Slowly, one by one, the floating chunks of Dyllan’s mindscape began to stir with life. Piece by piece the whole place began to reassemble itself with a deceptively mellow speed.

The new mindscape took a shape that, at first glance, appeared to only be an un-savaged version of what Andie had seen when she’d first landed. But a second inspection revealed several differences. The concrete platforms were no longer held aloft by chains or poles - now they gently bobbed in the air like fishing floats on a windless day. Shale flagstones were suspended in midair, providing passage between the platforms instead of bridges of wood or concrete. They smelled of fresh rain. The military propaganda posters that had been torn down were returned to their former places, but covered much less of the mindscape. Their words of war were crossed out with spray paint, and flowers were doodled over any guns they pictured. The sand gardens were arranged more carefully and more naturally, and were dotted with skipping stones and discarded helmets from various points in America’s military history. They still featured firearms, but the guns had been properly disassembled not bent, and their parts were clearly being meticulously cared for. Stacks of empty but undamaged sandbags stood beside the gardens.

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At the center of all the platforms stood the largest one among them, just like before the mindscape broke apart. It floated lower than all the others, but everything in the mindscape slowly revolved around it. Moss growing on its bunkers and dandelions sprouting from its cracks proved this platform to be the oldest. But despite looking empty and unmaintained, it was quite noticeably the only part of the mindscape where any organic life grew.

Finally, at the center of the center, there stood a humble but dignified statue of Dyllan’s father - in uniform, but without body armor, a helmet, or a gun. At its base was a bronze plaque with no words inscribed into it, and a single clay flower pot. The pot was poorly but carefully made, and painted with the sort of sloppy enthusiasm only a young child could manage. Inside it grew a single red poppy.