Warning: This chapter contains themes of child abuse, transphobia, depression, self harm and suicide.
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He's seeing a ghost. When he heard from Peace and Data that John had been killed, he thought he would never again see his storm grey eyes and strawberry blonde hair. His rosy skin with the entire left side of his face scarred from a burn after one unfortunate interrogation from Unity.
But here he is. John Wright.
He casually shrugs and tucks his hands in his pockets with a cocky grin on his face. "Oh sorry. Colin. I forgot you've gotten an upgrade since I died," John chuckles. "Seems dyin' is rather popular with our little groupie, yeah? I'm startin' to get the feeling you're all copying me. I'm flattered, really. But maybe you should look for a hobby that's less hazardous to your health." Just hearing his voice makes Colin's heart beat faster.
He takes an unconscious step towards him. "...John?"
John smiles and opens his arms. "Miss me, did ya?" he snickers as Colin rushes towards him, opening his arms as well for an embrace but he ends up passing right through him like air. He stops and quickly turns back to face John, seeing the weary, yet smug look on his face.
He snickers and squints his eyes to examine the SRL closer. "You'd think gettin' the premium brain upgrade would make you less slow," he lowers his arms back to his sides and returns one hand to his pocket, holding the other up and a lit cigarette appears between his fingers that he starts smoking.
"But, I can't say I blame you. After all, I died... How long's it been now? I guess it doesn't really matter," he sighs with a shrug, lowering his hand and keeping the cigarette between his lips. "This isn't really 'John.' You know that, right? I'm just a memory of him."
Colin looks down with a sigh, his mind still racing to catch up with everything that's going on. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but he supposes if Achilles was made as a gift for Cree, it would make sense for Regan to use the personality of John; the person Cree looks up to the most. But he gives himself a break by remembering that he's had a lot on his mind lately.
He takes a deep breath and allows himself to process before he speaks again. "I... know you're not really him. I just... It's still just nice to see your face again," he smiles and steps towards him once more.
John laughs and puffs on the cigarette, holding it between his fingers again. "Of course it is. Who wouldn't be happy to see this mug?" he points at himself with a goofy grin. "Gotta say though, I wasn't expecting to see you here. I honestly thought it'd've been Edith. So, I gotta ask," he nods towards Colin. "Why're you here? I'm assuming there's a reason, as hopping into the head of probably the most fucked up guy in the group doesn't really sound like an ideal thing to do on impulse."
Colin sighs again and slowly nods. "Because we think The Director has done something to Tyrell's mind to make him serve her," he starts and John huffs with a nod of his own.
"No kiddin'. Our guy's gotten himself into some serious shit. But what else's new? But my question stands," he blows out a breath of smoke and narrows his eyes at Colin. "Why you?"
The SRL looks around the dark forest and white sky before meeting his eyes again. "If I can find whatever was done to turn him against us," he lifts his hand to show John a faint green glow in his palm. "Maybe I can fix it."
John lets out an overdramatic gasp and takes the cigarette out of his lips. "Woah woah woah, hol' up," he laughs. "You're actually gonna use your magic for once? Almighty 'Mind Mar agent of Aramora'?"
"'For once'? I've used my magic before," Colin crosses his arms, making John laugh again.
"Yeah, but not without throwin' a fit about it," John snickers. "Got some real magic hang-ups, huh? Guess Sara really fucked you up, but you know she's dead, yeah? You gotta let it go, man."
Colin glares at him. He's starting to remember what it was like to be around this man all the time back in Mortal. "This isn't about me. Regan said you're here to guide me through Tyrell's head. So, are you going to help me?"
"'Course I'll help. But I'm still gonna be an ass about it. Adds to my charm," John winks and walks past him to start heading towards the misty forest, throwing a glance back over his shoulder at the SRL and waving him forward. "Well? You comin' or what?"
Colin sighs and steels himself before following, knowing that as sarcastic as John is, he's right in that Cree's mind is probably the least welcoming place for one person to traverse. But in here somewhere is the damage done by Corbin. He's going to find it and set things right, if he can.
As they enter the forest, the mist begins to shift around them. It twists among the trees, rising up to alter the scene as they approach the first memory. The trees morph, stretching taller and turning its bark into concrete. Neon lights beam around the streets under the dreary raining sky of County Yastra.
