Ron looked back at Carter's mansion — the lights fading behind him like the last trace of calm.
He turned and started walking home.
Halfway there, something felt wrong. The air itself seemed heavier.
He stopped. Looked to his right.
A gateway stood there — leading into a small neighborhood.
Ron's heart tightened. He knew this place.
A community built for the poor — schools, hospitals, homes, all free.
He and Bruce had built it together, back when their friendship began.
But this… this wasn't what they built. Now, the streets burned. The sky glowed red from the flames. Houses were shattered. Shops lay in ruins.
The scent of smoke mixed with something far worse — blood.
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. He rushed through the broken gate.
Everywhere he looked — bodies.
Men, women, the elderly… even children who couldn't yet speak.
The smell of death wrapped around him like a curse.
Ron covered his mouth, his breath trembling.
He called 911, but his voice cracked mid-sentence. Then he kept walking — through fire, through silence.
"What the hell happened to this town while I was away?" he muttered, his voice hollow.
Then he saw them.
A man. A woman. A small girl — maybe six.
All lying together, drenched in blood. The man's arm was wrapped around the girl, as if he'd tried to shield her.
Ron ran. Fell to his knees beside them.
The parents were gone — but the little girl's chest still moved. Barely. Without a second thought, Ron lifted her in his arms and took off, soaring toward the nearest hospital.
Sirens wailed behind him as ambulances flooded into the burning streets.
Inside the hospital, doctors rushed the girl away. Hours later, they told him she was alive — but had been unconscious for nine days.
Ron stood silently by her bedside, fists clenched. Locki was in prison. Bruce was dead.
There was no one left to turn to.
He sits. Exhausted.
Closes his eyes.
DARKNESS.
An endless, suffocating void.
Ron hung suspended, arms bound by invisible chains. Blood dripped from his body, each drop echoing into a vast sea of red below.
"Where… am I?"
The sea stirs.
Bubbles rise.
A skeletal hand bursts out.
Then another.
Then a skull — half-human, half-bone — clawing its way up.
It grabs his leg.
Then more come.
Dozens. Hundreds.
"You didn't save us…"
"You left us…"
"You watched us die…"
Their cold hands climb higher, their whispers crawling under his skin.
Ron struggles — eyes darting upward.
And then he sees it.
Hanging low over the blood sea — enormous, silent, and burning like a wound in the sky.
Its reflection bleeds across the water, turning every wave into a ripple of crimson light.
The skeletal hands glow faintly under its glare.
The red moon's light pulses — and every time it does, the dead scream louder.
"Save us…"
"You failed…"
The red light spreads, searing his eyes.
The sea boils.
The moon feels alive — watching him, judging him.
He struggles against the hands, but the red moon cracks open like an eye.
A single drop of light falls from it—
hitting the sea, erupting into blinding fire.
The hands tighten. One grips his throat.
CRACK.
Ron jolts awake — gasping.
Children's laughter filled the air.
"Dad's awake!"
Two little girls ran toward him, giggling.
"Good morning, Father," said the elder one softly.
"Morning!" chirped the younger.
Only their lips were visible to Ron, Ron blinked — his breath caught.
He knew them.
His daughters. The older one he remembered. The younger one… he'd only seen her body. Never alive.
Tears streamed down his face as he pulled them both into his arms. "Dad, Is something wrong?" Older daughter spoke. "Why are you sad father?" The younger spoke. "I'll beat who made my father sad." The younger daughter spoke.
"Don't be sad father." The Elder daughter spoke.
Then, from behind — a gentle voice.
"Ron? Are you okay?" He turned. Dream stood there, smiling like sunlight breaking through fog. But only her smile was visible to Ron.
Then— knocking.
Ron's eyes snapped open.
He was back in the hospital room.
"It was a dream. Why does it feel like a long-lost memory?" he whispered to himself. "It feels like that was… another world."
He took a slow breath, eyes distant. He imagined his daughters
"I don't remember how they looked like, I don't remember myself how I looked back then, What I remember is their dead bodies."
The door opened, and a nurse stepped in.
"Sir Ron," she said softly, "someone is here to meet you."
Ron stood up and stepped outside.
Standing there was Bruce's butler — the same one who had nearly defeated the plant-controlled Akira.
"Sir Ron," the butler said with a slight bow. "How are you? If you're free… please come with me."
Ron quietly followed the butler outside. They walked through a narrow alley, the air thick with silence. Suddenly, a cloth pressed against Ron's mouth and eyes from behind — everything went dark.
When he came to, muffled voices echoed nearby. Ron stayed still, pretending to be unconscious. His hands were free. Then, footsteps approached — slow, cautious.
The moment the figure came close, Ron sprang up, grabbing the man's throat and slamming him hard against the ground.
Ron blinked. "Bruce?"
"Hey, man—chill!" Bruce coughed, raising his hands.
Ron loosened his grip, stepping back. "You're alive."
Bruce smiled faintly. "Yeah, I'm alive. But Bruce no longer exists… not out there, anyway. I live in secret now, down here in my base."
He pointed toward the butler who had just entered, carrying a tray of tea. "He handles everything up top."
Bruce leaned forward. "And you, Ron… where were you all these years?"
"I fell into another dimension," Ron said simply.
Bruce's brows lifted slightly, but he only sighed. "Then you've missed a lot."
Ron looked around. "So… what's been happening lately?"
Bruce gestured toward two sofas facing each other. "Why don't we sit and talk? There's a lot to catch up on."