Chapter 3: Reminiscing The Good Old Days

Goh and Sumi, though evidently disheartened by Franklin's gruff manner, seemed to accept his disposition as the price of his company.

The Guardian Angel watched the interaction with a knowing look, their ethereal presence a silent testament to the pact now sealed between them.

"It's a deal then, Franklin. I hope you change your mind by the end of this journey, but even if you don't, I will honor our bargain," the angel affirmed.

"Whatever dude," Franklin replied, his voice dripping with a detachment that seemed to push away the gravity of his situation. Goh's face fell slightly in disappointment, and Sumi's frown deepened at the roughness of his words.

As the trio set off, the city's chaos faded into the background, replaced by the distant memories that suddenly flooded Franklin's mind.

He found himself transported to a time before the world had broken around him—a time steeped in the amber glow of nostalgia.

***

He was back in his twenties, in the dimly lit ambiance of the Past Memories Bar, a favorite haunt that now seemed like a relic from another life.

Laughter echoed around the walls, bouncing off faded photographs and old sports memorabilia. He sat at the bar between two of his closest friends from those carefree days, Finn and Armin.

Armin, ever the provocateur, attempted to cut through the mundanity of their daily lives with humor. "I'm just glad we get to leave our miserable jobs and nagging wives behind," he chuckled, hoping to stir some camaraderie.

The room fell silent; neither Finn nor Franklin found humor in the comment. They both took a sip from their glasses, letting the cold drink punctuate the awkwardness.

"I like my job," Finn said quietly, his tone suggesting that not everyone shared Armin's discontent.

"I love my wife," Franklin added, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that seemed to challenge Armin's lightheartedness. He wasn't just defending his life choices; he was affirming them.

Armin's response was a nervous chuckle as he brought his drink to his lips, his hand trembling slightly—an involuntary betrayal of his inner turmoil.

The drink spilled over onto his shirt, and he grimaced. "Well there goes another reason my wife won't be happy," he joked weakly, a self-deprecating smile flickering across his face.

Catching sight of the tremor in Armin's hand, Franklin's expression softened. The bar's raucous backdrop faded into a hush as he leaned in, lowering his voice to confess, "I'm scared too."

Armin looked up, his surprise evident. It was a moment of raw honesty between them, a stark departure from their usual banter.

In that quiet corner of the bar, amidst the clinking glasses and subdued chuckles, Franklin's admission revealed the depth of his fears, fears that he rarely allowed others to see.

It was a glimpse of the man behind the bravado—a man who was grappling with uncertainties just like anyone else.

Armin's eyes widened with incredulity as he processed Franklin's admission. "Scared? I'm not scared. Wait, you're scared?"

Franklin's gaze flickered uncertainly among the faces of his friends, their features blurred slightly by the dim light and the haze of cigarette smoke.

"You know what, guys, we don't have to leave. Why can't we just stay? I'm happy to be here for the rest of our lives."

Finn scoffed at the suggestion, his voice tinged with a mix of sarcasm and realism. "Oh great, you want us to be one of those daring deserters that end up getting themselves killed. Do you want us to die together?"

"Don't be stupid," Franklin retorted, frustration creeping into his voice.

"I didn't ask a stupid question, you did. You know we don't have a choice. They'll go after our family," Finn countered sharply, his words cutting through the bar's noisy backdrop with a chilling clarity.

Armin laughed, though there was little humor in it. "Ha! Nobody's coming for our wives. We wouldn't be here at the bar if that were the case."

"Yeah, your wife maybe. I have to fend off ten men on the way to the market when they see my beautiful wife," Finn added, trying to inject some levity back into the conversation.

Franklin shook his head, his expression somber. "We're not fighting for family, we're leaving them. If we're winning this war for certain, they can do that with or without us."

"But Franklin," Armin interjected, his tone suddenly serious, "it's not the war we fight that protects our family, it's the war we don't fight. If we desert this war, we're deserting our family. They'll kill us all."

Finn chimed in, his voice a mixture of jest and sternness. "Can't be having that now can we, Franklin? Stop sulking and thinking too hard with that soft brain of yours."

The banter continued, but Franklin's heart wasn't in it. Each jest and jibe from his friends only served to deepen the pit in his stomach, a reminder of the grim choices that lay ahead.

As laughter and light conversations filled the bar around them, Franklin felt increasingly isolated, his thoughts a heavy burden that neither drink nor time could ease.

Finn, still wielding humor to lighten the mood, lit a cigarette and offered one to Armin. When the pack came to Franklin, he shook his head and returned his gaze to the window, still visibly disturbed by the conversation.

"Besides, I need some war stories to tell my kids and customers when I'm older. Being a boring bartender is bad for business," Finn said, puffing on his cigarette, trying to infuse some light-heartedness back into the air.

Franklin, however, seemed lost in thought, his eyes reflecting the distant lights outside the bar.

Armin, noticing Franklin's detachment and perhaps thinking a dramatic gesture might snap him out of it, suddenly lifted Franklin off the ground with surprising ease and hoisted him onto the bar table.

"Alright, that's it," Armin declared, as Franklin found himself standing awkwardly on display. Armin continued with a theatrical flourish, "You see that, Finn? That's going to be our war hero out there. Look at him. Wow. So majestic. So big and strong. Mmm, that's my kinda soldier."

"Yeah, that's right. Wait, why can't I be the hero? What, you think delivering mail is more heroic than being a bartender?" Finn joked, joining in on Armin's playful banter to diffuse the tension.

Their laughter filled the bar, a brief respite from the darker undertones of their earlier talk. Armin then put his arms around both their shoulders, pulling them into a hug, a gesture of camaraderie in the face of impending separation.

"We might be leaving our beloved wives and precious jobs behind; but one thing we're never leaving is each other. Remember that out there. No matter what, we'll have each other," Armin said, his voice firm with resolve but gentle with affection.

***

The scene shifts from the boisterous warmth of the bar to the serene ambiance of a small oriental tea shop.

The camera first focuses on three dog tags hanging around Franklin's neck, each one catching the soft light of the morning sun filtering through the window.

We pan out to reveal Franklin sleeping on a couch, his body relaxed yet bearing the signs of weariness from more than just physical travel.

As the camera widens its view, Sumi is seen approaching him slowly, her movements cautious and deliberate.

She reaches out gently, her hand hesitating before finally shaking him awake. Startled, Franklin jolts upright, and Sumi recoils slightly, her instinctive reaction one of fear.

"I'm sorry... How long was I asleep for?" Franklin asks, his voice raspy with sleep and tinged with confusion as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, trying to orient himself to the peaceful surroundings that starkly contrast the war-torn landscapes and emotional battlegrounds of his dreams and memories.