PoA: …

Silver: :)

Metal: So, as you were saying?

PoA: What was I saying?

Silver: Come on! Tell us already!

PoA: ?

Silver: How it all ends, you know? I know it's not the same, but snap that victory tape! Get points for trying! Pick that gold from your nose! And if it's just plain old silver after all, who cares?

PoA: Sounds painful, but what you're trying to say is…?

Metal: FINISH, YOU FOOL! TRY FINISHING WHAT YOU START! If you're still seeing this, then stop commenting and write while you still want to! Even for a coward, I expected better.

PoA: …

Silver: Metal, honey pie pumpkin seed sweetheart, is just worried for you, darling. We all want you to know how much we lo-gck! Ghahh-aaooww! Ouch…

Metal: I squeeze you out of a similar love, my dear Silver. For you see, I can't tell if further oxygen deprivation is aiding your disposition, or just perpetuating this affectionate ritual of ours. Either way, I feel you've grown on me, like the murder-born child clinging to my soulless frame.

Tails Doll: :')

PoA: Creepy, all of you. PrisonerofAnswers712 does not claim ownership of characters patented by Sega Enterprise, but the sooner I'm finished, the quicker I can abandon you three by the roadside buffet, yes?

Metal: Mm, for understanding our flaming desire to be cooked, I feel we've come to know each other far butter than we would ham. Thank you…Pen. *Offers salt*

PoA: You're very welcome, Metal. *Shakes*

Silver: *Sniffles* It's all so…grape nut lavender lovely! Maybe I should dye my quills purple.

-l-

Chained to Reality

-l-

An empty echo rang out as each new wave splashed against the shoreline, while moonlight quietly trained its glow down an exposed portion of the tattered Sable Tower. This and the hum of unsheltered winds were among the only sounds to be heard; from every compass end, cold and dry silence was all the lonely isle had left to offer.

Dotted across this wooded inland were the bodies of several unfortunate visitors. Blank eyed and expressions contorted, these corpses were left to decompose in isolation. Many were young, some only children. Above this natural graveyard, the originally stirring clouds had settled and now exhaustedly released an overdue rainstorm. Trees gave just enough shelter to prevent the unburied inhabitants from washing away, allowing the downpour to form only a thin film of water beneath them.

Not but a jog away, the squalling winds caused the waves to cough something up onto the shore; it could have been mistaken for a life-sized, waterlogged doll. As motionless and seemingly in as deep a slumber as the rest, the mobian, a teen or perhaps a man no older than twenty, wore a small but telling frown from cheek to cheek. It mirrored the look of a child whimpering from a nightmare, while silently asking for his parents' reassurance. Nothing else betrayed the fact that this sad figure was somehow still alive.

A cough cracked within castaway's dry throat. Now alert, the young man's mournful expression turned into one of raw aching as he attempted to stand. Weak, possibly from internal damage and malnourishment, the mobian could only lift his neck up to examine the vast open waters ahead. Far from one end to the other, he gazed long and piercingly before carelessly returning his head to the earth.

The man's hands then fell wonderingly onto his chest. High to low, he searched and combed his fur with a sort of expectancy sealed in his expression. He checked his hands to find them damp, slightly muddy but otherwise clean as their white could be.

Fragments of his strength came creeping back into his bones, when at last the creature asked a short question "Why?" His lips were coarse and crusty as they bled upon movement. He licked at his dehydration instinctively, lapping up a few drops of blood before his hand rose to rub the rest away. Seemingly growing stronger with each passing moment, the mobian soon became stable enough to rise to his feet; he steadied his footing against the weighty rainfall and began to walk.

Unconcerned by his choice in direction ‒ even amidst the storm drumming overhead ‒ the young man marched further into a clearing, blindly ignoring any and all branches of natural shelter. All the while, his head was throbbing with increasingly less bewilderment, as realization and lucid understanding both proved to be steep pits in his unsettled stomach. Somewhere inside, he already knew what would be around the corner, wishing it was a sight he could choose to ignore. There would be no right way for him to turn his back now, not with an inexplicable sense of responsibility constricting his dulling conscience.

Indeed, the truth was silent but strikingly unavoidable: Tossed across the ground, a cluster of many corpses lay in their damp natural graves. Though unmarked by visible injury, each face was painted with hints of an excruciating death.

Within the same picture, the castaway wore a plain, tasteless expression; no grief present in his tame acceptance for what looked to be a bloodless slaughter. Not even the narrow gaps between adult and child victims made a gash or salt's worth of difference on his conscience. Any former reluctance was simply dismissed in lieu of an ambivalent silence. Very little reflected whatever feelings he had displayed by the seaside margin.

