<div class="floatright">(http://quizilla.teennick.com/user_images/B/BR/BRO/Brown.Eyes.White.Dumbies/1194110168_enPunkGirl.jpg)</div>Sunny had been aimlessly wandering through a local park, trying to compose herself. Her landlady had finally put her foot down and evicted her; no more half-sincere promises, no more tugging on heartstrings, and no more 'I have such high hospital bills'-es. The nice old woman had been kind about it until now - she really did feel bad for the poor girl, but eventually everyone runs out of kindness. At least moving out wasn't a problem. Sunny's days growing up surrounded by hippies and deadheads had left her with very little attachment to material objects, and eventually she had traded or sold most of her possessions to try to keep a roof over her head for just a little bit longer. But, like peoples' kindness, eventually she ran out of things she could do without, and she packed a backpack with the things she refused to give up and left her studio apartment for the last time.<br/><br/>Eventually making her way to a lonely park bench in a particularly secluded part of the park, she sank down onto it and set her backpack at her feet, trying to fight back the river of tears that she felt welling up in her eyes. She sat quietly, starting at the grass, watching it ripple in ways that she knew it shouldn't, and gradually shift between hues that she knew it shouldn't have. Whispers of all different pitches and cadences hissed in her ears until they all bled together into an unintelligible, buzzing static, like a radio tuned between stations.<br/><br/>She didn't have anywhere to go, or anyone who cared about her. When she left the Family she had been shocked by how quickly her pool of friends and acquaintances seemed to dry up. When you made a living synthesizing LSD, everyone wanted to be your friend. But when you stopped supplying LSD to those friends... Well, that was part of why she was in the predicament that she was in. Her thoughts quickly turned dark as the tears began flowing; slowly at first, but quickly reaching a torrent. It wasn't the first time she'd considered suicide.<br/><br/>As the tears continued to flow, she found both her hands wrapped around her braid, tugging at it a bit harder than usual and sending a spike of pain into her scalp. But eventually, she came to notice something. The static was gone. Or rather, the static had been replaced by something else. The whispers sounded different; dark and angry, rather than pointless and annoying. And they seemed to know her. Seemed angry at her. Like she was listening to a conversation between people who didn't like her. The longer she listened, the clearer the voices got. The angrier. More and more aggressive. Louder. Louder until she could swear she could tell the direction they were coming from. And it sounded like they were getting closer.<br/><br/>Not sure if what she was hearing was real or imagined, but not wanting to be on that bench when the voices arrived, Sunny quickly picked up her backpack, tears still streaming down her face and hurried away from the voices. But no matter where she turned, they seemed to be getting closer to her. First coming from one direction, and then another. Sunny's heart began racing as her already tenuous grasp on her emotional state began to erode. She hurried in one direction, only to immediately stumble to a halt and head in the opposite direction as the apparent location of the voices changed. Fear gripped her heart as nervousness gave way to blind panic as she ran out of the park and down a nearby alley.<br/><br/><em>A dead end.</em>Sunny let out a choked whimper as the voices relentlessly became louder. And then she spotted it. An oddly-shaped door on the building to her left. It was circular. Half red, half blue, with a white lightning bolt through the center. It was something she had seen a million times. And so, without thinking, she ran for the door, opened it, and slammed it shut behind her.