It feels very strange to be standing in Yastra, even just a memory of it. Colin hasn't been to Yastra since before he became an SRL, as the strict procedures prevented him from ever getting in. It looks a lot different than it was over a century ago. Brighter.
He follows John through the streets, passing people who walk by without acknowledging them in the slightest. This is a memory, after all.
"Is this the memory that's been changed?" Colin asks John as he's still taking in the sight of the dream city.
John shrugs without looking back at him. "Don't know. These memories are all gonna be the ones that hold the most meaning to Cree, for better or worse. But knowin' him, mostly worse," he says. "But if there's a memory so strong that it's made him turn on his friends and side with a dictatorial heartless she-demon, I've got a feelin' we're gonna find it. But to do that, we need to check 'em all," he explains and stops just at the entrance to an alleyway and Colin joins him at his side to look down the alley.
There are three boys who look to be about twelve to thirteen years old, all dressed in dark ripped clothes. On the ground in front of them is a little girl in a pink skirt with long dark silver hair. Her arms are scraped up and her white shirt is muddy and torn.
Colin squints as he examines the girl, when his eyes widen. "Wait... is that...?"
John lets out a low sigh with a small nod. "Cassi Tyrell... Warnin' you now, this ain't a nice memory."
Colin's eyes soften with worry as he returns his focus to the scene in front of them.
Cassi pushes herself up onto her bloody forearms and wipes her face off of blood, smearing it across her cheek and mixing it with mud from the pavement. Despite being a bruised and bloodied seven-year-old, she's not crying nor does she look scared of these boys standing over her.
One of the boys, who looks to be the oldest, laughs. "Still want to hang out with us, shorty?" he snides and kicks up a puddle in the girl's face, making her wince and turn her gaze away.
She growls and punches the pavement before pushing herself up off the ground and throwing her fist square into the youngest boy's face, but he grabs her wrist and shoves her back into a pile of trash. Her back smashes into a broken television, shattering the screen and making glass shards cut into her skin, eliciting a yelp from the girl.
The boys laugh, but Cassi doesn't give them a chance to react before she grabs a glass shard and slices at the oldest boy, cutting a red line across his chest that rips through his black t-shirt. He winces and holds his hand over the bloody wound.
Cassi's hand drips with blood as the shard cut into her palm, but she keeps her fist clenched tightly around the glass. She grits her teeth and prepares to strike again, but she stops at a familiar voice from the entrance to the alley.
"Cassi!" the furious voice of her mother, Myra, barks and the girl can only turn her head in time for a hand to strike her across her cheek, knocking her back to the ground. She drops the glass shard so she can hold her face.
Myra roughly grabs her arm and pulls her back up to her feet. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she hisses.
Cassi pulls her arm free and points at the boys. "They started it!"
Her mother grabs her by her hair with a growl before she yanks her over and starts dragging her out of the alley without another word.
The memory shifts, and suddenly they are standing in the living room of a small apartment with very minimal furniture. The carpets are stained and the few couches that are here are torn up around the edges. The wallpaper is ripping, showing dirty wooden boards on the other side.
Cassi is now sitting on the couch with her head down and her mother is in the kitchen, holding a dish rag in the sink under running water. She shuts it off and storms over to the girl, kneeling in front of her to start roughly wiping away the blood and dirt from her face and arms, all while Cassi refuses to make eye contact.
"I don't understand," Myra snaps. "All I wanted was to have a normal daughter. Is that so much to ask?"
Cassi keeps her eyes fixated on the floor. Her tiny fingers slightly grip the edge of the couch but her expression stays unreadable.
"...I am normal," she says in a small voice.
Myra scoffs and washes away the blood on her hand, making Cassi slightly wince. "All that brain damage has made you fucking delusional," she hisses before standing up and storming back to the kitchen to toss the rag into the sink. "I swear, it's like you're trying to piss me off. Had I known that this was what I would be getting when I found out I was pregnant, I wouldn't've even bothered moving to this fucking city," she growls and lowers her head. "The other Marauders didn't give me as many headaches as you do."
Cassi's blank expression slightly shifts to hold anger. "...Then why did you have me if I'm such a disappointment...?" she asks in a tiny voice. Seeing and hearing Cree act like this is painful, no matter how young he is. No matter who he was.
Her mother pauses for a moment and just stares down at the sink, shaking her head and looking about ready to break something. In her eyes is a flash of consideration, to which she nods to herself and whips around to face her daughter.
