Ami was tired. She was tired of running, tired of crying, tired of being lied to. At every turn, she was met with some strange new obstacle or anonymous villain to contend with.

Ami was tired still, as she sat in the stiff chair, arms bound and cramping behind her back. The canvas mask, now cold and damp with old sweat and breath, stuck to her forehead, screaming to be itched. She wasn’t sure how long she had been tied up and had already grown numb to the circus of interrogation tactics as rotating masked men and women came in and out of her makeshift cell.

“Not gonna get out this time,” they cackled with faux confidence.

It took Ami a couple of sessions to notice, but every time she made any move - even a slight shift of weight in the chair, her guards would flinch - hands on their holsters. Whatever Sabrina did to them obviously left an impression.

The Vermin kept asking the same questions, but they seemed to already have made up their minds. To them, she was the ultimate enemy - an agent of The Faceless.

At first, she protested - trying in vain to explain that she wasn’t working for anyone, that she was a victim in this too. But her pleas fell on deaf ears, and over time, her desperate cries turned quiet, and she was numb again.

She looked up, through the thick weave of the canvas mask, and little specks of light twinkled like stars in her blurred vision. The droning hum of the ceiling fan above was her only company through the long waits between interrogations. She listened to it, swaying lightly with the beat, and let her head lull to the side with a heavy sigh.

I can help you, Ami.

The sudden voice boomed in her head, shocking her upright.

“Hello?” she called, her voice muffled in the mask.

All you have to do is sleep.

Ami swallowed heavy, her throat tight and dry.

It was her. The monster, the murderer, the predator she became at night. It was here, in her head, speaking to her in a lilac-sweet voice.

You know what you have to do, Ami. Let me take over.

“So what, so you can kill them? I know what you do. I know what you’ve done,” Ami spat.

Do you? Do you know what I’ve done? Because as much as you try to remember the past, you seem to forget the most important details, Ami.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

What happened before they put us in the bubble, Ami?

Ami hesitated. She remembered the stars, twinkling bright in the night sky. She remembered the cold night wind hitting the back of her arms, and the dew-wet grass beneath her bare feet as they walked her to the unfamiliar car in the driveway.

Before that. Before that, Ami.

Ami shook her head. There was blood… blood on her hands, glowing in the orange hue of the lone firefly-shaped night light in her room. Her… her and her sister’s room. Whose blood? No, it’s not her sister’s. She’s there, sitting on the bottom bunk, hugging her knees tight. Her sister is crying. Why is she crying?

Closer. Closer.

“I… I don’t remember what happened. I blacked out… The blood was only there when I woke up. After… After you took over.”

Ami. What happened to wake me up? What happened before you blacked out?

“No… No.”

It hurt too much to remember. Sharp crackles of pain shot through her chest, and her hands turned into fists. She pulled against the restraints to a point where they were burning her wrists.

You can do it.

“He - he came into our room again. But this time was different. This time… This time he came for my sister.”

And so we had to kill him.

“And so… And so I let you take over.”

Ami. I am your protector. I am every scream, every bite, and every punch you wanted to throw. I am free of your little fears and can do what you are afraid to without the burden of hesitation. I am your Sleepwalker.

Ami was crying now. The pieces were coming together once again. But something was still bothering her. Is this what happened to the other children in the bubbles? Her stomach dropped at the thought.

“Then why… Why did Sabrina kill all those people? I saw them… On the street…” Ami started.

They were sleeping. Sabrina wanted them to sleep. You are not in pain if you are dreaming.

Ami shook her head. “So is that what you do, too? Make people ‘sleep’?”

No.

“No?”

No. That is not my preference. I have other talents.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Let me show you.

Ami sat there, powerless, hungry, dehydrated, exhausted, and sore in her new captor’s cage. Her burning wrists ached with fresh new burns. She wasn’t sure how long this would last. How long would it take until they gave up? Would they grant her the kindness of a quick death? Or would they leave her here to waste away until her body got the best of her?

Ami listened to the fan, droning away, and looked up once again to the tiny specks of light through her mask - her own little constellation. It was then that she decided that she was done being a passenger, done being a victim, done being used and lied to. She was surprised at the smile that started to cross her lips. She knew there was no going back after this.

“Show me.”

- —~-~-~-~— -

Ami felt her shoulders relax and her tight fists unclench. She felt her posture straighten and her lungs expand deeply with a slow, methodical breath. She was in her own body still, feeling everything, down to the canvas itching her damp forehead. But, this was different. She was not in control anymore.

Click.

Ami listened as the doors of her small holding cell opened, and a set of two heavy footsteps made their way inside. Ami could somehow tell by their steps alone that one was heavier than the other, and the lighter one stepped with a slight limp, favoring their right side. The larger one kicks the door shut, rattling the small room.

