It is dark. And cold. I am alone.

I can't remember much, only that it had been some time since I moved. How long, I wasn't sure. I dreamt of distant waves crashing ashore, the warm crackling of long field grass waving from side to side, the perfect melody. But that all seemed so far from me, like I lost it long ago in some fire, a fire that claimed the life I once knew. Now I was here. In a bed that wasn't mine, in a room, I did not ask for, with drugs in my veins that I did not cocktail. I can't speak to oppose them. I can't move to avoid them. So I lay down, staring at the ceiling, praying that I'll forget today too.

I will, however, never forget the beautiful angel that visited one night, what seemed like years and yet felt like a mere moment ago. His long hair spun from moonlight, moonlight that would trickle through the suffocating clouds of smog and leak into my lonely room through the one barred window. It washed over me, forgiving me for everything I had done. I prayed to him, under my sullen breath, that I may leave this hell, if only I were forgiven enough to be granted such a wish. "Soon," he promised as a cool hand stroked my cheek, the sensation dulled by a cool veil of medication, "I will come for you." I took that promise to the grave, closed my eyes and rode the high into the night. Behind my eyelids, I could feel him baring down on me with his frigid green eyes, unmoving and unrelenting, as he pondered on my existence. "How shameful," he whispered into my ear, a tickling sensation spreading through my face as his hair softly landed, "but don't worry; it'll all end soon."

I suddenly woke. But he was not there. It was morning time, signalled by the blaring lights in the hallway. I could lift my head high enough to see the small window in the door set alight by the hissing tungsten lights. I rolled my head to the side, seeing my intravenous digging deep into my skin. A worry took hold; I would die here. No one would come for me. My angel would rather watch me die out of some demented need to punish me, would rather watch as I squirmed, as I struggled for my last hope to escape. I feared the loneliness. I feared that it would finally claim me.

I closed my eyes again as the nurse came into the room, the clicking of her heels echoed into my mind. I'm scared. I want to go home. I feigned sleep, waiting for a sting or a pinch somewhere along my arm but nothing came. I opened my eyes, wary of what may rest beyond my eyelids. Lo, there she was: a face that struck a chord deep inside my fresh wounds. I tried placing the face to a concrete memory but somehow it eluded me. The visceral feeling took hold and refused to let go.

"Who are you?"

The woman's face contorted. "Helena, it's me, Kathelyn."

"Kathelyn," I repeated, the name leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I let it linger, feeling around for some memory of this woman. Sudden and sharp, it came to me, opening the flood gates of rage and disappointment. "Get out," I slurred.

"Helena, I'm coming to take you out of here. I'm not leaving without you."

"Funny," I chuckled, "I would have never expected for you to say that."

"Helena, please," her hands took out the needle, "punish me later."

She helped me up, adjusting the pillow up against my back, offering me some comfort as I familiarized myself to this upright position. In her hands was a slender syringe and she came to poke the thick meat of my upper arm. I could not recoil and so allowed for her to pump me with the concoction. She assured me it was only a pure antagonist, that I would feel like myself soon enough. They were prepared to overdose me so long as I remained a quiet subject to Hojo's warped imagination. I felt the effects in seconds, rolling over and hacking out whatever they managed to feed me through a tube. I watched her in the corner of my eye as she anxiously watched over the door. When she saw some colour in my skin, she helped me into a wheelchair. She placed a mouth guard over my ears and then pulled it over my mouth. She hoped no one would look twice.

Surprisingly, no one did. Or rather, there was hardly anyone to look twice. I asked where everyone had gone; no nurses on the floor, no doctors at their station and only some guards on the main floor. "Shinra was killed," she spoke truthfully, "everyone is at home, riding out the state of emergency."

I snorted. Shinra, dead? How amusing. So, the turmoil spurred her to finally come for me. I was amazed that she came at all. I was amazed I was being taken out of my personal hell. Perhaps what my angel said, I now understood was a figment of my broken mind, was the truth. I would live. I would escape. I would be victorious for once. I just never thought I would be in the hands this woman, a woman I had no choice but to call sister. Looking at her I couldn't imagine her as the young girl who shared the tragedy of our childhood, all I could see was a bitter disappointment and abandonment.

"I hate you," I muttered, still foggy from the medication. I guess she didn't hear me as she continued to push me through the underground parking lot and helped me the back of a car. Or maybe she didn't really care to respond, I wasn't sure of which.

The car started. "Where are you taking me?" Might as well ask.

"Wherever you would like to go," she chimed, "you're free now."

I laughed. "I doubt it. We're never really free, aren't we?"