It was bright. The blistering sun gazed down at an old town without a hint of mercy. The heat waves made the temperature rise up, stifling the residents there. The rocky pavement was hot to the touch from the prolonged exposure. The dilapidated wooden houses scattered across the flaming desert. The only signs of life that invigorated the arid wasteland were the vibrant lime green cacti. The few residents living there had empty gazes, as if they were dead. They carried out their daily routine: fetching water from the dried up well and bartered for what little food left behind in the barren stores.

In the center of the ruins, young men surrounded five children. All the men held guns or blades, waving them in the air, jeering. The mad hounds shouted and laughed, their obnoxious behavior spread throughout the crowd. Some had a crazy glint, shooting rounds in the air. What was strange was the loud gunshots didn't alarm the rest of the town. The residents didn't even flinch, walking ahead vacant and void. It seemed to be a normal occurrence.

In the center of the circle, the five youths had ugly expressions, their whole faces covered in sweat. It dripped down their malnourished bodies, soaking the old rags they were wearing. The children were a frightening thin. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the children were skin and bones. Their twig-like bodies shriveled up, burnt from the glaring sun. Their wrinkled faces completely shattered their youthful appearance. Even their miniscule hair started to burn away. Their anatomy justified their pained expressions. Even so, the root of their wallowing misery was something else.

The small feet that lined up orderly were bare. Their soles dug into the jagged pebbles on the pavement, piercing their flesh with ease. The high temperature burned their wounds, sealing the torn skin. Then the rocks would rip apart their welded wounds once again. The repeating cycle of torture and pain was too much for their little bodies.

Yet, they somehow endured.

Three boys and two girls stood shivering, the loud jeers assaulting them all around. In front of them, stood a middle-aged man with his arms crossed.

His conduct emanated pure dominance, suppressing everyone around him. He wore khaki pants with military boots. His top was a dirty green tank top which showcased his firm muscles. His square jaws clenched together. The man's thick eyebrows shadowed his dirt colored eyes.

Standing amongst the jeering and screaming, he rose his big hand in vexation. His fingers curling into a fist. With the brisk action, the young men shut their mouths at once.

The loud atmosphere dropped to dead silence. Compared to their bold countenance, they now lowered their heads like scared kittens. Reveling in the tranquility, he focused his gaze back to the five before him. One girl, who couldn't stand it any longer, collapsed in front of the middle-aged man's feet. With indifference, he gestured with his chin, pointing away from the circle. Following the apathetic gesture, a man broke away from the encirclement, carrying the girl away.

Where they took her, no one knew, except the man who ordered it. Standing in the circle, three boys and one girl remained.

They all grit their teeth and closed their eyes through the hellish pain, but it didn't make it much better. Hearing a loud thud, they opened their eyes and glanced at the fallen girl. Seeing the girl collapse meters away took a major toll on them all. Especially two boys, who reached their breaking points.

They rolled on the ground crying and screaming. Even so, not a single drop of tears flowed out their dried eyes. With another small gesture, two more men carried away the screaming boys. Three kids disappeared, leaving the boy and a girl. The girl had dull, brittle hair that dropped to her upper back. Her dark red hair and olive green eyes would have created a picturesque contrast. It got ruined, anyhow, by her ragged appearance. Her flamed eyebrows relaxed with the two boys taken away, leaving the last boy left. She turned to the side, finally taking the chance, observing the person beside her.

He was short for his age. It was understandable seeing his starved physique. His brown curly hair drooped down, weighed down by ample amounts of sweat. His skin was a similar tan to the girl's, yet his charred skin made his skin rough. What made it worse, his lips cracked and bled, making his mouth a rosy red. His gray eyes seemed dull and lifeless, but carried a hint of pain and agony. Sensing her stare, the boy turned to the girl, their gazes colliding midair. Breaking the silence, the man who hadn't uttered a single word until now walked towards them. Contrary to his heavy profile, his strides were brisk, and his steps were soundless. His approach was akin to a snake ready to strike. He towered over the two children, who looked up blankly in response. He then patted their shoulders, a satisfied expression on his face.

He grabbed a stick from one of the men from the circle. Crouching down, he started drawing letters on the ground. Although it was rocky, the sand mixed in allowed the words to form. He wrote two names in front of them before throwing the stick aside. Springing to his feet, the overbearing man turned around. A cold indifference replaced his satisfied smile. The rest of the men surrounding the boy and girl followed after him, whispering to each other quietly. After they left, the two children looked down at the words in front of them. The girl read the name out loud.

“Syl-via? Sylvia.” She took some time to sound out her name before her mouth curled up into a faint smile. Sylvia looked at the word in front of the boy. She read the name out loud once again.

“Bry-an? You're Bryan?” She asked the silent boy. His leather colored hair swayed when he turned his head to Sylvia. His gray eyes seemed to gain a hint of life as he stared at her. He looked back and forth between the name and Sylvia before breaking out into a faint smile as well.

