All characters are the property of their respective owners (presumably, at this point, a collection agency of some sort).

This fic is dedicated, in loving memory, to a perfectly good bag of potato chips. Never eaten. Never enjoyed. Never forget.

I walked through the meadow, feeling the sun on my face and the tickle of the blades of grass on my bare feet. It wasn't the real sun, I knew that. If I concentrated-if I looked very hard out of the corner of my eye-I thought I could catch a glimpse of the reality behind it, the heartless flourescent lights and acoustic tile that made up the ceiling. Or maybe the sun is the reality, and the dull white box full of shells is the fantasy, a bland concoction made to suit the humans. Dr. Nostril says there's no way we can ever tell for sure, that it's just one of those things about the universe Ikes weren't meant to know.

At least I knew where I was going. Danny had made it that one easy on me; the plume of black smoke rising from the crash site must have been visible from halfway across the store. I felt a twinge of worry in my chest. It was probably nothing. Danny had been in worse crashes and barely been scratched. Still, you never knew what might happen.

Another twinge, this in my stomach, reminded me that I hadn't gotten to eat any of that ice cream.

You can do it, Sunshine, I told myself firmly. You can get to Danny, make sure he's all right, and get back way before that stuff melts. All you've gotta do is pick up the pace.

I felt something else then; a wave of cold dread. Something was wrong, very wrong. Why did I feel this way? Dex was right, Danny probably wasn't in any danger. He did crash all the time; checking on him was more a matter of politeness that necessity.

Something lurched in my chest. That's when I knew.

My product.

Something was happening to my product, something bad, and it was happening right now. I'd never felt anything like it before, and yet it was as crystal clear and straightforward as the nutritional information on the the side of the box. My Ike brain knew instinctually that there was a problem.

I looked over at the smoke and bit my lip. "I'm sorry, Danny," I whispered. And I turned to run. By the time I reached the aisle where my raisins were kept, I was nearly in a blind panic, my heart beating wildly.

I was so desperate, I almost ran smack into Mr. Leonard's shoe. I hurriedly backed away. The old manager was standing in front of my shelf, taking down boxes and loading them onto a cart. I hadn't even realized he was still in the store-it was almost one in the morning! He must have been in his office, on the computer.

It didn't make any sense. This was the threat that had set alarm bells ringing in my head? Usually it felt good when people took my raisins off the shelf. And Mr. Leonard was a sweet old man. He wouldn't even harm a fly, unless it happened to land on his produce.

So why did I feel like I was going to be sick? Why were my ears drooping and my palms sweaty?

He took down another box and cradled it gently in his hands. I heard him mutter something in his deep, human voice and pricked up my ears.

"Poor Sunshine," he said sadly. "I'll miss seeing your face smiling down at me from the shelf, and the thought of all those lovely raisins going to waste just about breaks this old heart in two. But a recall is a recall, I suppose, and..."

I didn't hear the rest. The world seemed to fade away, and all there was was me and Mr. Leonard and that word.

Recall.

For Ikes, it's a death sentence.

But it wasn't real. It couldn't be, I told myself, pacing back and forth on the grass. Obviously it was a mistake-a really stupid mistake. I wasn't dangerous. I was good for you! I was full of iron, for crying out loud!

Mr. Leonard loaded the last box on the cart and began wheeling it towards the back.

"Well, I'm not going," I said to myself, crossing my arms. "Jeepers, this is just silly! He'll figure it out soon enough and put me back on the shelf. I'm going to check on Danny, now. Who knows what kind of trouble-"

The words died in my throat as I turned. The beautiful grassy park was gone, pulled right out from under my feet. The quaint old apartments where my neighbors lived had turned into hard steel shelves.

"Hello?" I called up to what I thought had been the apartment next to mine. "Mr. Peanut? Shelly? Anyone?"

There was no answer. There was nobody there-just canisters of nuts standing on the shelf in a silent line.

Above me, the sun went out.

Was this reality? Was this was Marketropolis really looked like, behind the grand, shared illusion? Vast multitiered metal walls and a few ugly, flickering lights far above?

It didn't matter. It was my reality now. I always wondered why Ikes left without a fuss when they were recalled, and now I knew. If I stayed, I would be a ghost.

I thought about Dex, sitting there, waiting for someone who would never come back. He wouldn't eat without me; he was too old-fashioned for that. A real gentlemen. He would just keep waiting. And the ice cream would melt.

For some reason it was that image, that mental picture of poor Dex all dolled up in his formal tuxedo sitting in front of a tureen of liquid ice cream, that set me off. Tears rolling down my face, I trudged through the dark, empty store. I wrapped myself in my arms. It was cold without the sun.

If you just try your best, I reminded myself, then it'll always work out.

I said it over and over again, like a mantra, until by the time I climbed into the crate of Sunshine Goodness raisins in the back office and curled up on top of a box with my own face on it, I almost believed it.