Meryl glances at Max, walking softly behind them. He seemed so relaxed (or, at least, as relaxed as one can be while slowly deep diving into a stinky hell), a haunting contrast with… the other Max.

The one who…

Meryl shook that image off their head. Was this something they would conciously had to do forever? Would they ever be able to forget it?

The images of their last moments burned inside their head, rapidly alternating between flashy, blurred and sometimes hyper-realistic visions of dread and tragedy. Suddenly, everything gets black, as if someone had pulled out a plug. (yet again with the non-copasetic analogies. Sorry folks!) Yet, in the deep darkness…

They heard a voice. It was Max’s.

What did he say?

This was something they would never know. And, frankly, they wouldn’t want to, anyway.

Ha, how ironic, Meryl thought to themself. To pass your life pursuing Memory… and now everything you want to do is to erase it.

Isn’t Fate such an artist?

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