“Yes, I'm Bryan now.” He croaked in response. His dry throat made his voice scratchy; it sounded like a broom sweeping rocks and sand.

Under the glaring sun, his lips bled even when he smiled. With smeared blood on his lips, his smile looked like a leering devil full of mystery and fear. The sun began to retreat beyond the horizon. Then the moon, with a yellow-red tint, began its ascent with the gleaming stars. That night, Bryan was born.

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Cold white moonlight descended on a pristine two-story house. The neighborhood almost quiet. The sounds of crickets broke the idyllic atmosphere. In a moonlit room, a young teenager laid on his bed. He writhed around, tossing his blanket off to the side. His jet black bangs stuck to his forehead; sweat perspired through his orifices. His face twisted, as if enduring great pain. Sweaty hands grabbed the bedsheet, balling it tight into his palms.

His writhing escalated. His nerves tensed. His body shook. Just as he was about to fall off the bed, a change occurred. His tightly shut eyelids shot up like lightning, revealing hazy gray eyes. His knitted eyebrows reverted to normal as he looked around.

Fuck, another nightmare.

The adolescent sighed before lifting his lead body upright. His hazy gaze remained as he looked at his bed. Wet stains and patches appeared all over the bed. His body was sticky from the dried sweat.

If someone walked in, they would believe Bryan wet himself.

Frowning, he got up and took off his shirt. A well-trained body displayed in all its glory shone under the cold moonlight. He walked out of his room and walked with light steps to the bathroom. Shutting the door, he turned on a dim light. Opening the tap, cold water gushed out, splashing against the porcelain sink. He took a handful before splashing it on his face. A couple of droplets strayed to his bare upper body.

After splashing his face a few times, he turned the tap off and stared at his reflection. The haze from his gray eyes didn't go away despite washing and rubbing his eyes.

It was always like this. Whenever he dreamt of the past, his gray eyes seemed to blur, turning into a deep enshrouding haze. It would turn back to normal after a while, so he didn't bother. He walked back to his room and searched his jacket. He grabbed a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes and a used up lighter from the inner pocket. Taking one, he walked out to his veranda and lit it up. The hot smoke entered his lungs, lifting the heavy feeling off his chest a bit. After a deep inhale, a similarly deep exhale followed. The gray smoke blended with his hazy gray eyes as he puffed out.

Smoking helped his anxiousness ease, if only a little. Before, he worried Lily and Emily might make a huge fuss out of it if he ever got caught. Nonetheless, he couldn't care less at the moment. Whenever he closed his eyes, the painful memories flooded from the depths of his memories. His mind imprinted those hellish days of endless killing, blood, and pain.

He could never forget. Ever.

His trauma had only increased during the eighteen years in his previous life. At one point, he wanted to alleviate his burning misery by ending his own life. However, he was a coward then and couldn't go through with it. In hindsight, Bryan would have killed himself then and there if he hadn't died during the gang war.

His misery followed him everywhere, and eventually to his own death. It seemed impossible to cure his PTSD at this point.

He was too far gone.

Yet, he was going to try anyway. He wanted to put an end to it once and for all, ending the chapter of his previous life. Never once was his mind at ease. The constant mental breakdowns eroded his spirit to nothing. It was going to go either one of two ways; he was going to have a new beginning, or have another miserable end.

Honestly, he was scared.

He never showed any signs of fear in the face of death, yet he was trembling like a newborn thinking about tomorrow. His hands shook as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. Inhaling deeply, he calmed once again. He knew deep down that wiping the place where it all began and everyone there off the face of the planet was the only way. He resolved himself; this wasn't how he wanted to live.

Is she still there?

The image of a rough-looking girl with dark red hair and green eyes formed in his head. Her cunning look was unforgettable. After they passed Red Viper's trial, Bryan and Sylvia always paired together. Whether it was for patrols, skirmishes, or training; they were always together. When you spend so much time with someone, it's natural to develop something more. Yet they mutually agreed to emotionally distance themselves. It was meaningless to fall in love when the other could die at any moment. Even so, getting intimate physically wasn't off the table.

Thus, they spent steamy nights with each other with no strings attached. They kept their distance during the day while getting together during the night. Sexual frustration was a common occurrence in war-like environments. Sleeping together was just a way of relieving themselves, they thought nothing of it.

They spent their days like this until the grand turf war began. Red Viper separated them, positioning them in different locations.

Where we found out?

Despite the unsolved mystery in the back of his mind, he didn't care that much. He still remembered her last words to him the night before the war.

“You're not allowed to die tomorrow without my permission, got it?”

Ever since then, Bryan never saw her again. Thinking back to her final words, he chuckled in reminiscence. Worst-case scenario, he had decided what he would do long ago if he met her in that town again.

He would kill her.

Even better yet, blow her up along with the shit hole. His reason was simple: she was still a part of his past he wanted to bury.

When he inhaled once again, he opened his status window.