020

I slept soundly that night. Surrounded by them in the cold cottage as the clicking from Cassandra's keyboard made for a good sounding white-noise.

I opened my eyes to the warm afternoon sun sitting upon the veranda of my old home. At least, that's what I think my old home was. With the false memories, I don't know what's real.

The house was in the countryside. A homestead in a state I don't know about, surrounded by trees with a dirt road leading somewhere.

In the distance, coming from the road is a woman in a white sundress and small sized hat. She's holding with her a brown paper bag filled with vegetables, food, groceries.

She waved towards me with a warm smile, "Hey! Marcus!" Her voice sounded soft and motherly. I stood up to wave back against my will, I didn't feel like I had control of my body.

She ran towards me lightly, dropping the groceries beside me as her warm hands grasped my body, lifting me up and showering me with kisses, "Have you been a good boy today?" She asked.

"Yes, a very very good boy!" I yelled aloud, again, against my will. I didn't even know who she was, but the feeling of her dry, rugged face against my fingertips felt like home.

I blinked, and I wasn't there. Instead, I was in a hallway in a dark, night filled house. The walls, the doors were realistically gigantic. And there's a sense of dread in the air.

Then, from the room next door, I heard yelling between a man and a woman. She yelled things I'm too young to understand, about concepts I can barely fathom. He yelled back. For a moment I heard my name in between the complex words.

Then, the woman went out. Closing the door with a loud 'THUD!' as she rushed over to me, feeling the shaking of the floorboards under me with each step.

She grasped my waist with her cold, shaking hands as she lifted me up and walked away from the room. She pats my back, chilling it as she says, "It's going to be okay." with her hoarse voice repeatedly.

I touched her face, it felt moist to the touch, yet maintained the rugged texture. I feel her entire body shaking with each step as her crying sniffles reverberate through my core.

I blinked and I wasn't there once more. I was in a sterile white room. My chest felt heavy, and everywhere felt cold. Yet there was no wind, like the inside of a refrigerator.

The air stank of sterilized disease, and a strong, harsh floral accent. It was almost mind numbing. Especially as in front of me was the woman.

She was lying down on the bed, eyes closed, and pale all over. I touched her face, it was dry and rough. As if not moisturized for three hundred years. Her lips feel chapped and I feel no breath.

Her hands were out and I touched them, trying to shake her awake, but there was no use. She wouldn't wake up. I shook her awake, yelling her name yet I couldn't hear myself. I feel tears fall down my face with each shake. Yet she still wouldn't wake up, nor suffice to breathe.

She snaps her neck and looks straight at me. Her arms rushed and gripped mine tightly, and spoke with a hoarse, rugged voice, "YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS. YOU WILL NOT SAVE THEM, MARCUS." She rushed out the words as she pushed me away.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" I screamed, my throat hurting with each second, yet I couldn't hear it, no one else could hear it. I blinked, with each blink her form becoming more deformed, rotten. She repeated those words, getting higher as she went out of the bed and approached me. I screamed louder to no avail. No one came, no one's coming.

I blinked rapidly against my will, seeing things I've never seen before. The blood, the corpses, the gore, the gore, the fallen comrades. The people I cared for as I grasp them in my hands. Are they the same? Are we the same?

I screamed, for I do not know. The night terrors will end when my life will. The nightmares would haunt me every night, every night I would dream of the war. A war I do not know about, a war inside me that I can't fathom happening.

A war full of corpses from both sides. A war where children died for things they don't care about. A war between two unfeeling, soulless entities who sees their citizens through numbers which rise and fall through their graphs.

I dreamt of meeting God in Vega 3. Yet I never knew about being in Vega 3. I dreamt that I grasped God's throat in my hands, how he tried to resist but never managed to do so. How he was still alive in the public square. With several trillions of people watching all over the galaxy. As he kneeled, a cold piece of iron lay upon his forehead. Two people laughed, Two people cried. Most were silent, as I pulled the trigger. Piercing a hole in God's cranium.

Yet he turned around and spoke to me, stating, "Killing God won't save you."

I jolted awake in a cold sweat. I heard Cassandra's keyboard which put me back at ease as I breathed in and out, quickly, then slowly. I turned towards her and saw Haya up and awake. I saw her mouth the word, 'oh fuck.' As I stood up and walked towards them.

"Night terrors?" She asked whisperingly.

"Yeah…" I said to her.

"Sorry, partially my bad. I tried to check the memories she messed with. And it seems there's a ton."

"What do you mean?"

"Well. She messed with at least 50 years worth of memories, but you can't edit them easily. Memories aren't a linear path, they're a collection of things you remember and they will always try to come together. Seems like she doesn't realize that."

"So… the things I couldn't see, nor discern are…"

"Yep. The memories she tried to suppress, they're still in there, trying to fight back yet remaining suppressed. Maybe they contain an important part of your old self. At least, we would know."

"Oh…" I glossed over to Cassandra, the bright monitors covering her glasses into a bright, white haze. I couldn't discern her eyes.

"You should go back to bed, partner. I won't mess with it anymore." She said as I headed back to bed.

It was hard, and the futon felt too hot. Yet I slept, a sleep that I hope doesn't end with me being killed once more.