Face lost in a crowd.

Feet wandering empty streets.

Voice crying out loud.

Heart aching with every beat.

Soul battered and bruised.

Pride wounded and left for dead.

Ears deaf to good news.

Eyes tear-drenched and sleepless red.

Someone Searching -

Ginny Owens

Her footsteps echoed down the long, dark corridor, ricocheting off the dull grey concrete walls to reach her unusually inattentive ears. What little light there was highlighted her ebony pelt and matching trench coat. Her stride was stiff and purposeful and her fists were clenched so tightly, the freshly-sharpened claws pierced the grimy, tattered fabric of her blood-stained, fingerless black gloves. Her face was stuck in an apparently permanent scowl. Her green eyes were hard, fierce chips of jade, devoid of all emotion save anger.

She was outraged. This wasn't a very surprising statement considering her life at present. There were many places to direct her wrath: the harsh, ruthless atmosphere, her slave-like lifestyle, the Commander and his assignments, the agony so constant, it was almost routine, the dog-eat-dog world she lived in…But no. Her anger was currently directed toward none of those. Instead, not for the first time, she was furious with herself.

Scowling, she turned another corner, strait into the dungeon. Here, the occasional guard or interrogator passed her rigid form. Neither glanced in the other's direction, yet she knew they were watching her, as she was them. It was how they were trained.

Here and there, she would come across a barred cell containing any unfortunate passerby that dared trespass their land. The newest would cower in terror as she passed, though those who had been there long enough she found staring lifelessly at nothing at all, all hope and will having long since fled. These had been recently broken and would soon be trained as guards, assassins, or hard-labor slaves. For those who entered Black Viper territory never returned.

Soon, she reached the end of the corridor, and promptly turned to face the door on her left. its sole guard, a wolf with unruly fur and a long, wicked scar, immediately bared his sharp, pointed teeth and growled fiercely, his gloved hand reaching for his dagger. He instantly found himself face-to-face with a double-edged saber. His yellow eyes widened slightly, surprised that a mere hedgehog could have so quick a draw.

"Don't even think about it," she hissed. "I was sent for the troublesome prisoner." The wolf nodded and turned to remove the metal plank currently bolting the iron door, not at all intimidated by the blade that had hovered inches from his muzzle. By now he was well used to these types of situations. He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the fuming hedgehog to pass through before closing it behind him.

Said hedgehog paused momentarily, allowing her eyes to adjust to the near pitch darkness, before continuing down the steep, stone stairs. Torches lit the hallway below, though they were so spaced out that in some areas, it was impossible to see. She ignored the empty cells lining one side of the wall; her destination was the barred room at the very end, where the sole prisoner was kept. Once there, she removed a torch from its spot against the wall and stepped inside, using it to light the twin torches bordering the doorframe as she did so.

Outlined against the flickering glow of the fire was a hedgehog. He was in a worse state than the others were. His once-azure pelt and unruly quills were now so filthy and caked with mud that their original color was nearly unrecognizable. Blood trickled from the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His wrists had been chained to the ceiling, forcing him to stand up and making it easier for her to flog him for attempting to escape. Again.

He squinted in the sudden light, blinking rapidly. When his eyes fell upon her he smiled warmly, emerald eyes twinkling. "Hello," he greeted her pleasantly. She gave him a glare fierce enough to scare Goliath. If he noticed it, he didn't give any indication. Once again, she found herself furious. This was all his fault. She bared her teeth and let out a low, menacing growl. "Well, nice to see you too," he joked. She sneered.

"Did you really think you could escape?" she taunted, trying vainly to rid him of his aggravating smile. It was so much easier when they cowered. She was used to that.

Her question was rhetorical and he knew it, but answered nonetheless. "No. I was just bored. Wouldn't you be?" There he went again, asking her a question as though her opinion really mattered.

As usual, she chose not to answer, instead speaking of his previous statement. "You're honestly willing to sacrifice your own comfort for the sake of amusement?" She scoffed. "You are more ludicrous than I first anticipated."

The prisoner just smirked. "That's me. No one came seem to figure me out. My reasoning'll always be a mystery." He seemed proud of it too. She scowled again.