"You want to know why? Our gig with the Marauders wasn't paying off. So we figured in eighteen years, we'd make a small fortune for selling off a perfect girl to that sex club downtown," she scoffs and shakes her head again. "But instead, we got a fucking defect who can't seem to just act like a normal girl and shut up until we can finally get rid of you."
Cassi's eyes slightly blur with tears but she doesn't move and just keeps her head down as she starts to silently cry. Behind the tears, her eyes suddenly hold consideration of her own. All thoughts seem to shut off as her heart speaks for her.
"...What if you had a son instead...?" she lightly sniffles and blinks as her tears stop falling. She can suddenly see more clearly. "...Would that have been so bad...?"
Myra slowly turns her head to look back at her, narrowing her eyes in question. "Did you not hear a fucking word I just said? No. I wouldn't have had a child if I wasn't going to have the perfect daughter that would make us rich down the line," she snaps.
Cassi's grip on the edge of the couch tightens a bit more and her face hardens in resentment. "...What if... I don't want to be your daughter?" she asks quietly. "...What if I'd rather be your son?"
Her mother stops and just stares at the girl from across the room.
John sighs and slowly looks down and Colin shakes his head, his heart hurting as he realizes what this memory is going to be. He already knows how this ends.
"...Excuse me?" Myra takes a step towards Cassi.
The girl releases the couch and slowly stands up, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she turns to face her mother with a stern glare.
"...I don't like being a girl," she states and her shoulders slightly tremble, but she fights to stay firm. "This... isn't me," she looks down and irritably tugs on her pink skirt. When she looks up again, it's to see as her mother storms over with fuming rage written across her face.
Myra stops in front of her and burns her fury into the girl's eyes, but Cassi doesn't break her gaze, despite the fear creeping its way into her heart that makes her body tremble more violently.
"I never want to hear you say things like that again, understand?" she snaps. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You are a girl and that's never going to change."
"...No I'm not." Cassi deepens her glare. "...You're just fucking delusional."
She couldn't even see the moment the rage in her mother's eyes snapped, as the instant the words left her mouth, a fist was thrown across her face and she was knocked onto the couch. She tries to get up, when she's grabbed and shoved to the floor to get kicked in the side.
Cassi stays where she is and just curls in on herself, letting herself feel blow after blow as her mother beats her once again. She can hurt her body all she wants. Inside is what hurts most.
Colin's eyes widen and he instinctively runs over to intervene, but he passes straight through Myra when he tries to pull her away from the child. Realizing he can't do anything to help, he shakes his head and backs away, when John reappears at his side with a sigh.
"She just couldn't stand the thought of her 'perfect daughter' being trans. No matter how hard he tried to be loved, nothing made a difference," he looks away. "This one hasn't changed..." he says wistfully. "...I think it's safe to move on to the next one, if you're ready."
Colin can't seem to tear his eyes away from the scene. It hurts to watch, but he just can't look away. He starts lifting his hand with a green glow, but he stops himself. As much as he wants to make this torturous memory go away for Cree, he can't mess with any memories that aren't touched by The Director. This is a part of who Cree is, and he can't change that.
How can a parent hold so much resentment for their child? To not care so much that they're willing to sell their own flesh and blood to a sex club for some easy money? It makes him feel sick.
He quickly looks away and closes his eyes, forcing himself to nod sternly. "...Let's go," he forces out, not really looking forward to whatever the next memory has in store.
The apartment around them shifts with the mist again, altering to take on the appearance of a place that's all too familiar to both Colin and John. A far more comforting sight. County Mortal.
Specifically, The Free Watchman. Colin smiles as he and John approach it, but with a quick glance at John, he sees that he doesn't hold the same joy on his face. His eyes hold dread at what's up next for them to witness.
John enters first and Colin follows. It's late night in the memory, so not too many people are here. This was before Data started running the place, so it's likely that Edith hasn't come into the picture yet. This is confirmed when they see that sitting alone in the corner with a bottle of whiskey is Tyrell, only a few years younger than they know him as now.
John sighs. "He recently turned eighteen at the time. After finding out about his mother's plans for him, he wasn't entirely thrilled about the occasion," he explains.
Colin watches as Tyrell downs the rest of the bottle and wipes his mouth with his right sleeve, wincing as his wrist rubs across his face and he lowers his arm with a sigh. It's strange to think about the fact that Tyrell didn't actually have a metal arm until rather recently. Somehow, that feels more normal than the thought of him having both arms.