Ami felt like she was hearing for the first time. Her senses weren’t heightened in any way, but she found herself noticing things she had never considered. The tiny zip of fabric as the smaller guard’s jacket hit the side of their belt. A gun holster? The metal clink of the large guard’s steel toes as they kicked the door closed. She was seeing everything and nothing all at once.

“Ready to talk?”

It was the larger guard, a female, and her voice was slightly muffled behind a metal rat mask, like all the interrogators before her.

Ami heard her own voice mumble something, so quiet that even she could barely hear it.

“Did you say something, scum?”

The heavy steps came closer and Ami heard herself let out a sobbing whimper beneath the mask, still muttering unintelligibly.

What was she doing? She was supposed to get us out of here.

Ami listened as the smaller rat-mask was fumbling with something in her thin jacket. There were four metallic tiny clinks followed by a heavy, rolling click.

A gun.

Ami felt as her heart started to race, pounding in her ears. Ami waited for the anxious drop of her own stomach, but it never came. No, this wasn’t fear she was feeling, but a sickly new excitement.

The Sleepwalker continued her heavy weeps beneath the mask, luring the heavy steps closer.

“Careful…” spoke the smaller voice with the gun. A man.

“All she’s done is cry the whole damn night. It’s not like she can do anything. She’s tied up,” seethed Boots.

Ami felt a shove on the left side of her face, a heavy palm against her ear.

“That didn’t stop the last one,” The Gun snapped back.

The Sleepwalker mumbled something again through gasping, sobbing breaths, still too soft for Boots to hear. The twinkling lights suddenly stopped shining through the holes in the canvas mask as the hulking shadow of the booted guard loomed in front of her face.

“Speak. Clearly,” the heavy voice spat, only inches away. “I said -”

Ami felt a smile contort her face. There was a sudden CLANK, and a needle of pain shot through Ami’s forehead as she felt it slam against the metal rat mask, and Ami heard the disoriented guard hit the ground, cussing.

“The bitch headbutted me!” Boots cursed from the floor, and a heavy hand hit the leg of Ami’s chair.

Ami felt her knees bend slightly as she leaned forward, and the chair tight against her back lifted off the floor. Spinning on her left foot, Ami heard the crack of wood leg split on what could only be the guard’s head.

Ami ducked lower, spinning again and felt the back of the chair crack in half with the next heavy hit against the guard’s back. The wood bent awkwardly behind her, and the chair’s supports dug into her back, shooting sharp pain through her left side, but her body didn’t hesitate as it flew backwards against the guard on the floor for a third time.

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting CRACK ricocheting off the tiny room’s walls. Ami’s ears rang sharply, disorienting her only for a moment. It must have only missed her ear by inches.

“Don’t shoot at me, you idiot!,” Boots screamed through coughing breaths on the ground.

“I told you not to get close!” The Gun snapped back from the corner.

She heard The Gun scrambling on the floor towards Boots, his movement was awkward and desperate. He would make mistakes.

The final hit freed her arms from the chair, as she was able to maneuver herself from the loose wooden posts, but her arms were still tied against her back, and her hands tightly bound together. Still blinded, she ran towards the direction of the distracted Gun, who she heard on the floor, still arguing with Boots. She could tell that he was trying to lift Boots off the floor. She had to act fast.

Ami felt her body lower, in a quick and swift kneel, and felt her shoulder slam against The Gun’s knee, and all three fell back to the ground. Ami’s body shot forward in the pile, swiftly spinning on her back, and felt her hands grasp something metal.

The gun.

The same, twisting smile crept on her face again, and she felt a foreign ecstasy swim through her body. She was shaking in excitement. As she leapt to her feet, she flipped the gun in her still-bound hands, twisting it in ease behind her back. It was so familiar, so natural, as her fingertip flickered around the trigger.

Ami felt a sharp pain shoot through her calf as a heavy kick landed from behind, spinning her back into reality. She fell on her knee, and leaned forward, Boots and The Gun scrambling behind her. She aimed and pulled the trigger from behind her back, no hesitation. She heard the impact, thwack, as the bullet ripped through the fabric. Heavy shoulders hit the ground followed by a man’s shaking scream. Boots was down.

“You bitch,” The Gun spat at Ami through heavy breaths.

“Untie me.” It was Ami’s voice, clear, direct, unfazed. She felt herself stand straight, shoulders relaxing.

“Excuse me?” the man snapped back, and Ami heard him struggling to get to his feet, “You’re blind and tied up and you really think I’m going to help you? You got lucky with that shot, you conniving-”

POP.

And Ami heard the second bullet go through his kneecap. His scream came louder than the shot itself. Ami felt herself cock the gun again behind her back.