It appeared that this emotional erosion was not instantaneous. Rather, it paced itself as the spread of a subtle poison. It took the form of a powerful anesthetic: Painful in the initial injection, but offering a dead sense of relief mere moments after. This draining relaxation grew, until it destroyed most of his basic sensory perception. Soon even the rain felt much the same; lost of meaning, being neither a nuisance nor a comfort to his wincing eyes. The foreigner sighed contentedly as he continued to submit to the cradling apathy.

Slipping softly into a state of relaxation, the stranger fell with his back to a tree adjacent to one of the deceased. Humming to himself casually, he watched and waited for nothing in particular. He had forgotten why he was here; on an island in the middle of the sea, or ocean for all he knew. Nevertheless, he had no need to worry, the black sky and grey trees left him more than sated and soothed. Never had he noticed before, how gentle the white blades of grass were; so soft to the touch and easy on the eyes. The rain too seemed so loving, mantling itself around him as a sort of cool liquid blanket.

Lying down, with his arms around his knees and his head tucked against his chest, the castaway locked himself into a ball of submissive ease. The ground, no, the earth in general had regressed, folded up for this monochrome winter; the entire world seemed to be asleep.

His mind stirred at a diminishing rate. Shavings of thoughts and feelings fell off one at a time, until the hard bark at his back became his pillow. A rotten world of poisonous greens and sour grapes spilled away into this single-shaded paradise. Certainly, there was a lingering sting on his cheek, a past glimpse that sent a peal of thunder down his spine. He fought the awakening sensation back, but simply imagining the pain it would cause incited another seismic undulation: Anger, an infected rage for an unnamed enemy almost stirred him from his exhaustion. Yet knowing that these were nothing but pretty and ugly pictures that could do him no actual harm, he ignored their taunts and returned to sleep.

Rocking his body with a newborn's maturity, the man felt his ear twitch uncomfortably. With a gloved hand, he tried to the annoyance away. Persistently, his ear continued to demand his attention, causing the mobian to lash out in a scratching fit. His better mind insisted that he let it be, while his relatively simplistic senses chastised his ignorance. Something within harshly pressured him to perform a relatively basic, but personally impossible task:

He had to open his eyes.

Weariness and weakness were among his top tier rationale that favored slumber. Besides this, he had no further cause to meet with whatever distraction awaited him: A wild animal would entail death, but it equally promised a more permanent rest. Contrarily, a person to greet meant meaningless conversation, and likely speculative accusations based on the corpses nearby. Regardless, little could or would be gained by rousing himself now.

"Wake up! Wake up, chili-dog gut!"

Right as the voice snapped in his ears, he felt the pillow he had been resting on toss itself sideways. Indeed, entire frame of his bed listed diagonally, tipping him off the mattress with a sudden slap to the hard floor below.

Tossing his head up and around, the drowsy stranger struggled to make out the identity of his tormenter. Either his eyes had not adjusted to the strong light, or else the figure before him was indeed a curious sight to behold: From furred head to pointed toe, this new figure was clad in a thick grey, black and white color scheme. Nothing except for this person's blindingly frost white gloves stood out in the slightest.

Oddly, this other, cocky smirked young man did not note the stranger's perplexed stare, as he playful jeered "All sleep all day makes you wish it would stay that way, but I don't think someone would be happy with you snoozing today away!" Smiling after saying this, the figure opened his arms, grabbing on tight while laughing and grinding his knuckles into the castaway's head "But you know I luvvv my big bad bushy headed bro no matter how badly he snores! Yush, oh yush I do!"

Not understanding nor necessarily appreciating the rough greeting, the stranger strained until the supposedly familiar face released him. While unsettled, the experience did tug at his expression when he saw the rowdy man's cheeky grin.

"Nah-ah, no sad faces today!" Was the man's energetic comment, followed by the taunting wag of his index finger "You can't afford to look that way until after the reception! Now suit up while I get the plane ready. That gives you…" Stopping to check his invisible watch, the man chimed in again "Ten minutes tops, so hustle like you mean it!"

He was gone as soon as he had finished speaking, leaving the foreigner to wonder and take in his new surroundings. What had been some rain sodden grassland was now the inside of an untidy bedroom. Draped in the same grayscale tone as his talkative host, there was little else to be commented on.

Realizing that this was some manner of dream, confirming that he was finally asleep, the man played along with his imagination by opening a nearby closet. As soon as he did, a clap of thunder came crashing into the colorless bedroom. Jumping backwards, the figure stilled his racing heart as he saw within the open space the island's furious rainstorm, raging behind a lone hanging suit and a matching pair of shoes.