He had come to Black Viper three months ago as a trespasser, and since then had been nothing but trouble. Along with attempting to escape literally every week, he'd also managed to infuriate the head Commander, a lynx who was known only as Darkclaw. She knew he was really in for it this time. Not that she cared, or course.

She growled and shook her head. "You do realize I'm here to punish you?" She inquired. He was so cheerful; the thought must have escaped him somehow. But he was still smiling, albeit sadly, as he replied.

"Yes." His voice had softened considerably, and the way he said this, it was almost as though he pitied her. She hated being pitied. She hadn't been pitied for thirteen years.

She tried to ignore his calm, understanding look as she strode briskly over to where her favorite leather whip hung amidst other devices. It was decorated with jagged bits of sharp glass, wire, and metal, wove expertly into the thin, fire-hardened material. She could feel his gaze drilling a hole through her back as she inspected it. Without warning, she whirled around, whip raised over her head. It came crashing down into a nearby table.

The hedgehog had clenched his eyes and grit his teeth when she moved, bracing himself for impact. She waited until he reopened them, eyes widening in surprise as he located the end of the whip, before pulling it slowly back toward her. The shrapnel had lodged deep into the wood, so that she ended up pulling the table a couple of feet. She saw him give a satisfying flinch out of the corner of her eye, no doubt imagining the whip tearing into his own disheveled fur. Feeling smug, she calmly took a bottle of liquid and carefully rubbed it onto the whip with a torn cloth. The liquid was designed the make the wounds heal slower.

Now, this was usually the point where the prisoners would start begging. Bargaining. Anything to prolong their torture. The hedgehog didn't make a sound. She turned to him, whip in hand, wicked smirk in place, trying to make herself look as cruel as possible. She froze.

His eyes were not downcast or terrified, though they held a reasonable amount of fear. He met her gaze evenly, burning emerald eyes calmly peeling back the many carefully-constructed layers of her mask until he found the cowering, innocent seven-year-old girl that she had buried all those years ago. Then, he silently pleaded. The seven-year-old didn't stand a chance.

She trembled as guilt suddenly tore at her, attempting to eat her alive. He'd just stabbed a hole into a dam, and suddenly, it burst forth, flooding long-forgotten emotions into her system. New needs demanded her attention: the need for warmth, for shelter, for comfort, for companionship.

Pain flooded through her, threatening to overwhelm her. So, her body shut down its source, beating the little girl back into submission. And, suddenly, she could breathe again.

The world came spinning back into focus. She found herself looking at the prisoner's soft, kind expression.

He knew.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously low and she bared her teeth, striding toward him, whip in hand as though to strike him. Instead, she buried her hand in his ruffled quills, grabbing a fist-full and jerking him painfully upward until their faces were but inches apart. An attempt at intimidation.

"One word," she snarled, "One word about this to anyone and you'll wish you'd never been born." All he had to do was smile. A single triumphant smirk and she'd be flogging him mercilessly. But he simply nodded calmly, holding her gaze.

And then, ever so quietly, he spoke. "What's your name?" Her name. She hadn't been asked that in a very long time. Rank, maybe. Name, never. Hesitation flash across her features, but he was in no hurry. Silence stretched to minutes. War waged freely in her mind, but her mask, after being shattered so devastatingly, was not yet fully reassembled, and the little girl peered through the cracks of her prison…

"Tyla." Her own voice startled her. She'd intended to give her codename, if any, but her real name slipped out, feeling foreign and pleasant on her tongue.

He smiled. "Sonic," he murmured. "Thank you, Tyla."

She released him, uncertain glare frozen on her features, before turning to flee down the hall. Years of practiced cruelty had abruptly been demolished, and would never truly be the same again. And, suddenly, her whole life had been turned upside down. From one look. She hated that hedgehog.

Me: Woooohoooo! So depressing! Could be continued…I have an awesome idea(in which Sonic eventually escapes)…I dunno. I still need to work on my other stories. *insert audience cheering* Alright, alright! I promise to update soon-

Roxy: Notice she didn't give a specific date.

Me: Roxy?

Roxy: Yeah?

Me: Shut up.

Roxy: Make me.

Me: *sigh* Do we have to go through this again?

Roxy: (turns to audience) Later! (leaves)

Me: Wait…what? Hey! *sigh* Anyway, I'll UPDATE agian with the next FIVE reviews! So review! ...please?