Tyrell stands up, slightly stumbling as it all rushes to his head and he approaches the counter, throwing down a few Cards before staggering down the hall that leads to the upstairs rooms. He enters the last room on the right and lazily shuts the door behind him and turns the lock.
John slowly nods with another sigh. "He never did like the idea of settling down. Every night, he would just rent a room at the Watchman, no matter how many times I offered for him to live with me. He just hated the thought of being tied down."
Tyrell shuffles over to the small bed and sits down on the edge, grabbing another bottle of whiskey from the bedside cabinet and downing a couple more gulps before setting it back down.
His coordination is off and he accidentally sets it right on the edge of the cabinet and the bottle falls, shattering as it hits the floor and spills at his feet.
"Fucking hell..." he grumbles as he starts picking up the glass shards.
He stops once his eyes land on the scar across his right palm that's almost completely faded save for a faint white line from one side of his hand to the other. His tired eyes stare at it for a moment, when he sighs and stands up, unzipping his hoodie and tossing it to the bed.
He sits down again with his arms in his lap and one of the glass shards still held lazily in his hand.
Colin tries to understand what he's watching, when Tyrell suddenly cuts the glass shard across his wrist, sucking in a sharp breath of pain but he throws his head back with a deep breath as the cut starts bleeding heavily.
Colin gasps and covers his mouth, his eyes softening with worry as he sees the numerous other cuts down his right wrist. Some are healed, but most of them look fresh.
John slowly nods, but he says nothing and just watches.
Tyrell drops the shard and takes another deep breath, running his hands through his hair before reaching to the cabinet again. In his mildly drunken state, he seems to have forgotten the whiskey spilled all over the ground and he growls his frustration when he realizes there's no more booze to drown in.
He just closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, when he wearily opens them again and turns his gaze to the cabinet drawer. He weakly reaches over and pulls it open, grabbing a bottle of Quell but he stops and stares into the drawer, seeing his handgun.
He pops a pill of Quell before setting the bottle down and reaching back into the drawer to pick up the gun and just sit there, holding it in his lap and staring at it with defeat in his eyes.
Colin starts slowly shaking his head and feels the back of his throat burning as his eyes slightly blur. He really wishes he could cry easier, because the sight of Cree being like this is painful. Maybe it is for the best that Edith isn't the one witnessing all of this.
Tyrell clicks the safety off on the gun and stands up unsteadily to approach the window, looking around the street outside before shutting the blinds.
He walks over to the corner of the room and limply sits down on a creaky wooden chair, wiping the blood from his wrist on his shirt before he lifts the gun to the side of his head.
Suddenly, Colin and John are standing in the main area of the Watchman again, just as the doors fly open and a slightly younger version of John rushes up to the counter.
"Cree in his room?" he asks the bartender, who nods.
"Yeah. He just went up. Why?"
John holds out his hand. "I need a key. Now," he demands. His hand is shaking.
The bartender shrugs and reaches below the counter, grabbing a key and setting it in his hand. "No problem, mayor. What's—" he doesn't get a chance to finish talking before John runs through the hall and up the stairs, where he reaches the last door on the right and doesn't bother knocking as he just unlocks it and throws it open, seeing Tyrell in the corner with his gun to his head and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Cree!" John runs over and grabs his wrist, prying the gun away from his head and Tyrell gives no protest, letting it fall to the floor as he breaks down sobbing and collapses to his knees, frantically shaking his head and rocking back and forth.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he chokes out past the sobs.
John runs back to the door to shut and lock it before returning to Tyrell's side and wrapping him in his arms, holding him tightly against him. "Just let it out, man..." he shudders and closes his eyes. "The only thing you should be sorry for is not comin' to me first..." he says as tears of his own start falling from his eyes.
He leans back to hold Tyrell by his shoulders and look at his face, even though Tyrell refuses to meet his eyes. "...I know you doubt a lot of things about yourself, but you've said it before that you never doubt me. So whatever you've got goin' on, just know that I'm willing to go through it with you," he says and pulls him back into his arms.
"So long as I'm alive, you never have to doubt that you are loved..." he weakly chuckles through the tears. "Platonically. But still counts."
That gets a small chuckle out of Tyrell, but he keeps shaking and sobbing in his arms, letting his resistance dissolve as he tries forcing himself to believe his words.
So long as John is alive, he knows for a fact that he is loved.