Shakily, he reached in and snatched both items while slamming the door, just in time for another thunderbolt to echo throughout the room. Gasping and struggling not to lose composure, he donned the suit carefully. Unfortunately, whether by panic or sheer inadequacy, the tie proved to be frustratingly uncooperative to his rattling fingers.

"Need a hand?" A voice asked impatiently, making for another startling surprise. Graciously though, this dream friend of his slipped the troublesome garment neatly into a professional bow. Following this demonstration, the sleeper found himself being consoled by his fashion-conscious savoir "Listen; remember what we talked about yesterday? Butterflies are fear, blush is for bed. Don't get cold feet and run, or else you'll wind up dead."

Wicked cheerfulness bled through his unreal partner's slick smirk. Playfully meant or not, this sly comment was wasted on the stranger's vacant state of mind. Nevertheless, this spunky person did seem to be a very close friend, or maybe the two of them were somehow related.

"Oh what? So strong and silent that you lost your nerve?" The imagined friend, perhaps sibling, scoffed patronizingly, but broke cover in another silly fit of laughter "For real though, don't run out on us, or jet away, or make any kind of unscheduled escape. I don't like seeing ladies cry."

Escape from what the sleeper did wonder. Knowing enough to say the occasion sounded like a marriage ceremony gave the dreaming foreigner a strange sense of calm. It was a dream after all, and facing his imaginary match seemed far more entertaining than slipping back into the shadowy real world. He felt if he submitted to the dream completely, then perhaps he could phase out the rest of that unpleasant island of rain for good.

Nodding contentedly, he went along obediently through the scratchy grey, almost penciled-on door. Colorless tables, stairs, cabinets and countertops were difficult to avoid in the bland way they sat camouflaged. Bumping into a sharp corner was more painful than the stranger had anticipated. The table felt startlingly real, both to his sore midsection and the hand he used for stability.

His thought train was derailed by his ghostly shaded friend's concern "Geez, ha-ha, you alright? I guess fighting slabs of mean metal isn't on par with awkwardly placed furniture." Helping him back to his feet, the supportive, but still unrecognizable face smiled sympathetically, reassuringly stating "I know you're nervous, I mean it's been tough. Hell, I'm still amazed that we're actually here, having this conversation. It's all happening so fast, maybe even too fast for me. That's why, ham, cheese, and all things uncomfortably mushy, I'm going to say it."

Admittedly, these heartfelt thoughts were a bit lost on the dreamer, but the surprise of being pulled into an affectionate hug told him that this person really cared for him, especially when heard the man say "I love and I'm proud of you. You're a real man for facing this adventure head-on and setting your own bar high."

Evidently embarrassed by his admission, the man snuck in a cunning smile as he added "But maybe you shot a little too high this time. I'm still curious to know who's going to be taking who for a ride, I mean, assuming you can even keep up!"

Before he could concoct a reply, the foreigner felt himself dragged along by his mischievous partner into a grayscale bi-plane ‒ outdated but seemingly well maintained by the fit and finish of it ‒ before taking to the skies. Once in the air, the sight from above would have been beautiful, but even without hue it was nevertheless breathtaking; soaring past the ominous vanilla clouds and through the ash tinted sky.

Then, by midflight lightheadedness or nausea due to the off-putting luminance, the castaway blacked out completely. Fortunate enough to be the passenger, he awoke to find himself upright; standing on a sort of balcony or stage, he observed his surroundings with alien discomfort. Two square formations of people sat staring his way, yet nobody in the crowd sparked even a hair of recollection in his blurry memories.

His only 'friend' was at his side, smiling widely, but provided no explanation for his new surroundings, or even a passing mention of the stranger's passing out. Being presumably the center of this unwanted attention, he remembered that this world was false; a lie of his mind that ultimately had no impact on him whatsoever.

"Where am I?" His voice drummed out flatly, failing to intonate any hint of concern. Having received some anticipated hushes for his answer, the castaway sighed and accepted the charade. As he had guessed, a veiled bride and a dark-suited hedgehog with a pronounced collar confirmed the sort ceremony he was in store for. Interestingly, these two colors, a true black and white both appeared more vibrant than the artificially shadow world around them.

Almost feeling a hairpin snip of actual anticipation, the stranger stepped next to his betrothed and stared. She likely was fairly beautiful behind that snowy gown; however she seemed a bit skinny, frail.

No, more like gaunt, skeletal even.

"We are gathered here today…"

It had started, but little did he know or care. Something was wrong. In the crowd he could hear sobbing, a relatively normal occurrence by his given environment; however, everyone looked sad with a mix of morbid reverence. Still, something else was very off. That's when a strong smell hit him, pounding away at his already spinning head. It was distinct and easy to decipher, for it was the powerful and all encompassing smell of death.

These sensations gnawed at him, but soon, in some dark way, they started to make sense.

