Memory Lane, Part One

As he entered the bounds of the abandoned store, its vast facilities became clear; shelves that stood ten meters tall, housing housing products from lawnmowers to entire shacks. 

'…Did Damian take shelter here? It's not a bad spot to hide, but it seems easy to get lost,' Finn thought, carefully walking through an aisle as he looked at the surrounding sheds on display. 

He opted for his dagger in place of the odachi; a clear choice. It was kept ready as he moved with silent steps, watching the ground as the footprints led to a left turn. 

Simply calling out to his friend was not an option; he was unsure of what else may be lurking. 

'Can't trust anything now. The Sovereign of Shadows has turned this city into its sandbox to toy with us,' Finn thought. 

He followed the footprints, turning around the corner between two, metal shelves before coming to a stop. Just ahead, he found a peculiar sight— 

Like a miniature neighborhood, colorful shacks like that of scaled down houses were lined up as a labyrinth. He wasn't sure if it was how the warehouse was normally set up, cautiously moving closer to the first of the sheds. 

As he got closer, the smell of fresh paint met his nose; an invasive scent that made his mind slightly fuzzy. It became clear that the yellow coloring on the shed he moved closer to was fresh, still wet, though it didn't make sense why. 

'Don't think too hard about it. Everything is here to mess with my head,' he reminded himself, opting to walk around the shed. 

As he walked past the freshly-painted, yellow shelter, he found himself between multiple. Glancing back, the way he just came from was now blocked by the shed that still ran slick with a layer. 

He stood there a moment, glancing side to side as it seemed he was planted right in the middle of a peculiar maze now; the miniature homes surrounded him, now with their doors open as if inviting him in. In the dreary warehouse, so large, lonely, yet eerie, he felt it was alive in a sense; watching him. 

'...It's just trying to mess with my head. Just keeping moving–just follow those footprints,'  he reminded himself, looking down. 

The blue-glowing tracks led him into a baby-blue shed, entering its entrance as he had to duck his head down somewhat. As soon as he entered, he felt a change, bringing his gaze up. 

It was not the claustrophobic interior he first saw before walking in, but the inside of a full-scale home. 

"…What is this?" He mumbled. 

Of course, as he turned around, he found the doors he walked through were not just closed, but gone completely. The only way was the path forward, leading into the depths of the illogical interior. 

The wooden walls resembled that of a cabin, with each step he took resonating against his ears as he moved carefully. Besides the creaking wood, his own breathing paired with the thumping of his heart was loud, obscuring his own focus as he dragged himself along. 

He could feel his strength slowly fading as blood left his body, sliding down his skin as the warmth provided an uncomfortable reality. 

Down the hall of the shed, he found a red door; vaguely familiar, though he couldn't pinpoint why. All there was to do was open it, bringing his fingers to wrap around the brass handle before turning it. 

"--Ah." 

As it was opened, he found himself at a loss for breath momentarily at the familiar interior that awaited. It was like peering into a past memory; a pristine recollection, like a safe haven away from the current hell. 

A gray-walled hallway with pictures hung; photos of him, as a child and up through his teenage years, with the man and woman who raised him. 

'Home,' he thought. 

Stumbling into the place he didn't realize how much his heart ached for, he saw the living room just ahead, stricken by such nostalgia he could feel tears welling in his eyes. The walls were spotless, with the wooden floorboards newly refurbished. 

Such a clean home, making him acutely aware of just how dirty and grimy he was, not wanting to spill his own arterial fluid. 

"...I can't make a mess for mom," he said through broken breaths, stumbling a bit as he checked himself. 

To his surprise, the wounds on his body were gone; his hands had all ten fingers. In fact, the all-black uniform he wore was gone, and in its place a casual attire; a yellow t-shirt and jeans. 

He didn't question it, feeling returned right to him as a warmth resonated within him. 

"Finn? Oh, welcome home–I'm just finishing up dishes," the familiar, feminine voice called out from down the hall, in the kitchen. 

The young man paused as his eyes widened and his heart skipped a bit, carefully stepping forward as he brushed his hand against the wall, "...Mom?" 

Everything in his head began to crumble away; all of the stress, the horrors, those terrible memories imprinted on his mind–it was all overpowered by what was just up ahead. It was overwhelmed by the longing for the one he lost; for the life and world that once was. 

'That's right. A world like this couldn't exist…I mean, monsters from Avalon Online? These Systems? It was just a nightmare…A long, terrible nightmare,' the thought of relief came to him. 

A single step into the living room made the air in his lungs shift; a cooler, more refreshing breath was taken in. 

Looking towards the kitchen, he could hear the water from the sink running along with a comforting, familiar humming. He took a step towards the kitchen, though was stopped as a voice came from it–

"I've got things covered here, Finn! Just relax! I know you've had a hard semester at university, so just sit down and make yourself at home–been long enough since you've been around anyway!" The voice of his mother said from the kitchen. 

Finn wanted to go in there to see her, though nodded his head as those words sounded just right; he was tired. 

'I am exhausted…I wonder why…Right, university,' he thought as he sat himself down on the sofa. 

The couch of vanilla-tinted material allowed him to sink right into it as he exhaled. 

Monsters? A concept that seemed so ridiculous now that he was there, relaxing on the sofa. It all seemed so silly as he sat there. 

As his eyelids flickered with the coattails of exhaustion, for a split-second, he saw his body covered in wounds and the home eroded. 

Only for a moment, bringing him to rub his eyes as he blamed it on his sleepiness. 

The television in front of him was playing a news channel, with the anchor laughing while discussing the upcoming weather. 

"We're looking at a week of hot temperatures, so make sure to dress lightly! Otherwise, you'll melt into a puddle!" The middle-aged anchor announced with a chuckle. 

As he watched the news channel, zoning out somewhat, he found the anchor behind the television screen staring right at him. It wasn't just the camera—no, the man was staring straight into his soul. 

"Summer is a time of joy, isn't it, young man? I'm sure you have wonderful memories of the summertime heat, Finn," the man behind the screen spoke.

Words pointed straight to him brought him out of his perplexed self, opening his eyes as he found himself misplaced into another scenery once again. 

'--Summer memories?' He repeated in his head. 

All at once, a spur of moments happened in an instant; a recollection relived as he found himself as a youth once again. That which he recalled were times with a man older than himself; an often laid-back, but reliable figure that always seemed to make him laugh. 

"Trevor," Finn recalled, "--My brother."