The subtle revs of a car were heard around Xander, the distorted nature of the world having disappeared from before him. The slight bumps on the road they travelled made the ride feel uncomfortable, though the seats of the car he was in were comfy. Soon enough, the bumps awoke Xander from his slumber, snapping the boy awake into the next reconstruction of his memory.
Another one. Alright…at least I know I am alive then.
Looking around the vehicle, the first thing Xander noticed was the cool, calming nature invited by the vehicle. The car door, walls and roof color was a regular beige, the seats being the same color. The car seats were a deeper brown, made of different material than the covering of the car roof. The windows were clear and allowed the outside world to be seen to Xander, the sunlight of the evening sky reflecting in his irises. Periodically, large buildings impeded his view, the area they were passing through having a higher quality than SunHigh Manor, but mostly similar in the decrepit nature that surrounded it
Everything about this place tried to give Xander a bit more comfort. But that was far what the boy could remember, everything being shaded in a dark miasma of lies to give the effect of unreal safety.
This…no, this place didn't half this good…
[Analysis of User Thoughts–User has made an Incorrect Assessment, Memory Reconstruction is concrete.]
It seemed that the voice that was reconstructing his memory was at odds with its master. Xander looked around, still confused as he continued to take in more of the world.
Listen…whatever you are, you unfeeling judge of a voice...how are you going to sit here and tell me what I remember!?
[Analysis of User's Anger - Anger unjustified. All constructs are made only from User memory.]
Specifically, when it came to the statement of his anger being unjustified, Xander grew a bit more annoyed.
That's real fucking nice.
Another bump came in the road, jostling Xander up out of his seat. It was a starkly hard one, hurting his back quite a bit. But upon falling back to his seat, he felt a small slam land on his shoulder, some fluid spilling down. Xander looked toward the source of the slam, seeing Diane fully asleep on the shoulder of her brother. She had been drooling for a good while after sleeping for a long time.
Xander stared at her peaceful face, almost forgetting that his sister could make such a face of comfort. Though on the side away from him, small burn marks could be seen, having remained a part of her face as scars. Her clothing was rather mundane, something every little girl had somewhere in their wardrobe. It was a light blue button-up dress that was plaited in nature, not too gaudy or exquisite, having a subtle charm to its simplicity.
Xander couldn't deny it anymore; Diane's burn marks from that day were burnt into his memory, because of how differently they healed from his. Whilst she got off relatively scot-free from true physical deformation, Xander wasn't so lucky.
Okay. Maybe this isn't as wrong as I thought.
But to further confirm if this truly was his memory or not, he looked down at his own self to make sure if his attire—and most importantly—his skin was what he remembered. He was dressed in a similar plaited shirt, though being red and black, with a set of light blue jeans that were cut and slashed like a beast had clawed them. Along his hands and arms, the scab of his skin was mutilated, grainy and looked as if worms and centipedes traced pathways under it. It was a stark contrast to how he looked today, mostly because his vector had healed him of these scars, leaving his skin in a blemish-less state before the fire incident. He spent the rest of his time entranced by the recreation of his burn wounds on his body, wondering just how accurate this thing inside his head was.
Did it even…? Xander continued, moving his hand to touch his neck, and feeling the rough, charred nature of the side he scratched.
It was the most memorable feeling he had from that day—the feeling of his own cooked and seared skin somehow still clinging to his form.
How is it possible…? Is this my vector doing this? Maybe it's like Diane, maybe I am not so san—?
Just as he thought about how realistic and uncanny the nature of his predicament was, the car came to a sudden stop with a quick jerk. The jerk sent Diane stumbling forward before Xander could even steady himself.
Shit!
But in that moment, his body reactively moved to catch her before she could strike her head against the car seats in front of them. He himself didn't think he could react in time to stop that from happening, but after remembering this was a recreation, he realized he couldn't have done the action even if he wanted —his past self must have.
With a sigh of relief, Xander thought, Good shit, old me.
Diane woke up in Xander's arms, the girl rubbing her eyes and glancing around at where they were. Her eyes became fixed on the tall, slender, apartment-like structure that sat to the right of the car. The building was dilapidated compared to the surrounding buildings, having an almost gothic horror despite being virtually in the heart of one of the many Nevada cities. The building's windows were crooked, some with broken window panes and others that were left wide open for animals seeking to make their way in. At the front was a relatively small gate that seemed to offer little protection from the outside, and even the very walkway up a few stairs to get in screamed little care or effort was put into renovating the place.
This was the orphanage Xander had so many dreams of, and frankly, the voice in his head had done a good enough job to leave Xander absolutely speechless. His eyes twitched upon looking at the structure. In small increments, he craned his neck to look through the car windows to see further upward. It was the most faithful recreation of the place he could think of.
I…how…?
"Time to get out, kids. Your new home awaits," said a woman sitting in the driver's seat of the car. Her voice was placid, neither caring too much nor too little if they really listened to her. This was Miss Yale, one of the many overseers at this place they called an orphanage.