"In loving memory of…"

At those words, an insidious notion wormed its way into his head. The bride he was standing next to, the decaying odor in the air…

Sick, it sickened him, standing as the only real feeling he had had yet. His mind worked fast, fast enough to realize what this warped dream was showing him. Yet this also begged the question: Who or what was he standing next to; a skeleton, a corpse, or some other horrifying spectacle depicting death? How clever though, for his twisted mind to depict such an ironic hybrid of events.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

What next? Would he see the face of his dead bride, or would she crumble in his hands for some psychologically symbolic torment? Never mind it, it hardly mattered anyway. Needlessly hammering his own mind with depictions of the dead he saw on the island, it was clear that this dream, or rather he himself had an imagination warped beyond description

"You may kiss the bride."

"Lovely." he thought. Here it was, a moment of truth of the fibbing and gutturally terrifying kind. There was almost a sinister humor about how awful of a setup this was. If taking his other half's bony hand was any indication, the result would hopefully be a clever jolt of fear to wake his wandering mind up again.

"Any last words?" She spoke, only barely lifting her head.

Not good. That alone should have triggered a panic reaction, but for how smoothly it was said. Not just lovely or delicate, but also excruciatingly familiar; it was reminiscent of someone he knew very well. Fingers salty and rubbing furiously, the foreigner reached in to lift her veil.

…

"Nothing to say, or have I left you speechless?"

"Wh-Who are you?" Those words came out like a gulp of bile rising in his throat. Orange red fur, pointed ears, mirror sheen violet eyes. A simple and very pleasant sight to behold, but that same dire question remained: Who was she? More importantly, a foolishly obvious oversight of his, why was she so…colorful?

"While you still have it, try to remember; try remembering them."

A humming started to ring in his ears ‒ not painful but distinct as he drew his attention back towards the crowd. Each of the beings became misty, mirage like people now stiff as effigies, while simultaneously they regained their vibrant pigments. The hum, the song or whisper then sang some words, rather names, into his mind.

Repeating after the voice, the stranger began to speak "Vector." At his recollection, one shape of scaly lime green became solid, a crocodile by the looks of him. He then sampled another name "Maria." A perfectly human blond female's form fixed together before his eyes.

One at a time, each visually ambiguous statue recovered their proper shape, until only two remained. Besides the girl, the friend he had arrived with stayed monochrome and both still without identities. Looking straight at the girl, the stranger's fur rose by some apprehension he was unable to place. There was something dreadful behind the girl's kindly smile.

"There are some things you can't take back." She claimed, letting her cheer slip away briefly, but smiling yet again she added in a comforting voice "You would live in the past if I let you; my memory would haunt you forever. That's why it's better if you simply don't remember."

Pointing toward the grey figure in the background, the girl spoke again, now with a sort of somberness mixed in her tone "He will remember enough for both of us. At least, when this is all finished, you will have your brother back."

Bubbling nervousness was now eating away at his innards. A soiled feeling of blame made his palms and neck sting with sweat when he considered her words. Having just recovered his emotional state, his intellectual mind buzzed with unnumbered possible interpretations for what she meant; none of them could even be called a far cry from positive without understatement. How could someone without a name be such a heavy bearing influence? He had to know, he had to know who she was.

Name, that's all he needed: A name.

Scanning his frayed memories turned swiftly into a time trial as the dream had gradually become unstable; dissipating floors and melting skies indicated more had to be done than passive pondering. Panicked, he wracked his brain, but the voice had stopped speaking. Had he missed it? What about the girl and the man behind him? They had to have names. Indeed, now he had it, he knew one. Yes, he knew the man. Brother, who did he call brother?

"S-Son-ic…Sonic, SONIC!" He shouted, frantic but overjoyed at the recollection which caused the grey figure to shine a deep and regal shade of blue. Pleasing as this was, a rush of hysteric desire rattled him. The girl, his bride, she was next. He had to know her too. Time, just a little more time!

"Please…tell me your…"

"Time to wake up, Miles."

-l-

End of Chapter Fifty-six

-l-

This isn't enough for the long gap I left, but I doubt I will ever make that one up. Seems being away has left me even rustier than I thought. In any case I suppose I need to wrap this mess of a first project up soon before I stall for good.

FlameUser64: Yes, I am aware of my previous mistakes, and I admit I haven't learned as much from them as I should have. To this day, I amateurishly find myself forgetting about or making rudimentary errors, even when proofreading. Admittedly, I haven't been anywhere near what could be called a mature author either. I guess you got stuck with the leftovers, eh?

For everyone else who still reads this, I'm not done yet. I know I drag my feet badly, but I will try to finish this. Thank you everyone for your support.

Until next time!