“Untie me,” she demanded again, still in the same clear and direct tone.

Ami heard an awkward scramble on the ground behind her. The man was crawling towards her, taking loud wincing breaths between his teeth with every step. There was a jingle, then a click, and her hands were finally free.

“Please… please…” the man wheezed as he slumped to the floor, “See, I didn’t try anything funny. Just let me go.”

But the Sleepwalker ignored him as she untied the metal restraints around her arms, then snapped off the band that held the mask to her neck. She stretched out her arms, shaking out the accumulated stiffness with a lazy yawn.

The man was at her feet now, his own mask held in his shaking hands, and Ami watched in horror as the gun aimed its sights directly between his crying eyes.

‘No!’ Ami screamed, trapped as a voice in her own head, ‘Don’t!’

“Why not?” cooed the lilac voice of the Sleepwalker, “He beat us, bruised us. He is nothing in the grand scheme of things. He is a liar, a pawn, in these games,” Ami watched as the gun danced between her fingers. She was toying with him, “These rats have been watching us, stalking us for weeks. It is his turn to sleep. Death would be a gift to him.”

No. No more deaths. Please.

There was a sigh, and the Sleepwalker shook the man off her leg with disgust. Ami watched as he slumped to the ground, cradling his shattered knee. The Sleepwalker stepped over the still body of Boots with a cool disinterest. The room had no windows, and the door did not have a handle on the inside, only a slim crack where the edges met the wall. There was still a boot mark on the door where it was kicked closed.

It seemed to be on a timed system, each set of rat-masks would get their set of 20 or so minutes before the door would open on its own, then the cycle would continue. Maybe that’s why people didn’t come rushing in as soon as the first shot went off. The Sleepwalker waited, back against the wall, for the door to open.

How do I… How did you… How do we know how to do that?

“I used to be sloppy. But when they were training you to walk, they were training me to do this,” said the Sleepwalker in a cool whisper.

Only moments passed before the solid metal door popped open with a heavy click, but the Sleepwalker did not move her back from against the wall, out of sight.

“We know you’re in there,” came a booming voice from outside the small room.

“Please, please don’t shoot!” whimpered the man from the corner. His palms above his head as he sat, still crumbled on the ground.

Ami’s eyes wandered around the room and landed on the ground next to Boots’ head. From the shiny, still wet red reflection of the pooling blood, she could see five, maybe six guards outside the door. To Ami’s surprise, the Sleepwalker took a deliberate step towards the doorway, out in the open and facing the gathered guards. No, not five, but at least two dozen lined the halls outside of her temporary cell. The rat-masks fumbled around her, and she heard them ready their arms, and in a series of clicks and snaps, all sights were aimed at her.

Ami watched as her arm straightened, gun pointed directly at a particular rat-mask standing at the center. His mask was no different from the others, but he was the only one without a weapon. There was a ripple of commotion throughout the gathered rat militia, each now locked and loaded, ready to take her out. He was in charge.

The rat-mask held up his hand, halting the soldiers around him. A path was then cleared to her right, all the way to the end of the hallway. They were letting her go.

“Thanks, Sweetie,” cooed the Sleepwalker with a wink.

She walked backwards down the hall, sights still aimed directly at the mask, gun steady in her hand. All silently turned to her, watching her every step, metal masks shining softly in the dull light. From the walls, she could tell that they were in an abandoned building of some kind, maybe somewhere downtown. None of the new construction used bricks anymore.

Her back lightly hit the wall, she had made it to the end of the long hallway. To her right, the metal frame of an old glass window. She pulled it open with a tug of her free hand, smiling at the silent crowd. She quickly tucked the gun in the back of her jeans, crouched, and slid out of the window.

Ami wanted to scream, but nothing happened.

Her voice pulsed in her head silently, throbbing, as she watched the world falling around her. The bricks scraped at her elbows as her back rattled against the wall. She must have been twenty, maybe thirty stories above the ground, and she was falling fast.

Suddenly, Ami’s heel dug against the wall, and with a heavy kick, propelled her away from the building. Her hands stretched forward in the smoggy air, and clasped around something smooth and plastic.

A drone.

“Can you please stop screaming now?” the Sleepwalker shouted over the heavy, vibrating blades above her head.

The large, neon orange mailer drone was struggling with the extra weight, but they were able to make it to the top of a nearby building as it refilled for the next delivery.

They sat there, leaning against the small, unmanned drone station, catching their breath. It was only then that Ami realized what time it was. This was the first time she was outside at night since she was a child. Or, at least the first time she could remember.

The Sleepwalker seemed to sense this, as her eyes, Ami’s eyes, shot to the sky.

But, alas, there were no twinkling stars - only the dull, orange glow of the moon behind the heavy grey smog of the city.