Her face was old, wrinkling yet tried to show a semblance of warmth. But the moment she turned to look at Xander, all he could feel in body was a vehement want to get away from the woman. Though he couldn't be seen, his body itched violently, like he wanted to claw his way out of his own skin. The mere sight of her face was enough to awaken a near-primal rage in his body.
This woman…Why is she here? I don't remember this, she couldn't have been the one that drove us here. No, no, no, no, this isn't right. And why does she sound like that!? She was never this nice!
[Analysis of user's state of mind - state of denial and growing panic is abnormal - shifting reconstruction to another memory]
Wait, what? What do you mean by another memory? Xander thought, before distortion and static took over his eyes once again, Hey! Wait, I need to see more; I need to remember—!
*******
When the distortion and static of the world had finished and he slowly reclaimed a sense of self, Xander felt his entire being weaken, like he had been brutalized and beaten. The first thing he heard were the chattering and laughing of children around him, slowly creaking his eyes open to see his head by one of their feet. His back was against the solid object whilst his burnt-scarred neck rested against the floor. Soon enough, his body then moved, stamping both his hands onto the ground in attempts to get up.
What memory could it possibly be now? Xander thought before he picked up his head to look around the place for a second, showing something that Xander recognized immediately.
He looked down a long hallway with a strip of a rug going down it. Mahogany was what the walls were made of, some of them having holes burrowed into them with slanted paintings attached to the walls. However, one thing stood out in the hallway: a few small tables sat between a set of doorways on the same side of the room as his back. On each sat vases with beautiful flowers, lilies with a yellow hue to them.
These flowers had been Diane's favourite whilst being at the orphanage, something Xander remembered like the back of his hand.
Good Lord, it is this memory.
The chattering of the children stopped, a group of about four looking down on Xander as he turned his head to see them. They were around the same age as the boy at this time, though much more weighted and actually had some sort of muscle on them for 14-year-old boys. Diane was near Xander's side, trying to shield him from some unseen threat. His body had been bruised and banged up—presumably by these child tormentors that stood over the two.
"That's what you get for playing hero, you pig," one boy said. "I hope defending your sis's shit writing was worth it to you!" The boy said before sending one more good kick into Xander's gut, inadvertently hitting Diane in hers as well.
A couple more of the boys threw ripped pieces of paper onto the two that had letterings and tracings of writing on their white leaves, before finally leaving the two siblings alone.
No one liked us, not even the damn kids our age.
The retching of Xander's past self was heard, but not a sound came from Diane, silently over her brother still in her protective position. Slowly, she pushed herself up, revealing just how much dirt, gravel and dust had been kicked and stamped on both her and Xander. Their clothing had almost turned black with how much the two seemed to have been bludgeoned. Xander's past self slowly came too from the beating he had taken, having taken the worst of it earlier. Even after having experienced such a thing already, it didn't make it hurt any less for Xander to go through it again.
But after a few moments, a few droplets of water splashed onto Xander's cheeks. Diane has been sobbing through the onslaught the two had been through. Xander's arm raised to caress her face, whilst the rest of his body stayed resting on the ground. It seemed like the only part of him that still had strength to comfort his sister was that singular part.
Through a cough or two, Xander spoke, "I…told you I would be fine…. You shouldn't have shielded me. You…just got more hurt."
Yeah, she shouldn't have. If I were stronger, she would have to worry about me, or even do what she did. Xander thought, the weight of helplessness settling over him again.
Diane didn't respond immediately, taking a second to collect herself, like she had seen Xander do so many times.
"I am your sister, aren't I?" Diane asked, tone trembling and wavy as if at any moment she could break into a wave of despair. "Would your little sister let her big brother get beaten up all by himself?"
Both Xander and his past-self were stripped of all awareness, cognitive being and emotion. Neither of them moved or said anything, just left at the mercy of a blank, unending silence.
...…
And then, a few cries came from Xander. Each cry mounted on the other, like a slow build-up to a dam breaking. Diane soon joined in his despair, falling back on her brother as the two softly cried with one another. The older Xander in his mind was also sobbing, his internal voice unable to make so much as a word before breaking into sadness.
But amid all the pain, Diane whispered something to her brother between all their cries.
"You're all I have, and just like you've done me, I'll take every beating for eternity, then let you suffer by yourself."
Before Xander could even truly reflect on his sister's words, static and distortions of their cries took over one last time. He didn't wish for it to stop; he didn't need to remember anything more about this scene. All he needed to remember were those few words.
And as the static clouded his world, leaving him at his lowest moment yet, it had given him the one single greatest memento. A promise—an ideal—that he had to fulfill.
For eternity, I will take a beating for Diane. And I promise I'm gonna get us out of this.
[Analysis of//Syntax Error- Recalibrating//]
The voice paused in his mind. With a softer, more human tone like his mother—Veronica—it spoke once again.
[It's over. Just rest for a while, Xander]