John nods to himself and glances up at Colin. "This one hasn't changed either... You okay?"
Colin just stares at the scene with tears of his own stinging his eyes and a few manage to fall. "...How did I never know about what he was going through?"
"Why do you think?" John shrugs with dread in his eyes. "You were never there."
Colin slowly looks down and as the blur of his eyes grows with the pooling tears, the scene once again changes. Hearing that from John after seeing all of that now hurts like a knife to his heart. All of Cree's resentment towards him over the years, and now he gets it. He was going through so much suffering, but CLive was never around to see it. Let alone help.
The next memory brings them to a forest. The night sky hangs over them, dark and shadows lurk in the trees, but in the distance, there are fires lighting the sky.
John's face holds trepidation, but understanding for what happens next that can be heard in a low sigh. "The night of the siege..." he feebly chuckles. "Kinda figured this one would stick out for him."
Colin feels his EPC freeze as he realizes what he means. He wasn't there for the siege, and he doubts he will ever be able to forgive himself for that. He wasn't there when John was killed. When Cree was hurt.
He was only there for Edith after the fires had settled.
"JOHN!" Cree's scream rings out with desperation that echoes in the otherwise silent night.
Colin watches as Cree appears sprinting through the forest to the small clearing, but he freezes in place as his eyes land on John laying on the ground with his back against a tree and what looks like a stab wound through his stomach.
The memory of John steps forward beside Colin with his face hardened in concern, shaking his head. "Wait... this is off," he says. "I wasn't stabbed, my leg had been broken by Jane. And Cree should have been thrown back by her Augmentation," he says and looks around, realizing alongside Colin that Jane isn't even anywhere to be found.
Cree gasps and starts rushing towards John, when a flash of darkness and shadow crosses his path and stands before John, holding the curved blade of a sword to his throat.
Cree just manages to draw his knives when the shadowed person slices the blade across John's throat.
Terror, pain and fury in his eyes, Cree sprints at the person and prepares to strike them down, when they turn and look at him, making Cree freeze in place once again.
"...Regan...?"
Regan is cloaked in darkness, but his eyes are the same as they have always been. The Dark isn't in control. This is just him.
And he just killed John.
Nothing up to that moment mattered. Nothing but fury filled Cree's heart as he strikes at Regan, his knife cutting across his cheek. Regan just lifts the sword and runs it through Cree's stomach.
As Cree seizes from the pain, Regan steps closer, keeping the blade run through him as he grabs his shoulder and leans down to softly kiss his forehead.
"I'm sorry, my love," Regan whispers before pulling the blade out and letting Cree fall.
Cree lays helpless on the ground, holding his stomach against the blood but before his consciousness can slip away, he turns his furious gaze up to watch as Regan simply starts walking away.
He doesn't understand. Why would Regan do this? He doesn't even like hurting people, so why would he kill John?
It doesn't matter. Reasons don't mean a fucking thing anymore. No matter what it takes, he will make Regan pay for what he's done.
Without John, he's no longer loved.
So he might as well be hated.
Before slipping into darkness, he sees from the forest another person appears.
Jane.
The scene fades out, and Colin and John suddenly find themselves standing back on the edge of the cliff in front of the dark forest. The sky is no longer white and is instead black. The heavy fog has grown thicker and rushes as the wind picks up around them.
John shakes his head and holds his hands behind his neck. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
Colin steps towards the forest. "...Tyrell thinks Regan killed you..." he shudders. "And by siding with Regan, he must think we're accessories to that."
John groans and throws up his hands. "Fuck!"
Colin sighs and keeps his focus on the forest and the general aura around him. The darkness mixed with the white fog. The chilling air. The dark has overpowered the light that was here at the start.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding his hands towards the forest. The green glow from his palms grows, casting light through the shadows. Driving back the darkness that has been forced into Cree's head by The Director.
'Regan didn't kill John.'
He focuses on that thought in his own head, channeling it into his magic.
'Jane killed him under The Director's command.'
One memory. One correction has the potential to bring back the man they know. But if the damage runs too deep, there could be no telling if bringing him back is even possible. If he's too far gone to hear the truth in his magic, then he might be stuck as the 'Ghost.' Another mindless soldier under The Director's control.
His magic may be centered around manipulation, but it's all in how he chooses to use it. And in this case, he's going to use it to try bringing back his friend. He has to try.
He's not going to leave again.