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Chapter 30: Memory Lane, Part Two

Yet, such a happy, reliable figure was the source of a tragic summer–

Finn found himself in that horrific moment, standing just outside of the snow-white room where his mother wept, where police tape laid, though did not blockade that gut-wrenching site.

Flies buzzed as the scalding temperature of the midyear season left him in a sweat, though it wasn't just the summer to blame.

In that room that laid as a curse upon his mind, all he could see were feet dangling, hanging from one suspended from the ceiling. A lifeless, grueling sight that left the young man sick to his stomach.

'Why? I always questioned that. Oliver was always laughing and making others laugh. So why did he take his own life? I couldn't figure it out,' Finn thought, 'At some point though, I did.'

Once more, he found the scenery around him reforming as being taken on a tour through his own memories. It felt normal, not something he questioned as he found himself once more in a familiar moment.

It was years after the death of his brother, left alone in the quiet, suffocating dorm room. He sat at his desk, alone in the dark with only the moonlight to shine through the window. On the laptop monitor, the webpage was open to display the grades for his semester–failures.

The young man sat there, staring down at the paper as he had only gotten one word down–"Sorry."

["I didn't know what to do. As a kid, I grew up being praised as "talented." I was so used to that success, that validation. When I got to university, I fell behind. All of a sudden, I wasn't even "average"--I was a failure. I had no motivation to continue. Life no longer had any joy; there was no point to it. I was heading for a life of nine-to-fives, thinking I was special."]

All of it culminated into a breaking point as the young man decided that he had enough of it. In his mind, he still idolized his lost brother, accepting that the choice he made was an acceptable one.

Perhaps he wanted to follow in his footsteps, or perhaps it was that he no longer valued living.

Either way, a knife was brought to his own wrist; he brought the edge against his skin, though didn't slice it quite yet. He trembled, even though he accepted that the only way to stifle the misery was by ending it.

["I couldn't do it. I wasn't scared of death. But, when I tried to do it, all I could picture was my brother during that summer, and how my mom cried. I never wanted to see her like that again, so I endured."]

Sitting in that creaking chair in the dorm he despised, he finally felt some degree of lucidity upon recalling his own reason. Yet, it brought a question to his mind.

["...But, if I chose to live for that reason, what's keeping me here now? I've been fighting so hard just to survive, but what's the point? Everybody I cared about is already dead. What is it, then?"]

As the question lingered, he found himself once more in a different environment; this time, he was thrown into a room with a clapping audience before him, cheering out.

It was a bright, warm day, one he remembered greatly; he wore black robes, holding a document in his hand that signified the years he spent in education–his high school graduation.

He smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment; the greatest in his life thus far. Of course, greeting him as he walked off the stage with his diploma was his mother, holding her arms open with a smile.

"I'm so proud of you, Finn."

Welcomed into the embrace, he sank into it with a happiness that reassured him of better times.

–Better times.

For some reason, he began to remember; he remembered where he really was as he opened his eyes again, still holding his mother in his arms.

As he blinked a few times, he found himself back in the claustrophobic, gray interior of a shed. He was on his knees, hugging only the air as he looked down at his body, riddled with wounds he had forgotten.

It felt as though he relived his entire life, though it was merely a few moments.

"I...Ahh...Aeugh!" Finn let out, whimpering before letting out a cry, letting his forehead hit the wooden floorboards.

Experiencing the memories in his mind left the losses he had felt fresh again. It made the fact that the world he knew was dead even more haunting.

Finn sat there with his head down, finally calming himself as his breathing slowed.

'...It's just trying to get in my head. I can't let it win,' he reminded himself.

Staring at the hardwood beneath him as he ran his gloves over it, gripping the smooth surface to no avail, he placed the emerging thoughts in his mind at the back of his head. It was all bottled up, placed aside as he picked himself up wearily.

'I have to keep moving. I have to find the others,' once more, he reminded himself of his task.

He walked without grace, somewhat stumbling forward in his path as blood dripped from his arms and legs, still running slick down his forehead. Through the back of the accursed shed, he left, back into the in-warehouse maze as he simply followed the illuminate footprints.

There was silence besides his own uneven breaths and the sliding of his feet as he dragged himself. That lack of sound and much else left him with his thoughts, which he fought to ignore.

'Just keep moving. That's all you can do,' he urged himself.

Somehow, he found an opening between two of the sheds, allowing him to simply walk through as he arrived at the other end of the warehouse. Looking down, he found the brightened footsteps coming to an end, but tangible ones continuing on; tracks of blood.

A sinking feeling came as he saw those distinct footprints, only being able to guess in the moment how they occurred. With careful steps, he followed the bloody tracks, leading him to an isolated part of the warehouse.

Shelves were toppled over, planks and metal sheets tossed around. The bodies of both people and monsters were strewn about. However, Finn found one still standing in the lonely darkness.

"Damian?" He softly called out, almost in disbelief.

The heavily-armored man stood there, his plating soaking in blood that seemed to be both his and others, holding his axe that dripped with the same fluid. There was something off about the warrior who stood amidst such a terrible sight.

"Damian, are you alright? Are you hurt?" Finn asked, not in much better shape himself to be asking as he could tell already that his friend was wounded.

He watched as the man in blood-soaked armor raised one arm, speaking out through busted lips, "...Stay behind me. I'll protect you."

"What?" Finn responded.

It didn't seem like his friend spoke to him, but someone behind the warrior, though nobody was there. The situation had him at a loss as he took a step closer, extending his hand out to his friend–

WHAM.

Finn retreated his hand, stepping back as he watched the massive axe befall the floor just before him. Even untouched, he felt the visceral wind of such an attack; it was a strike meant to kill–that much was sure of.

"What the hell are you doing, Damian? It's me, you idiot," Finn said, calling out again as he kept his distance now.

The brutish man sloppily plucked the blade from the ground, hoisting the axe back up as he looked up towards the young man. Blood dripped down Damian's face, though not enough to stop Finn from seeing that look in his eyes; a pure glaze of focused animosity.

"Just stay behind me," Damian said again, not addressing the man in front of him as he stood as if protecting an unseen somebody behind him. "I'll take care of this monster."

"Monster?" Finn repeated.

It didn't make sense, though that lack of logic brought him to realize what was happening with his friend; the deception of the shade that befell the city.

'It's the Sovereign again...It's messing with his head–he's seeing me as a monster, and trying to defend somebody from it–from me,' Finn realized.