body, it was unnaturally feverish, like it had been placed over an open fire.

“Shadow?” Sonic called as he faintly shaked the agent, each passing second the other spent in that catatonic state turning into an excruciating wait, “Shadow, please! Wake up!”

Shadow blinked once, then twice, regaining his senses, “I saw Alessa. She was going inside an antique store. But she was here…”

“Here? But we didn’t see her anywhere!” Sonic sputtered. He put a tentative hand over the drawing, but he didn’t get the response that Shadow got. Instead, he got a sinking feeling on the pit of his stomach, though he didn’t know whether it was some power imbued in the figures or just his own unease. “How do you even know those things?”

“I don’t know, it feels like a dream, like I felt those things and knew they were true.” Shadow tried to explain himself, yet Sonic stared at him like he was a madman. “She was here just before, but she was also here for a long time. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Honestly, let’s just go back.” Sonic raised his hands, waving away the conversation, “Cybil must be waiting down at the reception.”

But as Sonic turned away from the symbols and to the hall they came from, a terrified yell escaped from his throat.

A hulking figure stood in front of the doorway, turning a valve on the wall with both hands. The skin was crinkled and dry like sandpaper, the limbs were contorting and bending in an alien dance, the face a featureless mask of stained leather. The faint red light seemed swallowed by the unnatural being in front of them, a pocket of darkness pooling around the humanoid form.

“Valtiel…” Shadow whispered beside him, and Sonic didn’t know what was more frightening—the agent’s knowledge or the hushed reaction to the creature in front of them.

Sonic blinked, and the creature that stood ten feet away was now towering over them. An intense, acrid odor of burnt flesh drowning his senses, taking all his might for his own body not to shut down. 

“ἀνυπότακτον, ἀπίστον ἀρνίον. οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι τοῦτο οὐχ προαίρεσις ἐστίν;” "Unruly, unfaithful lamb. Don’t you know this is not a choice?"

The creature spoke, but there were no lips to move, no mouth to articulate—the voice seemed to transcend the very notions of time and space. It came from beneath the walls, from inside his chest, all at once and never at all. The language sounded foreign, ancient, but not otherworldly, unlike everything else.

But Sonic listened and understood.

“You already know I don’t understand a thing you say,” Shadow snarled, “You were the one that sent those monsters, weren’t you?! You were the one that killed Maria!”

“σίγησον!”; "Silence!"

The command thundered on the still corridor, and the world itself seemed to hesitate—the siren was silenced, the clanking and grinding of machinery stopped in its tracks. Valtiel lifted Shadow by his neck, compressing his windpipe until his muzzle was tinted gray. 

The hedgehog writhed and struggled in the monster’s grasp, punching the arm, trying to pry the fingers off his throat, but it only seemed to make the iron grip even tighter. His movements slowed down, every blow slower and weaker than the last, until he finally stopped moving.

Sonic had retreated to a corner of the corridor, feeling like his heart would jump out of his mouth. He had to put a hand over his mouth to stop the sobs building in his chest. When Valtiel was finished with Shadow, he threw the hedgehog to the other end of the hall like he was trash to be discarded. His body collided with the door and crumbled to the floor in a mangle of limbs.

Then, as the creature turned to him, Sonic felt his whole world tumbling down.

Valtiel grabbed Sonic , too, by his neck, raising him until they stood face-to-face as the large hand started to restrict the airflow. The hedgehog tried to squirm, but soon he gave up as the lack of oxygen started to affect his senses. The entity had no eyes, but the movement of its head made it seem like he was examining the blue hero in his grip.

“Ἀεὶ κολοιὸς παρὰ κολοιῷ ἱζάνει. ὑμεῖς δύο ἴσοι ἐστὲ, ἀλλὰ οὐ σοὶ ἡ ὁδὸς αὕτη βατέον.”; "A jackdaw is always found near a jackdaw. You two are equals, but this one path is not yours to tread."

“What do you want with us?” Sonic demanded, though his voice came out weak and raspy, “We take much more than this to be killed.” His eyes lit up with defiance, but the creature wasn’t fazed. A low rumbling echoed throughout the room. Valtiel was laughing at him.

“ἔστιν παραμυθία τῷ ὑπὸ θνητῶν συνιέναι. ἀνάπαυσαι, τέκνον. τὸ αἷμά σου οὐ χρεὼν ἐστι χυθῆναι.”; "There's solace in being understood by mortals. Rest, child. Thy blood is not to be shed."

But the attempt at relief rang hollow in Sonic’s ears, for there was no solace after the display of violence presented just before.

“ἔτι ἀποφασισθήσεται ὁ ρόλος σοῦ. ἐκεῖνος δὲ, αἱ δοκιμασίαι αὐτοῦ οὔπω τετελεσμέναι εἰσίν.”; "A role is yet to be decided for you. As for him, his trials are yet to be fulfilled."

But before Sonic could process what those roles or trials could have meant, he was pinned to the nearest wall. The collision sent a sharp pain through his whole body, the impact making his lungs compress to almost suffocation. Valtiel approached his featureless face to him, the stench of rotten flesh making the bile rise to his throat, before making a final threat.

“μὴ ἐπέμβαινε. ταύτη μόνη ἡ προειδοποίησίς σοι.”; "Do not interfere. This is your only warning."

Then, the entity finally released his throat, making Sonic slide down the wall until he collapsed onto the floor. His vision faded at the edges, wheezing and gasping for air as Valtiel turned away. The pain irradiated from his very soul, no part of his body spared the dull ache of the aftermath.

Sonic could only watch in horror as Valtiel tore off the far door by its hinges, grabbed Shadow by his head, and vanished in the hospital corridors as he dragged the hedgehog away.