l o s i n g

Shadow thinks he's losing it.

He sees things. Hears things. Dreams things, some things he's never heard of, an untainted melody twisted by blood shorn sheets.

Remembers things.

Spinning away into oblivion, red, red eyes, staring up at a place he called home once, screaming something he can't remember. Maria.

Who's Maria?

Shadow remembers and he can't, and this is why it bothers him.

Who's Maria?

It feels important, like he really should know who this—Maria—is. Omega has no idea what he's talking about, and simply responds with an aptly put "Annihilate!" Rouge blows him off when he asks, but he sees doubt in her eyes. Fear. Uncertainty, like—what happens if he finds out? What happens if he remembers what he shouldn't? But every time he asks, the bat girl quickly changes the subject; a sly wink, a saucy grin, --"Those damn emeralds will be mine!"

Omega adds his electronic own buzz to her rally, and Shadow rolls his eyes and goes along.

Shadow has always believed in himself.

There was no one who could touch his speed, his strength, his skill, no one who could rival him. But that brings up the subject of Sonic, who challenges him in everything, and if it concerns spirit, Shadow knows he's lost. Sonic and his cocky smirk stare down at him, and Sonic's off and running in the gleaming oasis of a Metropolitan city. Grinding his teeth in frustration, Shadow kicks off and follows quickly, taking every short cut, every path he knows, and after awhile the distance closes to a block, a building, a foot, an inch.

Two of them. One black. One blue. Green eyes and red.

I should know this.

Sonic doesn't know that Shadow doesn't remember. But Sonic's not one to dredge up the past anyway, so he just concentrates on putting the miles between them.

Did I really do something so bad? Shadow muses bitterly, flipping neatly over the gap between skyscrapers and cutting into his rival's path. He smirks at Sonic's startled squawk, gaining the lead and determined to hold it. I will win. I will win

Why don't I know? Why can't I be told?

Shadow has never understood the word Emotion.

But he thinks he's starting to. Emotion is being alone. Emotion is when Eggman jeers— "You are nothing!" Shadow's starting to believe emotion is when he's forced to grab Sonic's hand and roughly haul him up, because the idiot ran straight off the side of a tower. Emotion.

Emotion was the feeling of warm red circles on his stainless gloves.

I am guilty, Shadow realizes, crushing someone's gun under the heel of his shoes. Rouge sniffs, disgusted at some 'common-place thief's attempt to raid her stakeout', and Shadow is feeling guilty.

I know this, Shadow realizes, and walks away, the heavy, metallic scent of blood settling into his fur.

Shadow has believed a lot of things, things like—like—watching Rouge slip in and out of some museum with a few new treasures to add to her hoard was okay, because it didn't concern him. Like the countless robots terrorizing civilians meant nothing so long as they strayed out of his path. Little things, like the little girl crying when Omega had popped her balloon with a wayward shot, when they mercilessly pounded into Sonic and his friends.

I am guilty, Shadow realizes, and unlike the one thing he's always believed, he isn't immune to emotion.

Emotion proves we are human, Maria says, and Shadow finds that he's losing to his religion.